Eating Seafood

[hallaig]

Eating Seafood



February, all light is bulbs or wrung through clouds
like grey underwear, the sun is bright lemon
only in drawings stuck to the brick.
Where are you as I stare at this plastic tablecloth
counting the white dots that blur like snow on a field?
You are eating seafood, of course,
in some bar or restaurant, or in your warm kitchen.
You are always eating seafood, in my mind
the scene is delicately shaded, with pearly overtones,
like Renoir’s ‘Girl Always Eating Seafood’.
Of the many things I may not have with you
why is seafood the most affecting?
Perhaps that answer is within reach,
like the dots, like taupe, a colour I didn’t know existed
till today, and can’t pronounce. Such things I find!
There are 46 dots, I ticked each off in pencil,
just before death became preferable.

[Bar22do]

Much pain and building poignancy in this poem, hallaig. I do not recall Renoir's painting called "girl always eating seafood", but perhaps N just sees "her" as if in a Renoir's painting (but then there is something confusing - me at least - in this line); I'm not sure about the image of light wrung through grey underwear, though I love "clouds as grey underwear" a lot.
I felt that the last line was too abrupt and too obvious, but perhaps it's only me.

The above reaction is only the result of my first two or three readings of your poem which asks (me!) for more!
The returning image of her eating seafood plus the growing obsession of counting white dots reflect N's state of mind so well and is original and subtle.
Thanks for sharing this poem, hallaig
and I wish you well,

Bar!

[Jack of Hearts]

Missing your jo, 'aig?






J

[hallaig]

Missing your jo, 'aig?






J

Got a consonant wrong but yes, Jack, you're right

[BookBeauty]

I'm not sure if I'm supposed to get this particular meaning, or mood from it, but when I read this poem, I get the feeling it's bitter, but almost humourous. As if the narrator is in defeat, but trying to laugh it off and lighten the situation with a lighthearted depiction of serious thoughts. I like this.

[Apostrophe]

Love this poem, there's something wry about it. The punctuation in this section is a bit confusing and could benefit from some clarification:

"You are always eating seafood, in my mind
the scene is delicately shaded, with pearly overtones,
like Renoir’s ‘Girl Always Eating Seafood’."

Perhaps
"You are always eating seafood; in my mind
the scene is delicately shaded with pearly overtones:
Renoir's 'Girl Always Eating Seafood.'"

Lovely work as always.

[Jerrybaldy]

I really enjoyed this hallaig and have returned to it several times to read it again.

What a wonderful opening:


February, all light is bulbs or wrung through clouds
like grey underwear, the sun is bright lemon
only in drawings stuck to the brick.


The sun only being bright in a childs drawing. Brilliant.
I dont know if this poem fits into a certain style or genre, others maybe will, but is exactly the style of writing I love to read.

It seems to be the wandering mind directly on to paper (or screen) and wander it does (the colour taupe).

I really enjoyed. Will keep looking out for your posts.
cheers
JerryB

[PrinceMyshkin]

"the white dots" that may represent his many happier memories of her, but that then "blur like snow on a field" may be a foreshadowing of that kick in the gut of a last line.

I think you must write poetry as easily as others of us hiccough!