Empty Chairs

[jon1jt]

This is an empty chair.

[ReynardKitsune]

wow this is so cool it seems that your style is really unique i never thought that chairs can be give life to too.

good job

[Markus Whalen]

Great poem,it seems that you had a relative die of smoking and you decided to paint the chair after he passed...I got it the first time I read through before I saw the last line about the pipe. Great metaphors....and good language

[1n50mn14]

I'd paint windows of places
that I left behind,

Awesome lines... I've never read a lot of your poetry before, but the more I do, the more I enjoy it.

[kiz_paws]

I found your poem very intriguing, Jon (as always)! And I sought for meaning, which a few re-reads may provide me with more insight ... I know that Van Gogh had two chair paintings ... the one with the pipe, hmmmm ...

... and then your opening thought:
The joke is that
nothing works. Short and simple and summed up.

Wow, I need to go back and start again. Loved it Jon, see the effect on me? ;)

[dramasnot6]

Love the use of repetition., although I don't quite understand the symbolism...

[Pendragon]

Yeah. I once lived in a housing project. The family below to the left, (man and wife and his mother) all smoked like freight trains. The white venetian blinds were soon yellow, and when they died, ( all three went before I moved), the beige walls were crusted yellow as well.

What Jon means is nicotine stain. As a janitor in my youth, I have had to scrape it from walls, doors, etc. so they could be repainted. As a mystery writer, I know that in pure doses, it is a poison. Yet I used to smoke myself and quit and then was foolish enough to start up again later on and had to quit again.

The smoke will stain white into an ugly yellow. Trust me. A sad and beautiful poem Jon. And if I misread, tell me to shut up. I don't mind. Well done!

[Virgil]

I reads well. I'm not sure the constant repetition works for me, but I'm not complaining. That seems to be the heart of the poem. I really like the openning. Although you don't ever pick up on what the "joke" is. I found these lines a little confusing:

Even blackened
they take in like a pupil.
But it is an interesting simile, whatever it means. ;) One other thing. Not sure if the rhyme of white/light was intentional here:

The original chair had been white.
Yellow had been
a play on light
---light once alive with breath?
In a poem that starkly doesn't use rhyme, then the rhyme here gives these lines much more weight and emphasis. If you intend that, great, it worked. If it's accidental and there is no significance, then youre leading the reader astray.

[NUT]

I read both 'pupil' of the eye, which 'takes in' light, but perhaps a student also, who takes in lessons, absorbs life, although this would be a dark reference if so. Perhaps a window of regret, missed opportunities, lessons learned? Here the poem starts to take on a real life of interpretation!

[jon1jt]

What Jon means is nicotine stain.

:eek: :lol: Oh Pen, but surely yellow can be pretty too. What about yellow grass. A smiley face is yellow too. See....:) I like your interpretation. In some sense it's on point, in the sense yellow as lethal stain, or impurity.

NUT's definition of "pupil," that's what I was thinking. I think Sylvia Plath uses it similarly in Flowers when she says, "stupid pupil." Oh, I have a little crush on Sylvia Plath lately, nothing too serious. :p

[blp]

'Child, your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing...'

I have a bit of that crush too. I'd fight you for her if it would do either of us or her any good.

So, what you're saying is, you'd be Matisse instead of Van Gogh?

This is a pretty good piece, but somehow it's not coalescing for me. Glad it did for some of the others.

Your opening lines here remind me of a bit of one of my own poems, not one I think you've seen:

.............................if you like it

………………………………….you will lose it

…………..and you have to laugh

…………instead of trying

…………because the lesson is

………..it’s all just really

………………………..funny

[jon1jt]

'Child, your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing...'

Yes, yes, her Child poem! That's a great line, hell yeah.

I was actually referring to her Tulips poem before. Silly me.


I have a bit of that crush too. I'd fight you for her if it would do either of us or her any good.

I think she'd dump us both for another go at Ted, but what the hell let's do chivalric combat, she's that worth it! :lol:


So, what you're saying is, you'd be Matisse instead of Van Gogh?

Oh yeah, definitely. Those window portraits he did are so alive----so colorfully alive they self-cancel, and what we have are wavy reflections in monochrome. Well, sort of.


This is a pretty good piece, but somehow it's not coalescing for me

We'll just have to fight that one out too then. :lol:

Oh, and you stole my opening lines for your poem that happened to be written before mine. So just stop it. :p

[AuntShecky]

This piece of yours falls into a subgenre of lyric poetry called ekphrasis (http://www.nycbigcitylit.com/may2002/contents/poetry.html#Preface)

I just learned that the other day.

I liked your piece, but how about posting a link to the
pic that inspired it?

[blp]

This piece of yours falls into a subgenre of lyric poetry called ekphrasis (http://www.nycbigcitylit.com/may2002/contents/poetry.html#Preface)


She's only right, y'know. Thanks, Aunty, I'd forgotten that word. (sorry, this sounds really sarcastic maybe, but I mean it)

[blp]

Yes, yes, her Child poem! That's a great line, hell yeah.

I was actually referring to her Tulips poem before. Silly me.


No, I just thought I'd mention that Child line because it's so great and it's about an eye - pupil, eye etc. i.e. any excuse, even a thin one.

[Pendragon]

:eek: :lol: Oh Pen, but surely yellow can be pretty too. What about yellow grass. A smiley face is yellow too. See....:) I like your interpretation. In some sense it's on point, in the sense yellow as lethal stain, or impurity.

NUT's definition of "pupil," that's what I was thinking. I think Sylvia Plath uses it similarly in Flowers when she says, "stupid pupil." Oh, I have a little crush on Sylvia Plath lately, nothing too serious. :pWell, Jon, your opening thought was:



The joke is that
nothing works.


As an ex-smoker, this is what sent me down the path that I took.

Then:



The original chair had been white.
Yellow had been
a play on light
---light once alive with breath?


As if the light of breath had become impure, and thus caused the change in color of the chair, which made me think of the way nicotine stains white yellow.



There are empty chairs,
soon there will be more.


I lost a dear Aunt and a dear close friend to smoking related deaths, and despite what people want to believe, it kills. Thus there are empty chairs, and my Aunt's was definately yellowed. So you may understand my interpretation a little better, Jon. Peace.:)

[AuntShecky]

Jon, is it okay w. you if I post an ekphrasic poem by yours truly here?

Nighthawks”

I serve consolation by the cup,
and if both towering urns run dry,
there are plenty more grounds
waitin’ in the hopper.

Easy there, Skip--
she’s taken,
I told myself.
The twin triangles
of my crazy lid
like a dunce cap worn all wrong
can't stand up
to the mystery of the fedora.

The dame with her hair
smoldering like a torch,
her dummy-upped guy,
and the lonely eagle
near the end
of the counter
wonder what they'll have.

With our backs turned
from the empty street,
we've already decided
to ignore the empty stools.

[blp]

Oh, and you stole my opening lines for your poem that happened to be written before mine. So just stop it. :p

Real artist's steal and make better telepathically.

[ReynardKitsune]

Real artist's steal and make better telepathically.

i agree :D

[caelycate]

love, love, loved it! i took an art history class focusing on Van Gogh last year, and from what i learned, you have captured Van Gogh's symbolism perfectly - but also put your own unique twist on it. he painted empty chairs symbolizing people from his past, so i loved your line about painting the windows of places from your past.