Acceptance

[Hawkman]

In this narrow lane the air is stained
yellow by the mourning light
reflected from the leaves
still clinging to denuded trees.
The road is plastered brown with mud,
shed by tractor wheels
as they escaped the sodden fields.

Rain falls, not enough to wash
the potholed asphalt free from loamy skin,
but sufficiently to frost the windscreen
and keep the wipers gainfully employed.
A sinister squeak accompanies manoeuvres
as I turn the wheel to the left,
but not when right.
Right turns have no serenade,
audible above Chopin and Debussy
and the engine’s drone.

Why am I here on this road to nowhere?
I’m here because
I abdicated responsibility for my course
to a machine.
Had I planned my route from maps
I’d still be on main roads. Laziness
and dependence on technology
have brought me here,
where I don’t need to be;
but the light is golden
and there are things to see.

[tailor STATELY]

Enjoyed.

Another road less taken of sorts.

Perhaps morning rather than "mourning" ? "Mourning" doesn't seem to fit the tone you've set (unless mourning=morning on your side of the pond).

Perhaps device is more appropriate than "machine" in S2 L4 ?

Loved the contrast of wheel and classical music.

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[hillwalker]

Interesting piece, Hawk. I'm sensing there's something more afoot than merely a dodgy wheel bearing - the turn to the left (or sinister) heralding a less heavenly chorus than to the right.

I did feel that the final stanza got a little wordy - too much pontificating about why the driver is heading along 'the road to nowhere' (and where have I heard that phrase before?).
My initial thought was Chris Rea - God forbid - then of course I realised it was actually Talking Heads.

H

[Buh4Bee]

(Carry a map just in case.) But seriously, about the poem...it was very easy to read. You do a nice job inviting the reader in to ride along, even if it's one down a lost road. The sense of the surrounding beauty and pleasant music creates nice atmosphere, despite the writer's frustration for being in the wrong place. The metaphor works on a larger scale. In my opinion, it gives the piece more depth.

[Haunted]

I must confess that had I not read others comments I thought you killed someone along a deserted road: "mourning", "loamy skin" and "sinister" and with that my macabre imagination took off with it. However the last stanza steered me back on course and I realized I got the whole thing wrong. On re-reading it I totally appreciated that off road experience and the thrill of serendipity (as opposed to thrill kill :D)

[PrinceMyshkin]

There is such a strong but effortlessly unfolding rhythm throughout the first stanza that everything after it suffered, prosaically, after it.

[Jack of Hearts]

It seems as though the narrator failed to routinely maintenance his automobile. This seems to have culminated in a break down/slowing down that forces the narrator to look at the world at a more leisurely pace.

This reader thinks that Prince is right about the first stanza having the strongest rhythm. But the rest of the poem has a movement to it as well- it is hardly spoilt. There's some even handed rhyme going on in there, too. This was a really good offering Hawk. Enjoy your tow home.






J

[Hawkman]

Thank you all for gracing this thread with your attention.

tS: The mourning was deliberate and intended to flavour the image. Sorry, but not keen on device I'm afraid ;)

hill: I can see how you might think that the final stanza might be overly explicit. I did consider excising:

Had I planned my route from maps
I’d still be on main roads.

and I agree that the poem would work without it, but I'm reluctant to do this. I feel that to do so would diminish possible interpretation of an extended metaphor.

B4B: Thanks for that. you seem to have got the most from this poem :)

Haunted: You really ought to stop watching those violent movies - LOL Not so much off road, but certainly off the beaten track :D

Prince: Sorry you felt the poem prgressed to an anti-climax

Jack: The vehicle had in fact just passed it's annual inspection! It was not so much the mechanical integrity of the car which caused me to slow down, but rather the narrow winding road which was not conducive to speed. The journey back was somewhat swifter, so no tow needed thanks, as I ignored the satnav and navigated by roadsigns instead - LOL Glad you enjoyed it.

Live and be well - H

[Buh4Bee]

Hawkman- I really like your writing style.

[blank|verse]

Yes, there does seem to be a Frost influence to this one, Hawk; a combination of 'The Road Not Taken' - the opening line of which ('Two roads diverged in a yellow wood' [my italics]) finds an echo in your second line:

In this narrow lane the air is stained
yellow by the mourning light
(I didn't like the rather groan-some 'mourning' pun, either) - and also 'Stopping by Woods…', towards the end of the poem: the famous 'But I have promises to keep | And miles to go before I sleep' finds an echo in your 'the light is golden | and there are things to see'. (Or maybe it's closer to the British poet Michael Hulse's lighthearted rewrite:

My smartarse horse will not be fed
nor will I rest my weary head
unless we find the A to Z
unless we find the A to Z
Although your poem brings things more up to date, with the reference to the SatNav. And that's pronounced 'Zed', not 'Zee', for those the other side of the pond, by the way!)

There are also some lines in the first stanza – 4, 5 and 7 – which are lines of iambic tetrameter – the same used by Frost in 'Stopping by Woods', which perhaps explains why others have found this stanza more rhythmic. (And note the use of 'frost' as a verb in line 10… although saying 'rain' has 'frost[ed] the windscreen' seems counterintuitive.) Anyway, maybe the poem would have been more satisfying if the lines were more regular. It might be worth chipping away and seeing if you can achieve this, it feels like the poem would benefit from a bit of tidying.

The references to turning left and right make me think there's some political element to this; particularly in conjunction with other phrases in the poem like 'gainfully employed' – a political phrase to describe workers, not windscreen wipers – and 'abdicated responsibility' – which has resonances of the monarchy, or at least those in political power.

I'm in general agreement with Prince and hill about the last stanza. There's really no need to tell the reader you're on this 'road to nowhere', less still to use a cliché, because the reader will be able to gather as much from the preceding stanzas. The poetry dips out at this point for a few lines, before making a welcome return at the end of the stanza.

So ultimately, the 'Acceptance' in the poem is accepting where fate, or pernicious 'technology' perhaps, has left the narrator. The poem's fraught with tensions though – it seems art (Chopin and Debussy) and nature (the 'golden light' - or is that a refrence to religion, to heaven?) are offered as redeeming factors against technology… yet the narrator is listening to art through the music player in a car.

Interesting poem, though, Hawk; good to read, thanks for posting it.

[Hawkman]

B4B: Thanks for that :)

b/v: Well My poem certainly seems to have given you lots to think about ;) I have to accept that in theme at least there are parallels with "The Road Not Taken" but what you seem to interpret as a direct Frostian reference, was, I fear, just coincidence. I was thinking of how to give the impression of the windscreen spattered with rain, and I did think of beaded glass, but this transported me to Los Alamos, and I didn't want to go there! Transparency made translucent was more in keeping with frosted glass :D

I am reminded though of an old, famous quoted line poetry competition entry I made:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
Though why it was yellow was not understood.
Were all the trees cowards, afraid of the axe,
That smite them to lumber for putting in sacks,
Or was it disease that affected the trees,
Infected by X-file type, modified bees?

The answer, I felt, lay down one of the paths,
One strewn with stones and the other with laths.
The mystery now I just had to unravel;
I followed the one that was covered with gravel.
The custard wood lured me deeper within
And I wished that a priest could have shriven my sin.

But at last, in a clearing, the answer I found,
It was obvious now that I looked all around,
At the top of a ladder, quite close to a tree,
A man with a spray-gun was looking at me.
He pointed his weapon and right then I fainted
And found when I woke, I too, had been painted.


As always, thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts.

Live and be well - H