** Here are two revisions of the same poem. The first one's going in the anthology, yet I feel more "needs doing" before the final portfolio. Thus, the second. I'd love to hear what you all think. I know many of you have commented before that you feel the draft begs for more detail surrounding the "you." Well, don't know if that's happening--any suggestions on how to circumvent that?**
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South Street
From the kitchen window, a car and a tree
together, an invective against physics,
all hiss and autumn foliage. You lie in bed,
victim to a merciless sleep, your hair awash
in the blue-tinted sound of sirens.
How they didn’t wake you is a mystery
large as the moon, which installed itself
over South Street in this noir version.
For we’ve known each other too long,
swallowing each other like mirrors,
to believe in some fateful union.
Opening another beer, I advocated
for a detached calm—an accurate want,
a vision of myself somewhere in that marriage
of shattered oak and metal. While the moon,
still hanging there like a dead clock, refused
to offer South Street any premise of color.
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A Car Hits A Tree On South Street
From my kitchen window, the brutal embrace
of a car and a tree is an invective against physics.
You're in bed, surrendered to a merciless sleep,
and the blue-tinted sound of sirens stains our walls.
How they didn't wake you is a mystery
the size of the moon, which, like a dead clock,
hung over South Street. We've known each other too long
and I've swallowed my image of you like a mirror.
Opening my last beer, the total grandeur
of the space between us washes against me
like the sea into a pier. Gazing out the kitchen window,
I want to be that machine crushed to the trunk of you.
One small suggestion on getting more of the "you" into the first version--instead of "a vision of myself" in the third stanza, why not make it "a vision of us"? Especially with the mention of marriage so soon afterward, I think it would seem more inclusive, at least. Might help to take another look at that Robert Lowell poem we practiced-workshopped early in the semester, "Man and Wife." As a matter of fact, it looks like you may have already considered that poem while working on this one, as I see some similarities already. But I was thinking, particularly, of how Lowell shows more about the "you" in his poem.
ReplyDeleteBrian,
ReplyDeleteHaving looked at this piece in a number of incarnations throughout the semester, I have to say, you've shown some top notch especially in this latest draft. I would also have to agree with Jonette that this draft could suffice with only a few minor alterations.
Instead of having your speaker only wish for union in the final line of stanza 3, you might consider having him do something as simple as climbing into bed with this you/lover figure. Though it would only be a small gesture, I think it would resonate with a fair amount of strength given everything else this moment would be built on. Maybe something as simple as "Climbing into bed, I hope to be a machine fused to the trunk of you". Obviously this is just some impromptu riffing, but you get what im trying to touch on. Hope this helps.
I hate to say it, but I think the second draft overpoeticizes the moment you are trying to capture. I think Billy's notion of a simple action to show what you are trying to capture makes sense. Its the last line I struggle with, "Gazing out the kitchen window,
ReplyDeleteI want to be that machine crushed to the trunk of you." I don't think I have heard it before, but it feels forced. Your speaker is very much entranced by this scene outside the window-made it abundantly clear. Why not just let her sleep, but make sure the speaker does that? Make sense? A simple comment on the time of night, maybe "you" have to get up early the next morning. Something.
One more-the title. I like "South Street" better because you explain the relevance quickly as you set up the scene. The more descriptive "A Car Hits A Tree On South Street" seems unnecessary.
Just for the record, I wish could've written
How they didn’t wake you is a mystery
large as the moon, which installed itself
over South Street in this noir version.
That is great stuff, sir.