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four spaceman poems
spcmnspff
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
So I'm taking a poetry workshop this semester. Here are some of the things I'm working on. Any comments, criticisms, and preferences are very welcome. (I have to pick one to submit next week).
A Gril Sitting by the Sea
We met in line in Rostock,
In the hopes of finding a bed
On a ferry to Helsinki.
We sat very close in the tall grass
On the coastline
With a carton of warm red wine;
And cursed the steady stream of passengers who bought tickets before us.
Niether of us knew where we would sleep
That night;
And I kept thinking,
So this is how affairs begin.
When the sun spilled across the water,
The cars were safely in the hull,
And the passengers all boarded,
A man from the ticket office waved his hands
“A bed is free in one of the male rooms,”
he called.
I thought about Tamara afterwards,
Picking dandelions,
And drinking wine;
While I sailed in the company of men
To meet my lover across the Baltic Sea.
The Man in the Repair Shop
The man in the repair shop
Passed away –
The one who spent his days
Restoring manual typewriters
That have since gone out of style.
He knew how to tell a bad part
From the good;
He knew by the sound
And the touch of it.
They all said he was the best
At rebuilding feed rollers
By peeling rubber from the metal core,
And using strips of cut latex
To remove the signs of age.
Champions of Recess
Gabriel and Angela sitting by a tree,
K – I . . .
While on the other side
Of the field out by the tall fence where the dark dog roams
Little limbs collided like pistons,
Surrounded by a pack of onlookers
That grew smaller, intimate,
Monstrous one;
They detached,
Spit each other out, and the circle became wider,
Inhaling, exhaling,
Organic arena breathing
Affirmation through desire
Through tempest youth
Through jagged elbow swinging,
Through little leg kicking,
Stomping,
Sweeping its swollen opponent down
Down
Into as much dirt as possible,
Before the bell rang.
S – S – I – N – G.
the tabs are all wrong on this one, but anyway . . .
Still movement, still
Salvation or Technopolis? Absolute Language, either way.
(with little left – for you and I – but we’re still movement,
still – so we can catch our breath,
and the boy in the branches of genealogy – self in community, returning
to two
community – a moonlit compartment – the strangers got off at St. Dizier
“bon soir” well before dawn,
“finallement”
your body held – by the rhythmic cli-click of passing track, and the heat
of steel upon steel,
into the night – memory in
language,seeking
something still,
for you and I, and prklink__ kink this intimate meandering
to two
– outside, soldiers smoking on a platform – every town has a chapel or a church
while we escaping
Salvation and Technopolis – toward the horizon of endless indefinition,
“tes mains balladeuse” say yes
“je t’invite”
cli-click
track beneath our feet, and the names of towns like graffitti on the landscape
“on serpent”
upon sticky worn seats of faded green leather a breeze ruffles the drawn curtains racing toward an open draw bridge
our own incomparable
movement)
A Gril Sitting by the Sea
We met in line in Rostock,
In the hopes of finding a bed
On a ferry to Helsinki.
We sat very close in the tall grass
On the coastline
With a carton of warm red wine;
And cursed the steady stream of passengers who bought tickets before us.
Niether of us knew where we would sleep
That night;
And I kept thinking,
So this is how affairs begin.
When the sun spilled across the water,
The cars were safely in the hull,
And the passengers all boarded,
A man from the ticket office waved his hands
“A bed is free in one of the male rooms,”
he called.
I thought about Tamara afterwards,
Picking dandelions,
And drinking wine;
While I sailed in the company of men
To meet my lover across the Baltic Sea.
The Man in the Repair Shop
The man in the repair shop
Passed away –
The one who spent his days
Restoring manual typewriters
That have since gone out of style.
He knew how to tell a bad part
From the good;
He knew by the sound
And the touch of it.
They all said he was the best
At rebuilding feed rollers
By peeling rubber from the metal core,
And using strips of cut latex
To remove the signs of age.
Champions of Recess
Gabriel and Angela sitting by a tree,
K – I . . .
While on the other side
Of the field out by the tall fence where the dark dog roams
Little limbs collided like pistons,
Surrounded by a pack of onlookers
That grew smaller, intimate,
Monstrous one;
They detached,
Spit each other out, and the circle became wider,
Inhaling, exhaling,
Organic arena breathing
Affirmation through desire
Through tempest youth
Through jagged elbow swinging,
Through little leg kicking,
Stomping,
Sweeping its swollen opponent down
Down
Into as much dirt as possible,
Before the bell rang.
S – S – I – N – G.
the tabs are all wrong on this one, but anyway . . .
Still movement, still
Salvation or Technopolis? Absolute Language, either way.
(with little left – for you and I – but we’re still movement,
still – so we can catch our breath,
and the boy in the branches of genealogy – self in community, returning
to two
community – a moonlit compartment – the strangers got off at St. Dizier
“bon soir” well before dawn,
“finallement”
your body held – by the rhythmic cli-click of passing track, and the heat
of steel upon steel,
like thieves in a boxcar – taking back that
which they know is theirs,into the night – memory in
language,seeking
something still,
for you and I, and prklink__ kink this intimate meandering
to two
– outside, soldiers smoking on a platform – every town has a chapel or a church
while we escaping
Salvation and Technopolis – toward the horizon of endless indefinition,
“tes mains balladeuse” say yes
“je t’invite”
cli-click
track beneath our feet, and the names of towns like graffitti on the landscape
“on serpent”
upon sticky worn seats of faded green leather a breeze ruffles the drawn curtains racing toward an open draw bridge
our own incomparable
movement)
spcmnspff on
Posts
here's one answer
Love Like Spider Legs
There are times I miss -
Before the spindly legs of spiders
Kept you from sleeping,
From eating from
Thinking straight.
I bet it was the threat of all that
Movement.
How did you spot
Them crawling in the corners of the
Ceiling in the curtain drawn night?
“Kill it, kill it, kill it,”
You said.
I stood on a chair and swung
A slipper, but you could still make out
The broken legs;
There is nothing more fragile
Than the love of two people
Who are so terrified of the same damn thing.
I know this because there
Are times I miss.
The fourth stanza is bothering me. Not because it is inherently flawed but because there is something not quite right and I don't see any way of changing it that would make it any better. Oh, I would say "In the hold," not "in the hull." The latter, being the actual metal portion makes me think that the cars have become a literal part of the ship.
I don't quite like the last two lines; and they're indicative of my sentiments on the whole, that this is so very close and so almost good, but needs a little tweaking. At any rate I would leave out "Baltic," but then you may as well do away with the last line and come up with something else.
On the whole it's a fine little poem but it needs a little work.
Ryan M Long Photography
Buy my Prints!
i haven't come up with a better ending yet (which isn't to say that i don't agree). anyway, your comments prodded me to rework and rethink some things. you were right about "on the coast" and also about the fourth stanza. thank you. thoughts about any others?
here's my second draft, in case anyone is curious:
A Girl Sitting by the Sea
We met in line in Rostock,
In the hopes of finding a bed
On a ferry to Helsinki.
We sat very close in the tall grass,
With a carton of warm red wine,
And cursed the steady stream of passengers who bought tickets before us.
Niether of us knew where we would sleep
That night;
And I kept thinking,
So this is how affairs begin.
As the world waited for evening tide,
And sad swollen twilight beat against the hull,
The woman from the ticket office waved her hands.
“A bed is free in one of the male rooms,”
she called.
I thought about you afterwards,
Picking dandelions,
And drinking wine
While I sailed in the company of faithless men
To meet my lover across the Baltic Sea.
I think this is a definite and kick ass improvement. I think in a few more revisions you'll have something really good. You don't need to change much at all, just little things which are matters of personal preference.
Ryan M Long Photography
Buy my Prints!
This stanza:
How did you spot
Them crawling in the corners of the
Ceiling in the curtain drawn night?
One corner, unless there are spiders everywhere. 'Ceiling in the curtain drawn night' is also a bit off somehow, but I can't put my finger on it. The first part does alright, it could serve to mean that the first emotions of love were spotted by the girl, even though the room, the backdrop of life from which emotion springs forth, was dark and shadowy. So instead of ceiling, I would allude to the room as a whole to continue your metaphor in stride.
and these two lines:
I stood on a chair and swung
A slipper, but you could still make out
Are alright, but again unclear in context. In your metaphor, these lines and the previous (kill it kill it) would mean that you have both now condemned the love between you; she wishes it dead, and you are undertaking that procedure. With your last two lines:
I know this because there
Are times I miss.
'missing' here implies that sometimes you allow the relationship to grow and progress naturally, despite your active attempts to terminate it.
Which is cool and all if that's what you're trying to say.
All in all, a much stronger statement than any of your others, and the imagery is apt and striking. It resonates a bit more - I think you have more personally invested in this one. Quite good, the more I read it, the more I like it.
i liked the idea of spiders everywhere, but i see now what you mean. your comments have really gotten me thinking about the problems of mixed metaphors. making sure that the different images cohere in a meaningful way is quite a challenging little task (usually i find myself focusing on sound). it's a whole other way of looking at the poem, and a very important one. thank you.
anyway here's a rough second draft. hopefully plodding in the right direction:
A Love Like Spider Legs
The spindly legs of spiders
Kept you from sleeping,
From eating from
Thinking straight.
I bet it was the threat of all that
Movement.
How did you spot
That crawling in the corner of the
Ceiling in the curtain drawn night?
“Kill it, kill it, kill it,”
You said.
I stood on a chair and swung
A slipper, but you could still make out
The broken legs;
There is nothing more fragile
Than the love of two people
Who are so terrified of the same damn thing.
I know this because there
Are times I miss.
I also like the idea of mixing genres. Champions of Recess was originally a story, and so here's a version where i play around with reincorporating some of that narrative element:
Champions of Recess
Gabriel and Angela sitting by a tree,
K – I . . .
While on the other side
Of the field out by the tall fence where the dark dog roams
Little limbs collided like pistons,
Surrounded by a pack of onlookers
That grew smaller, intimate,
Monstrous one;
They detached,
Spit each other out, and the circle became wider,
Inhaling, exhaling,
Organic arena breathing
Affirmation through desire
Through jagged elbow swinging,
Through little leg kicking,
Stomping,
Sweeping its swollen opponent down
Down
Into as much dirt as possible,
Before the bell rang.
S – S – I – N – G.
“It’s over now,” said Mr. Mahoney. “I want you to shake hands, boys.”
“Boys indeed, David! Not at this school,” said Ms. Phillips. “I’ll make sure these two little thugs get expelled for this. Next thing you know, David, they’ll be carrying knives and guns. I won’t stand for violence here, not in this day and age. I won’t allow it. Not here.”
Mr. Mahoney and Ms. Phillips escorted the champions of recess past the portables with stripped yellow siding and into the halls of the main building. The bell was ringing now, and the cluster of games scattered and spilled across the asphalt, but a group of boys still lingered out in the field by the fence where the dark dog roamed.
This bit:
Inhaling, exhaling,
Organic arena breathing
Affirmation through desire
Seems overcooked a touch. Why all these big words describing little kids? Short stubby choppy awkward words with too much emotion and too little nuance would be fine.
Oh, BTW. I pinned down what was bugging me in this one:
How did you spot
That crawling in the corner of the
Ceiling in the curtain drawn night?
Its the repetition of your articles interfering with your line breaks. Within one sentance you have 'in the', 'of the' and 'in the'- fine as repeats, but I'd consider reshaping the line to preserve a more even cadence:
How did you spot that
Crawling
In the corner of the ceiling
In the curtain drawn night
Otherwise the stressing falls on 'of the', and creates 'Ceiling in the curtain drawn night' as a lost and wandering fragment.
How's your class going by the way?
it's a very small group and the professor is the poet laureate of canada.
gulp.
yeah, i had heard that there was a hint of magic realism in some of his stuff.
everything else i've read i really liked as well.