A Word To the Tourists

[PoetTree]

White-skinned women squeal, lifting tanktops
to reveal rib cages strung with bones, skinned xylophones.
Red-faced men bedecked in gold and purple strands wound
round thick necks down shots at Masquerade.
"New Orleans!" they scream,
grinding to the sax strain of Bubba Despain,
who's really Bob, from Lake Champlain.

They'll go home
with tales of fried catfish,
mad jazz, and women wild as polecats.
But they haven't been to New Orleans,
they don't know the local scene:

In the blue-dark of Bayou Metairie
the women are women, an abundance of flesh
with rumps round as pumpkins and ripe jiggling breasts.
Indolent hips move in a circling sway,
thick lips spread, sly eyes open halfway.
They lure thin-mustached men,
who grin and swig rum to the hollow beat
of trash barrel drums. The night is lit by cigarette glint,
the white shine of eyes and the wet sheen of sweat,
the glisten of moon on sin-dark skin...

they don't know Orleans
til they've seen Metairie.

http://www.cosmic-rays.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/5376893121_9696036565_b-572x528.jpg

[hillwalker]

I want to go there - get my palm read perhaps or sample some gumbo.

A vivid piece if a little prosey in parts.

H

[PrinceMyshkin]

"they don't know Orleans
til they've seen Metairie."

But you, assuredly do! The chief virtue of this poem, I believe, are the vivid portraits of both those who come in search of New Orleans and those who live there; but along with this are your wonderful rhymes, half- and quarter-rhymes running through it!

I can see why the Hill thinks some of it is or borders on being prosey, but I have no quarrel with that in this poem.

[Delta40]

This is my favourite poem of the day! Never been to either place but this poem is so rich in flavours, I can taste it. Well done and do us all a favour and post another!

[Buh4Bee]

I hear it! And love it!

[PoetTree]

Mr. Hillwalker, I'm not sure I understand what you mean when you say it's "prosey." I think you said that about my last one too. Too wordy? Can you switch prosey with a synonym so I can understand better?

[blank|verse]

I think I made the remark about your other poem being 'prosey', and I agree with hill that the same is true here. But that's not to take anything away from the extremely vibrant characterisation expressed so vividly and entertainingly in this poem.

But reading the piece, the lines seem to work more strongly as sentences (prose) rather than as individual lines balanced with or against each other in some way (poetry). Of course, that's a very rough definition but the difference between the two types of writing is one we as readers seem to intuit naturally - hence the comment about this piece being 'prosey'.

Also it is, as you say, 'too wordy' in parts. Rhythmically, there are some very slow passages.

Red-faced men bedecked in gold and purple strands wound
round thick necks down shots at Masquerade.
There are lots of stressed monosyllabic words here - seven in a row in fact - which establishes a very heavy rhythm and suggests they've been chosen to make this image work in isolation, rather than in relation to the rest of the poem. Do you want a slow rhythm for a poem about New Orleans? And contrast this part with the conversational tone of the second stanza, for example.

The best way to learn the difference is to read (and listen to) a lot of contemporary poetry, and see how poets use lines and rhythms - and read them and your own work aloud, of course, poetry is written for the voice.

And if you've not written any short stories or prose, then I would encourage you to try. Your concentration on characters here and in your other poem is also something associated more with prose than poetry and seems to be where your natural writing strength lies. That said, both pieces you've posted are very good and imaginative in their own right.

[PoetTree]

Thanks, blankverse, that clears things up somewhat. I appreciate your suggestion about writing short stories, but poetry has my heart. I'll take your advice and try to incorporate it into my next attempt.

[blank|verse]

That's quite alright, PoetTree, thanks for listening and I look forward to your next poem.

[Hawkman]

This reads to me like two discrete poems, the first pair of stanzas being quite self-contained. I think the line-breaks might be better arranged. eg:

"White-skinned women squeal,
lifting tanktops to reveal
rib cages strung with bones,
skinned xylophones.
Red-faced men,
bedecked in gold and purple,
strands wound round thick necks,
down shots at Masquerade.
"New Orleans!" they scream,
grinding to the sax strain of Bubba Despain,
who's really Bob, from Lake Champlain."

The third stanza could be pruned of some extraneous words to improve its "poetic" impact and rhythm. For example:

"with pumpkin rumps and jiggling breasts.
Indolent hips in circling sway,
thick lips spread, eyes open halfway."

Never-the-less, this was a thoroughly enjoyable piece with bags of atmosphere.

Live and be well - H

[JuniperWoolf]

I've always loved New Orleans from afar (Canada). I'd love to go. I have a lot of interest in old witchcraft, so I've got to go to the city eventually. Also I really love what I've learned about Swamp ecology. My god, imagine seeing a panther. A gator! One of those big trees draped in moss, I better make a good friend if I go so that I don't die probably ten minutes after I go exploring.

[PoetTree]

Ah! NOW I get it, Hawkman. The poem is about 10x better the way you have written it. The old "less is more" idea, hmm? I would tidy it up as you suggest, but it would feel like plagiarism ;) Instead I will let this poem die a natural death and edit my next poem before posting to reflect your advice.

Thanks for taking the time to do that!