Two Shades of Red

[TheFifthElement]

A train heaves against the platform
spilling people out like fish from a net.
An old woman is carried along with the flow,
a slick of red oil cresting blue-grey waves.
Do they notice how she rides on the surface?
The wave dissipates, and she is left alone,
unwanted waste deposited on the shore.

In another place a young girl walks
under cover of stripped winter trees.
She is as thin as the knife she doesn’t see,
the knife that slides in easily, splitting
flesh from bone. Her hands stretch across
these new holes, she cannot stop the flow
as blood falls in a shower of fine red rain.

[PrinceMyshkin]

But surely - fine as each of these is - they don't belong together? The one thing they have in common, perhaps, apart from the red, is the helplessness of each of the characters. But surely our helplessness against aging is of a whole different order from our helplessness against the savagery of men?

[jon1jt]

I like S2, S1 just isn't working, it's top heavy with metaphor, I think. It goes from a woman stepping off a train to red oil, the line of which leaves a fairly empty image, or it tries too hard, and leaves much too much to figure out. Why the woman stepped off the train and is unwanted waste I have no idea.


A train heaves against the platform
spilling people out like fish from a net.
An old woman is carried along with the flow,
a slick of red oil cresting blue-grey waves.
Do they notice how she rides on the surface?
The wave dissipates, and she is left alone,
unwanted waste deposited on the shore.


I really like the second stanza, but I don't see the connection, I see a disconnection, but that's not your fault, I'm disconnecting, dispersing. Next time you're driving, look out of your back window, that's me... H
e l p. :)

[kiz_paws]

The last line in S1 to me represents how society lacks in its sensitivity to elderly people (of course I am generalizing, but that was what I thought that line meant) -- that basically that one old woman, though tossed and turned with all the others (fitting in), she is cast out in the end (left, no one cares... ) kinda sorta.

And in S2 I see the helplessness of the young girl. The gusto of the killer is reminiscent of the gusto of the busy crowd all headed to where they are going in such a hurry (S1).

So each poem relates to the other in the helplessness end as well as they are both at the mercy of a part of society that is not there for them...

Both poems made me think (but it is late and I wonder if I am way off target...) ;) Yeah, two shades of red. :thumbs_up

[jon1jt]

The last line in S1 to me represents how society lacks in its sensitivity to elderly people (of course I am generalizing, but that was what I thought that line meant) -- that basically that one old woman, though tossed and turned with all the others (fitting in), she is cast out in the end (left, no one cares... ) kinda sorta.

And in S2 I see the helplessness of the young girl. The gusto of the killer is reminiscent of the gusto of the busy crowd all headed to where they are going in such a hurry (S1).

So each poem relates to the other in the helplessness end as well as they are both at the mercy of a part of society that is not there for them...

Both poems made me think (but it is late and I wonder if I am way off target...) ;) Yeah, two shades of red. :thumbs_up

Hmm. So let me get this straight, is the reader supposed to apply the cliched-stereotypical-westernized version of how society views the elderly? I was looking for something...different. When I see my mom, who happens to be elderly, stepping off a train or plane, I think to myself, "There's my mom."

I think the author of this lovely poem - being a Brit and all - should watch the film Love Actually, again if so. :p

[TheFifthElement]

But surely - fine as each of these is - they don't belong together? The one thing they have in common, perhaps, apart from the red, is the helplessness of each of the characters. But surely our helplessness against aging is of a whole different order from our helplessness against the savagery of men?

Oh, they belong together. Yes, they are helpless (aren't we all, really?) but in my mind their connection was attention. The woman at the station, dressed in red, she wants attention but doesn't get it, the girl in the park isn't interested in attention but receives the worst kind. But you know, this is me working through something, it's how it came out.

I'm not sure our helplessness against aging is so different from the savagery of men, not from a woman's perspective anyway. I think, perhaps, it is different for men, I think men always feel they have a fighting chance whereas for a woman, no matter how strong you are, faced with the true strength of an angry man there's nothing really you can do but hope.


Hmm. So let me get this straight, is the reader supposed to apply the cliched-stereotypical-westernized version of how society views the elderly? I was looking for something...different. When I see my mom, who happens to be elderly, stepping off a train or plane, I think to myself, "There's my mom."


The last line in S1 to me represents how society lacks in its sensitivity to elderly people (of course I am generalizing, but that was what I thought that line meant) -- that basically that one old woman, though tossed and turned with all the others (fitting in), she is cast out in the end (left, no one cares... ) kinda sorta.

Kiz was definitely on the right track here! I understand Jon how this may seem like a cliche, but then it still goes on, and it's particularly harsh for women who receive ridiculous levels of attention until they hit 40 then it's like they disappear off the map. But then this poem wasn't really a social commentary, it is about real people. The woman in red is a woman I saw on the train dressed outlandishly but still invisible, the girl in the park is a 14 year old girl who was stabbed 30 times in a random attack when she was on her way home after school. At the time I was watching the woman on the train, the girl was being attacked in the park, it seemed that there was more than just a vague connection between them, the old woman in red, the girl covered in her blood, both alone, both tragic in their own way.


S1 just isn't working,
S1 doesn't work for me either Jon, it's definitely not right but last night red wine was saying post it! post it! and who am I to disagree with red wine?

and Kiz, you're always on target! :)

[jon1jt]

Kiz was definitely on the right track here! I understand Jon how this may seem like a cliche, but then it still goes on, and it's particularly harsh for women who receive ridiculous levels of attention until they hit 40 then it's like they disappear off the map.

Those 20-something gals are pretty pretty um..well...a..... :p


But then this poem wasn't really a social commentary, it is about real people. The woman in red is a woman I saw on the train dressed outlandishly but still invisible,

I watched a little Mexican man yesterday morning walking, his shoes torn, hands filthy, bow-legged with a bouncy sorta walk. He wore a rope belt, had slits for eyes, and donned a brown bag, without expression, as if he walked right out of some thatched hut. And he looked at me too, and I was wondering what he could have been thinking that second. I wanted to yell over to him, "Hey, What you THINK about, senor?" Just like that! And then I imagined how later he went home that night caked in more grit and grime into the arms of his brown-eyed wife who greets him with magnificent Mexican eloquence. It's right in the middle of that kissy sweetness that their sharing that your old woman in the red dress appears with her wrinkly hand over her forehead talking fast and gravely about how some smart alecky white girl at the train station was staring at her when she stepped off. And the little Mexican man turns to her in his loco excitement and says, "Ahh, Si, si!"

My point is, nobody's alone in this world. :p



Whoo, did somebody say, red wine?!?!!

[TheFifthElement]

Those 20-something gals are pretty pretty um..well...a..... :p
I can finish that sentence ...visible ;)




My point is, nobody's alone in this world. :p

then there's another Brit flick to add to your list - Bridget Jones' Diary. Therein you will learn the British woman's greatest fear - dying alone in your flat to be found three days later half eaten by Alsatians :(

[PrinceMyshkin]

Ecclesiastes 1:9 What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.
10 Is there anything of which one can say,
"Look! This is something new"?
It was here already, long ago;
it was here before our time.



This haranguing over the issue of clichés is itself one of the clichés of literary criticism. Old age and the indifference of society have been around for rather a long time and to dismiss it as a subject worthy of our attention in favour of the unusual, the seemingly odd is simplistic and meretricious.

[kiz_paws]

Fifth, now that you have given the background as to the WHY you wrote these moving words makes total sense. Sometimes I think that I can be a bit of a blockhead about WHAT someone is REALLY saying, you know? So I was glad to read that my words weren't total foolishness.... :p

Wow. Powerful poetry, my friend. :thumbs_up

[Pendragon]

You reached into two lives and pulled out incidents that conincided, one that left a poor woman dazed and confused and the other that left one dead. The elderly llives, while being and feeling unwanted, the young dies, having been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Great poem, Fifth...

[jon1jt]

I can finish that sentence ...visible ;)

:lol: Oh yeah, that's it. But if you think about it, it's not entirely men's fault. By the time women reach 40 they've made themselves invisible by throwing themselves into the crib with their babies, it's always about the babies. For women, birthing is redemptive and so naturally they turn themselves toward that. For men it's a bit different. Younger women stir that freshness in men and some men close their eyes and imagine what it would be like---to have that love---to quote Whitman---"for one brief hour of madness and joy." Maybe women need to change their priorities, or just accept the inner workings of their biology. Consider, apples don't fall up --into the tree. :p


then there's another Brit flick to add to your list - Bridget Jones' Diary. Therein you will learn the British woman's greatest fear - dying alone in your flat to be found three days later half eaten by Alsatians :(

I saw that one---the basic problem with Ms. Jones was that she was way too uptight. :p

[kiz_paws]

:lol: Oh yeah, that's it. But if you think about it, it's not entirely men's fault. By the time women reach 40 they've made themselves invisible by throwing themselves into the crib with their babies, it's always about the babies. For women, birthing is redemptive and so naturally they turn themselves toward that.
Jon, my dear friend, if you had only added the word "SOME" to your "By the time" phrase, I'd have found this thought reasonable. I was left feeling very bleak....

Not ALL women do this... :sick:

I do hear the sentiment ... instead of geisha girl the hubby gets lady lightbulb who runs to every cry of the baby and hubby doesn't get that extra TLC anymore ... BUT NOT ALWAYS... :p

[jon1jt]

Jon, my dear friend, if you had only added the word "SOME" to your "By the time" phrase, I'd have found this thought reasonable. I was left feeling very bleak....

Not ALL women do this... :sick:

I do hear the sentiment ... instead of geisha girl the hubby gets lady lightbulb who runs to every cry of the baby and hubby doesn't get that extra TLC anymore ... BUT NOT ALWAYS... :p


Well, um...ahem...that's a valid point, Kizzer. I tried to clarify that post of mine some, see above. Thanks.

To tie this discussion back to Fifth's poem, Fifth said that she was inspired by real life observation and that indirectly she was speaking about a segment of our population that goes unnoticed, the elderly. I said above that it's cliche to imply this to the extent she does because I don't think as a whole they're as invisible and alone as she makes the old woman out to be. As far as cliches in poetry go, I'm not against them as matter of subject. In that sense certainly it's all been said before. In the case of this poem, I'm against cliches that integrate value judgements about social conditions that don't exist, or if they do exist, are isolated events, or were true for an era long ago.

[TheFifthElement]

:lol: Oh yeah, that's it. But if you think about it, it's not entirely men's fault. By the time women reach 40 they've made themselves invisible by throwing themselves into the crib with their babies, it's always about the babies. For women, birthing is redemptive and so naturally they turn themselves toward that. For men it's a bit different. Younger women stir that freshness in men and some men close their eyes and imagine what it would be like---to have that love---to quote Whitman---"for one brief hour of madness and joy." Maybe women need to change their priorities, or just accept the inner workings of their biology. Consider, apples don't fall up --into the tree. :p

Oh, it not a matter of blame, it's just the way it is. It's nothing to do with having babies either that's a cliche! As a young woman you have to do nothing at all to attract male attention, or female attention for that matter. Hit 40 and, no matter how attractive you are, the attention you receive is nothing compared to what it was. Perhaps you hit the nail on the head with this:


Younger women stir that freshness in men and some men close their eyes and imagine what it would be like---to have that love---to quote Whitman---"for one brief hour of madness and joy."

it's biology, it's not anyone's fault, but it's still harsh.

[ampoule]

A train heaves against the platform
spilling people out like fish from a net.
An old woman is carried along with the flow,
a slick of red oil cresting blue-grey waves.
Do they notice how she rides on the surface?
The wave dissipates, and she is left alone,
unwanted waste deposited on the shore.

In another place a young girl walks
under cover of stripped winter trees.
She is as thin as the knife she doesn’t see,
the knife that slides in easily, splitting
flesh from bone. Her hands stretch across
these new holes, she cannot stop the flow
as blood falls in a shower of fine red rain.




The comparison of the two women is so meaningful. You have such an eye, such a good eye. I can imagine you watching.

[kiz_paws]

Oh, it not a matter of blame, it's just the way it is. It's nothing to do with having babies either that's a cliche! As a young woman you have to do nothing at all to attract male attention, or female attention for that matter. Hit 40 and, no matter how attractive you are, the attention you receive is nothing compared to what it was. Perhaps you hit the nail on the head with this:



it's biology, it's not anyone's fault, but it's still harsh.That would be in a two-dimensional world where only the flesh got satisfied.

At the opposite side of the spectrum, we have a couple of people who may have been attracted by the visuals, but the deeper stuff got a hold on their souls (their sense of humour, their stubborness, their way of knowing what to say and when, man this list could get long). And though the snow is on the proverbial hilltops, they love each other as much later (maybe even deeper) as they did when the lustful years got them together in the first place.

What it boils down to is to carefully chose your partner when you are young so that you can work at that relationship to withstand the trials of time (being broke buying a house, expensive cars, children pulling you apart, younger women flitting into the scene, ... whatever the pulls are that break people up.....)

Fifth -- this post doesn't really contribute to your beautiful poem, but it contributes to this conversation, hope you don't mind...

[PrinceMyshkin]

That would be in a two-dimensional world where only the flesh got satisfied.

At the opposite side of the spectrum, we have a couple of people who may have been attracted by the visuals, but the deeper stuff got a hold on their souls (their sense of humour, their stubborness, their way of knowing what to say and when, man this list could get long). And though the snow is on the proverbial hilltops, they love each other as much later (maybe even deeper) as they did when the lustful years got them together in the first place.

What it boils down to is to carefully chose your partner when you are young so that you can work at that relationship to withstand the trials of time (being broke buying a house, expensive cars, children pulling you apart, younger women flitting into the scene, ... whatever the pulls are that break people up.....)

Fifth -- this post doesn't really contribute to your beautiful poem, but it contributes to this conversation, hope you don't mind...

Fine, but you just wait until the site bans decent, humane, grown-up, mature, compassionate &c., then you'll be in real trouble.

[ampoule]

Oh, it not a matter of blame, it's just the way it is. It's nothing to do with having babies either that's a cliche! As a young woman you have to do nothing at all to attract male attention, or female attention for that matter. Hit 40 and, no matter how attractive you are, the attention you receive is nothing compared to what it was. Perhaps you hit the nail on the head with this:
it's biology, it's not anyone's fault, but it's still harsh.

Wow! I didn't read all the conversation that went with this...till now. There was another poem, another conversation somewhere similar to this because I remember telling about sitting in a meeting with a woman 45 who stated that when a woman turns 50 she becomes invisible. The dating sites have hundreds and hundreds of women and men of all ages, not just 20's and 30's. More and more 'older' women are hooking up with younger men. It actually makes sense because some women stay in their 'prime' as far as physical needs way way past 60.
And Jon, I agree with you to a great extent about some women once they have their babies but you know that is a two-way street (speaking of cliches ;) ).
Some men jump into their careers or become unkempt belching couch potatoes. It takes work from both to keep the zing.

And back to your poem Fifth. I didn't realize the second verse was about the actual murder of someone. I'm very sorry to hear that that happened. I read it as a metaphor for how some young women must feel because they are so visible, desired, whatever, kind of sliced and diced and served up rare on a platter. I mean, you made it very clear now that I have read it again.

[kiz_paws]

Fine, but you just wait until the site bans decent, humane, grown-up, mature, compassionate &c., then you'll be in real trouble.
Prince, pardon my thick head -- but WHAT are you saying here? http://i151.photobucket.com/albums/s122/kiz_paws/Smilies/smiliedizzy.gif

Ampoule -- you made a very neat observation, considering that you didn't know the story behind the poem:
I read it as a metaphor for how some young women must feel because they are so visible, desired, whatever, kind of sliced and diced and served up rare on a platterHow well said indeed, and yet another take on the poetry... I like! :thumbs_up

[PrinceMyshkin]

Prince, pardon my thick head -- but WHAT are you saying here?

It was my way of saying what a thoroughly admirable person you are.

[kiz_paws]

My friend, would a simple D'OH do? :blush:

Merçi beaucoup, vous êtes très gentil... http://i151.photobucket.com/albums/s122/kiz_paws/Smilies/smiliechachacha.gif

[Sophie -- this was the only funny smilie I could've posted here -- forgive me ...]

[TheFifthElement]

That would be in a two-dimensional world where only the flesh got satisfied.

At the opposite side of the spectrum, we have a couple of people who may have been attracted by the visuals, but the deeper stuff got a hold on their souls (their sense of humour, their stubborness, their way of knowing what to say and when, man this list could get long). And though the snow is on the proverbial hilltops, they love each other as much later (maybe even deeper) as they did when the lustful years got them together in the first place.

What it boils down to is to carefully chose your partner when you are young so that you can work at that relationship to withstand the trials of time (being broke buying a house, expensive cars, children pulling you apart, younger women flitting into the scene, ... whatever the pulls are that break people up.....)

Fifth -- this post doesn't really contribute to your beautiful poem, but it contributes to this conversation, hope you don't mind...

Don't mind at all Kiz! Oh, I agree, I think if you find a relationship that works then none of this really matters. I suppose it was the impression I got from this lady on the train, everything about her screamed 'look at me!', when someone spoke to her on the train (asked her if the seat next to her was free) she kind of scrabbled after the words. Perhaps she wasn't lonely, perhaps she was just an old fashioned traveller (when people talked to each other on trains!), but it was the feeling I got from her. In wider terms, I remember watching this programme called 'Grumpy Old Women' in which celebrity 'older' women talk about various subjects. One of them was the 'invisibility' factor of older women, and they were all very vocal about it, even though they were all attractive women.


And back to your poem Fifth. I didn't realize the second verse was about the actual murder of someone. I'm very sorry to hear that that happened. I read it as a metaphor for how some young women must feel because they are so visible, desired, whatever, kind of sliced and diced and served up rare on a platter. I mean, you made it very clear now that I have read it again.

Fortunately, and perhaps amazingly, the girl is still alive though in a critical condition. But yes, the metaphor works as well, and it was the reason I chose to put the two images, the two women together.

[jon1jt]

Ahh, and this takes us to the heart of the matter:


Perhaps she wasn't lonely, perhaps she was just an old fashioned traveller (when people talked to each other on trains!), but it was the feeling I got from her.

So you interpreted her when all the while I was waiting for the bite of real experience. :p

[PrinceMyshkin]

Ahh, and this takes us to the heart of the matter:



So you interpreted her when all the while I was waiting for the bite of real experience. :p

Of course she interpreted her! That is the essence of literary communication; indeed even of sharing anecdotes with people.

[jon1jt]

Of course she interpreted her! That is the essence of literary communication; indeed even of sharing anecdotes with people.

Okay, but what about the woman--or the thing, in itself? Fifth has not addressed that aspect whatsoever. :p

[PrinceMyshkin]

Okay, but what about the woman--or the thing, in itself? Fifth has not addressed that aspect whatsoever. :p

Well, I looked for that prostitute you encountered in Bangkok, but she wasn't there in your poem. If I had really wanted das ding an zich I guess I'd have had to go to Thailand. If you want a vivid representation of a red wheelbarrow, see the poem by Williams. If you want das ding an zich try Home Depot.

[jon1jt]

Well, I looked for that prostitute you encountered in Bangkok, but she wasn't there in your poem. If I had really wanted das ding an zich I guess I'd have had to go to Thailand. If you want a vivid representation of a red wheelbarrow, see the poem by Williams. If you want das ding an zich try Home Depot.

Well that's because I didn't interpret the Bangkok gal, Williams gives us the wheelbarrow in itself---I should know, I grew up in the same town as he did. :p She's there, look again, she's slipped into your unconscious; expect her in your dreams. ;)

[Sweets America]

Finally I can reply to your poem, Fifth! I like it very much. I love the extended metaphor, it works with me. :) I love the ending of the second stanza too, I love the parallel between the blood and the red clothes of the old woman.

Kiz:

Merçi beaucoup, vous êtes très gentil...

[Sophie -- this was the only funny smilie I could've posted here -- forgive me ...]

:p ;) You are forgiven. Hey, I see you posted French things here and there.:D

Jon:

She's there, look again, she's slipped into your unconscious; expect her in your dreams.

I am already in his dreams, isn't it enough? :p ;)

[jon1jt]

I am already in his dreams, isn't it enough? :p ;)

Depends what kind of dream it is. :p

[Sweets America]

Oh, just another thing I have to reply to those who say that both stanzas do not belong together.

Maybe without Fifth's explanations, it would have been more difficult to make them fit with each other. But really, what I see as being the link between the two stanzas is this red color: the old woman's clothes and the blood on the young one. This is the central element because the old woman wanted to be noticed with this color, and this color actually depicts how the young woman was noticed, but in such a bad way.

I love the duality of this, the young and the old, the two shades of red (and you see here how it is really this color which links both stanzas since it was chosen as the title), and how things turn out in a way that both women did not want them to turn out.

And as I said, I think that another link between both stanzas is the 'liquid' quality which we find in the first one and which is found again in the second one with the blood which is compared with rain.

For me, it really holds well together.:)

[kiz_paws]

Hey, thats cool, Sweets. Poetry is sure fun. :thumbs_up