Beginning Friendship

[Bar22do]

Over mint tea at the Mosque patio cafe
we shape our fortuitous bond.

Sparrows sprawling between us and the lemon tree,
deft beaks pecking at my pistachio cake,
your these and thats absorb me.
Nargila apple smoke somewhat screens
the exertion that settles my face.
«That's luck!» I exclaim when
a milky dew lands on the rim of my skirt.

Talking, we seem to bridge our worlds.
An arabesque of your smoke also veils
your yesterday’s long ago hurt,
now only zigzagging eyes, bird to bird,
and a tiny ripple at your mouth denuding you.

But you feel safe until
the Arab waiter come connoisseur
snaking through tables and chairs
arrives
and intercepts at first glance
what you believe you conceal.
Drowning you in his smile
he forgets my cup of tea on the tray.
He thus reinvents you
as you giggle, abashed,
heroine in the adventure of his gaze.

Then
beyond the melee we let bald, bulging silence in:
a disenchanted bubble, heavy with years.

[Hawkman]

Bar, this is truly beautiful. It's so lucid I feel as though I was there. H

[Il Dante]

You have skill with free verse.
Writing good free verse can be awful tricky. Someone described it as playing tennis without a net. But well done!

I find your choice of subject quite interesting and inspiring. Poetry doesn't just have to be about universe-encompassing themes of life, love, etc. Even a conversation between friends over lunch can, in eloquent hands, make for an excellent poem.

It somewhat reminds me of "The Love Song of Alfred Purfrock," which eschews the grand themes of classical poetry in favor of seemingly simply and mundane descriptions of a middle-aged modern man's life. I should like to write a poem like that someday.

[hack]

This is great Bar. I like it a lot. It is a beautiful capture.
The awkwardness of, and recognition of a new friendship.
At the end, a look back, from the future it seems. That
part reminds me of Byron's apologies for a lost friendship.
...peace...

[blank|verse]

There are some really wonderful moments in this beautifully expressed poem.

Over mint tea at the Mosque patio cafe
we shape our fortuitous bond.
The rhythm of these first two lines is brilliant. The first line is very stress-heavy (the spondee of 'mint tea', and the three-beat phrase of 'Mosque patio cafe') leaves the reader suspended; something that is brilliantly resolved in the second line, with its free-flowing dactyls ('SHAPE our for-TU-it-ous BOND') which themselves are suggested by 'PA-ti-o' in the first line. Excellent.

The first three stanzas are superb; the intervention of speech brilliantly punctuating the scene and bringing us back to reality with exactly the kind of slightly desperate exclamation one reaches for in those situations.

The fourth stanza is weaker and, if you're going to work on the poem in future, I would suggest this stanza could be stronger.

Then
beyond the melee we let bald, bulging silence in:
a disenchanted bubble, heavy with years.
I liked this ending at first, but then thought if the poem is describing a new friendship, how can a silence between them be 'heavy with years'?

Still a great poem, overall.

[paperleaves]

Wow. This is immaculately written (esp. in the first two lines) in regards to imagery--you achieve with this such a beautiful story--thank you for sharing!



in kindness,
paper

[Bar22do]

Thanks Hawkman, Il Dante, Hack, Blank Verse and Paper! It's wonderful and useful to have your inputs and observations!

Hawkman, I'm happy you could identify and "live" my poem.

Il Dante, it's more than grace for my poem to have made you think of Eliot! I don't deserve so much but - thank you...

Hack and B/V - I think I will work again on the last two lines, they are not as clear as the rest and it seems I failed at conveying what I wanted to. I was actually suggesting in them that for a moment, after the waiter episode, the two women had kind of sank into a silent contemplation each of her own past shadows, wondering if perhaps their life experiences were what first enabled their connection, unconsciously, or simply if this bond had a chance to become a solid friendship.

Paper - I tried to catch the moment and suspend it in the unknown...

B/V - your analysis is always enlightening as far as rhythm, form etc are concerned, while I only obey some primitive intuition when I write... thanks a lot.

Warm regards to you all. Bar

[blank|verse]

B/V - your analysis is always enlightening as far as rhythm, form etc are concerned, while I only obey some primitive intuition when I write... thanks a lot.

Well Bar, it seems like you have an innate sense of the poetic and rhythmic, which is essential for good writing. (Another great example is the internal 'tea - tree' rhyme in the first three lines.)

And that, believe it or not, is how I tend to work; with the 'Skylark' poem, I didn't sit around worrying about dactyls etc. but think 'what am I trying to say?', 'how does this sound aloud?', 'is this working rhythmically?' The analysis comes afterwards; but it's good to know because we can all improve, and learning which things work and why, and which don't, is essential for that development.

I'll look out for any revisions.

[Bar22do]

Well Bar, it seems like you have an innate sense of the poetic and rhythmic, which is essential for good writing. (Another great example is the internal 'tea - tree' rhyme in the first three lines.)

And that, believe it or not, is how I tend to work; with the 'Skylark' poem, I didn't sit around worrying about dactyls etc. but think 'what am I trying to say?', 'how does this sound aloud?', 'is this working rhythmically?' The analysis comes afterwards; but it's good to know because we can all improve, and learning which things work and why, and which don't, is essential for that development.

I'll look out for any revisions.

It's reassuring to know you too let first the inner sense/impulse to express ideas... your above description matches well my own approach to writing... thanks for sharing this. I'm still in between countries and it may take another day or more before I can manage some quiet time to revise the poem, but it will come! Thanks for taking interest.

Warm regards - Bar

[blank|verse]

Well I hope you have a safe journey and I'll keep an eye out for any tinkering.

Best wishes,
b|v

[hack]

I apologize, once again, for reading something into your poem that you did not intend.
It is a beautiful beginning for a piece of prose. It is a story of the beginning of a story.
Very poetic and fluid and it begs more..peace...

[lallison]

This one is quite elegant and expressing of a warm bond two people form during a lovely afternoon, with a bit of foreshadow regarding where there friendship leads. It does a nice job of establishing setting and the free verse is well crafted. I especially like the first half of the poem and getting to know the narrator.

The third stanza seems a bit redundant bringing up the smoke again. Maybe if you developed that idea a bit further in the second stanza it would be enough.

I think you've got lots of potential with this one, and I like the ending, although melancholy, it's very astute.

[Bar22do]

B/V I'll run, I'll fly, I'll perch on a branch again, I'll take a breath, Heaven willing, and hopefully will use my editing feather then..

hack, it's a story of the possible story. I was unclear so pls don't apologise!! For the rest poetry belongs to the reader more than to the poet, doesn't it (well, I know this can bear a discussion).

lallison, the second smoke comes from the protagonist's cigarette, the first from the hookah and each sort of "veils" first the N and then the protagonist's past hurts... but as I said, I must have been unclear. Thanks so much for liking and commenting on my poem.

Warm thoughts to you all - Bar

[Bar22do]

Hey again - clearly, I had some time today which I used to (finally!) edit also my one before the last poem: "Beginning Friendship", if you're willing to read the result, below -



Beginning Friendship


Over mint tea at the Mosque patio cafe
we shape our fortuitous bond.

Sparrows between us and a lemon tree,
swooping down after my pistachio cake,
your these and thats absorb me.
Nargila apple smoke from the next table
somewhat screens
the fatigue inscribed into my face.
«It's luck!» I exclaim
when a milky drop lands on the hem of my skirt.

Curiously, we seem to bridge our worlds.
An arabesque of your cigarette also veils
your troubled past,
now only zigzagging eyes, bird to bird,
and a tiny ripple at your mouth exposing you.

But you feel safe until
the Arab waiter come connoisseur
snaking through tables and chairs arrives
and intercepts at once
what you believe you conceal.
Drowning you in his smile, his hand
forgets my cup of tea on the tray.
He thus reinvents you
while you giggle, abashed,
heroine in the adventure of his gaze.

Then amidst the blithesome hubbub
we let bald, bulging silence in,
a disenchanted bubble, wrapped in years.





Thank you all for your help and advice, as always!