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Of course, glamming up for suicide adds yet another surreal dimension to the current crop of rail-related tragedies.
One request for Christmas. Could you use a slightly larger font size so I don't have to dig out my Sherlock Holmes magnifying glass to study your little gems?
H :-)
Maybe we should all publish an anthology? What about 'Between the Lines' as a title? :)
Anyway, I thought the power of this poem comes from the tension between the narrator's matter-of-fact tone, and the suggestion of her actions.
I didn't see the original, but found 'actually' (line 2) a bit distracting. I presume the suggestion is that clocks in train stations are often wrong, but found the inclusion of a disjunct (an adverbial used to comment on what is being discussed) introduces an opinion about the clock, where perhaps a more straight-forward description or subtle figurative image would work better. I'm reminded of Charles Simic's 'The Clocks of the Dead':
One night I went to keep the clock company.Similarly in the line: 'who will wait till I’m really ready', I'm not sure if you need 'really'. With it, I found I skimmed the first five words, and placed heavy stress on 'really'; without it would give a more measured two-stress line: 'who will wait till I’m ready' which seems a more apt rhythm... although perhaps loses something of the narrator's idiolect.
It had a loud tick after midnight
As if it were uncommonly afraid.
Anyway, just some thoughts, and thanks for your comments about my own railway poem.
Hill, thanks for the read and yes, you will have your Christmas wish ;)
b/v, it sure would make an awesome volume especially with the very clever 'Between the Lines' title, LOL. I vaguely remember JerryB wrote a train poem too, quite remarkable if I recall.
Those lines from Charles Simic are just great. Clocks in public places are either broken or have the wrong time so yes, it is a pet peeve of mine, which doesn't have to be in the poem. I put "really" in there because it's a trip of no return, so to speak, and one really has to be ready for it. Without it, it becomes more matter-of-fact which is the overall tone. I'll have to sleep on this one.
Actually I have you to thank because your Trainspotters and replies to my comments, along with Hawk's Exit, reminded me I'm long overdue for a train poem.
oh my god, what's happening over here! yet another conspiracy! haunted, perhaps it's time to choose a new avatar (a figure lying in the grass, a Lolita kind or so?)
thanks for sharing anyway! I'd prefer the poem ended at "locomotive" (a stronger ending).
take a very good care of yourself (and of N!)!
Bar
No conspiracy, no worries. I agree it can end with locomotive but it might be a bit too subtle. Also there's a tremendous sense of pathos in identifying the mangled body of someone you know..... Thanks for weighing in Bar, and also for looking out for N.
Ahhh. My favourite Haunted poem since about, oh I dont know... 1948? suicide and glamour? whats not to love? Its right down my dark street and I loved it dear haunted.
Oh the L word again JerryCharmy. 63 years in the making, for your reading pleasure my fave reader.
downsize
it’s rotten to watch
the gallon of milk
long expired and soured
draining down
an unforgiving dark hole
even more rotten
is the scenario
swirling in my head
in some cold isolated dairy aisle
I’m reaching for a quart of milk
same time as a stranger
and the static electricity I feel
is the shock that I once knew this hand
but all I can choke up is
’cuse me
I think we've all felt that dread at the anticipation of bumping into someone we don't really want to meet. This is nicely crafted Haunted, but watch for the tense change from present to past in those last three lines. You might want to add an is at the beginning of S3 L5.
A good read.
Live and be well - H
A strange and subtle one this - we're left pondering is the 'stranger' really a stranger, or is there some shared history. Now estranged they both go through the same motions of emptying the fridge then stocking up again on fresh milk (but this time by the quart rather than the gallon).
H
Hawk, it's indeed dreadful! Thanks again for alleviating my tense-ion :D
Hill, wow, you are good! Once again your interpretation is right on. I was concerned that it might be too subtle. To expand the drain imagery I revised S2. In case it's too obscure for anyone...wind/liquid moves counterclockwise in the Northern Hemisphere—where this writer lives.
Actually Haunted the coriolis effect is a myth. The deciding factor of which way the liquid drains is all to do with diameter of pipe, angle of fall and imperfections in manufacture. Sad but true :D You still need to replace was with is in the penultimate line and I fear that your modification of the whirling may have disrupted the rhythm of the piece.
Live long and prosper - H
Hawk you're right about breaking the rhythm, I tossed "counterclockwise" but not because it's a myth :p I didn't even see "was", it's now fixed. Thanks again!
You picked up on such a subtle experience that this reader has personally felt many times but would never think to write about. You're pretty much a rockstar, Queen Jane.
This reader felt that the word 'unforgiving' was out of place here.Quote:
an unforgiving dark hole
A small nitpick in what was definitely a good poem.
J
Jack, I'm pleased that you can relate. Actually that wasn't the poem. The one I started writing was "unforgiving" with apathy being the most rotten thing I feel, and the poem that should have been written is as follows.
downsize
it’s rotten to watch
the gallon of milk
long expired and soured
draining down
an unforgiving dark hole
even more rotten
is your face fading
with the murky runoff
and the scenario
swirling in my head
that on some distant cold night
down an even colder dairy aisle
we happen to bump
face to face
hand over hand
reaching for the same
quart of milk
and all I see is a stranger
and all I have to say to you is
’cuse me