1993
I believe now in the owls that roost in our mortgage.
Your mother's bone china grating against the joists,
its once pristine blossoms, now grotesque, slipping, going Rorschach.
Your father's police uniform still sharp in the last gasp of its cellophane.
My mint stacks, Roger Clemens atrophies in that cardboard mausoleum.
These things, that burn between the planks,
have hardened and moldered for years.
I believe in the olive oil hissing on our stove,
the flayed tomatoes, their skins soaking the grout.
I love the quake of our bodies. Your hands
smelling of tea, Sweet Aftons, and Summer's last gargled ache.
I believe in the hunt for keys, while another
gentle minor third slips itself into yesterday.
The strings of my hands twinged. Where are we now,
after the glassy shriek of night, my shattered arm rejoined,
the silt of my wrist glazed in holy steel?
Children half our age drape our skin. They're laughing at us.
They don't believe we'll last the sweltering decades,
because in that quiet town from our Technicolor memories,
postmarked Alexandria, 1984, children half our age
seethe over fabric softener and Chinese take out.
In the space between yesterday and today,
cords tumble on February's Berber slab.
Billy this is an excellent draft. so many interesting phrases like "while another
ReplyDeletegentle minor third slips itself into yesterday"
"I believe now in the owls that roost in our mortgage"
"The strings of my hands twinged. Where are we now,after the glassy shriek of night"
I wonder what would happen first if you worked this poem out under the title "Divorce" not that that should be your title, but what would happen if you used that to work of for another draft.
In that case things could change, less phrasing more kenning and "the olive oil hissing on our stove" is now burning on our stove.
also the children now become your speakers own.
I agree with Jeff. There are definitely some interesting phrases to work with in this draft (I especially enjoyed: "I believe now in the owls that roost in our mortgage./ Your mother's bone china grating against the joists" and "In the space between yesterday and today").
ReplyDeleteIn gathering language for revision, I wonder if we could look specifically to events from 1993. Maybe this could help to "explode" the possibilities of the draft in ways which you haven't thought about before. For example: "I believe in myself, diligently hunting for keys to the soundtrack of Letterman announcing his move to CBS and you cursing olive oil burning on the stove." Obviously I am just playing around here, but it seems like this has possibility of opening up moments which solidify the scene for the reader (I constantly think of Dr. Davidson's question of "can you film it?"), add a new degree of logic to the draft, and help provide more information about who the "I" is.
I like the idea of playing with the title also. So many possibilities to experiments with through this language. What about "One Year Anniversary, 1993" or "Thanksgiving, 1993" or "The Danger of Marriage" or "The Destruction of 1993".
Very exciting draft here though, a lot of possibilities to work with.
I'd like to echo both Jeff and Zac, here. This draft has lots of engaging pairings (I think "the glassy shriek of night," and "the blossoms going Rorschachon on your mother's bone china" are particularly resonant). Furthermore, I found the draft also exhibiting a great control over its tonal register--which I found as rather tragic. I'll tell you why: "the pristine blossoms" have gone "Rorschach" (ink blot test, yeah?), "your father's police uniform"has its "last gasp", the Roger Clemons baseball card "atrophies," all during the "last gargled ache" of summer. I mean, we're talking about some serious shit here--beautiful written and executed, I'll add.
ReplyDeleteI will also agree what Zac suggests above. Many of the draft's instances of unusual specificity, although expressed tactfully, still remain rather generic. For instance, the allusion to "Sweet Aftons" remains just that. The mention of the words. I think the draft begs for more. Similarly, "Roger Clemens" and "Technicolor", and "Chinese take-out" don't seem to aid in painting the picture the draft wants to paint (if that makes sense). In other words, instead of relying so hard on the inclusion of multiple instances of specificity, try locating a couple of really potent ones and expand 'em.
Personally, this is my biggest problem in writing. In music, art, film--I am always drawn to that which confounds, mesmerizes. Give me Jordowoski any day over Spielberg. But even the most disorienting artists (the ones that do it well) continually draw the audience back and forth-- they give us those elements of life, of reality-- so that when the ground caves beneath your feet, you'll feel it. Excuse my tangent, this may or may not be what you are going for, but I have come to realize this in a large way recently, in my own work, in others. I noticed it here too.
Check Lowell's "Man and Wife" which we looked at early in the semester: watch how Lowell stretches his specific imagery--especially the recollection of "Greenwich Village" how it moves so candidly until the final line of the stanza when "your invective scorched the traditional south." So crazy, how it alters between confessional intimacy (clear specific imagery) and obscurity (or an oftentimes puzzling breakdown of that very same image) .
Easier said than done, of course. And, in short, this draft displays many kernels of this technique. Looking forward to reading what comes out of it.