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Week 123 (May 22nd to May 29th). Poems. Topic: Car Music
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Christa VG
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May 27, 2012 04:19PM
I think you poem is so interesting because it is not a rhyming poem, but I can still read it and understand it. Usually if it doesn't rhyme it won't flow in my mind.
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Well thank you Christa :) Hopefully I'll be putting poems up for contests more often, and you'll see that hardly any of my poems rhyme
I tried not to write the following, but no matter how hard I tried, this theme kept re-asserting itself. Eventually I gave in and told it. It isn't very good, but is what it is. Writing is so bizarre, sometimes.Blueberry Hill
The old man shuffled with difficulty into the attached garage.
The effort took all his concentration
because the once familiar steps, with the odd turn at their base,
were now fallen out of not just memory, but instinct.
He wanted, needed, to sit in his — their! — car.
His son had put it up on blocks after its last distant trip to the shop.
But he fired Zephyr up every day to keep her sound.
And he turned on the AM-only radio, hoping to hear 'Blueberry Hill'.
Earlier that day he had been called to action.
To be needed and called for, electronically, by his wife
filled his heart with a great joy!
He had rushed, haltingly, to her side.
She had looked at him, and a soft smile brightened her pale face.
Her voice had long since been silenced,
replaced by a gadget, the side-effect of a forgotten treatment.
I love you, her lips moved, her eyes shone brown.
He'd kissed her hand, brushed a lock of hair from her forehead.
Good bye, her lips gracefully outlined, I am ready.
Okay, the old man had mouthed, before bending down to kiss her forehead.
He saw her eyes follow his down to her, and then back up.
It was with frustration that he was unable to find music on his radio.
Static, talk, talk, static, talk, soul jangling raucousness, static, ol blue eyes!
He rubbed the tears from his cheeks, started the car, remembered.
He didn't hear Fats, but Sammy Davis and Dean Martin before the tears stopped.
He turned the ignition to off. Zephyr went quiet.
He took a deep breath, looked around the car, inhaled its smells.
He opened the door, and with increased discomfort left Zephyr.
He laboriously climbed the three short steps then, from the kitchen, called 911.
While he waited he could hear, from the living room's stereo,
the soft sounds of Nat King Cole's sad Smile.
I just read “Blueberry Hill.” I think this is a excellent poem. It succeeds where so many other poems fail because it shows rather than tells. The situation the poem describes works as an objective correlative that conveys, in a way words cannot do directly, what the man feels. It isn’t necessary for me to know what the man has done to his wife, who has asked him to let her die. She’s his thrill, probably his last reason to live. The car is his tangible connection with a past in which they were young.If this poem were less well written, the language less vivid, the elements less well arranged, the scenario it brings to life might not be as unsettling. Old age makes far greater demands on one’s character, one’s courage, one’s nerve than youth does. In old age, nearly all one’s resources are gone but the inner ones.
Oops, Al, both your links go the story poll.I'll vote after I've finished reading the stories. Looks like another excellent crop.
LoL! Fair enough (since that is what I did.) But my professorial nature is compelling me to help out, so:Poems
M, thank you for your kind words and thoughtful analysis. As always, your comments provide me with a better understanding and appreciation of some of the things I write that I puzzle over when I write them. For example, the structure of the narrative was 'forced' on me by my muse, for lack of better concept. That you noticed its place in how the poem feels and expresses is very helpful. I am still not wholly convinced that this is an excellent poem, but I respect your writing and opinion, and so am at least partially convinced that it is at least better than mediocre. It was a curious thing to write, actually. And an odd challenge.
I think this is a good poem. I find something encouraging to say about most poems because this is a group that’s about encouragement, but I can be straight with you. On the M-Scale, I’d give “Blueberry Hill” a B, which is high. I went over to the Poetry group and looked up my old scale. Here it is:M-Scale (Revised).
A. (Excellent). Striking. Lean. Sharp, fresh imagery and feelings.
B. (Superior). Not as lean, but striking and original.
C. (Average). Competent but unexciting.
D. (Below Average). Trite, preachy, bloated with abstractions and undigested feelings.
F. (Failing). Same as D, and vacant of phrasing and content that isn't stale.
M-Scale (Original Version).
A. I don’t know how I ever lived without this one!
B. I don’t think it’s great, but it’s the next thing to it.
C. It's not bad, but I can take it or leave it.
D. It rubs me the wrong way, but that’s better than not at all.
F. It doesn’t do anything for me.
My story this week is probably a C on the new scale.I'm still getting used to poems, so I don't voice my opinion much, except when it really hits the right spot.
All of my poems are probably a C or lower. Haha
I think that’s a good approach, Edward. I’m going to start doing that, as well.
M it's funny that you've ranked excellent above superior. I'm so used to it going the other way aroundYour scale reminded me of choir competitions scales, which go like this:
Superior
Excellent
Good
Fair
Bad
You suck go home
Al, and Stephanie, you are undervaluing your efforts!And sometimes, in the whims and whams of life, we all write good stuff and bad stuff, and frequently we cannot tell the one from the other.
I based it on the grading scale that was used when I was in school. I like it as a rating scale because average is right in the middle.When I was in high school, the newspaper’s movie-rating scale used stars (except that the newspaper’s typesetter apparently didn’t have stars, so they used exes instead:
xxxx = excellent
xxx = good
xx = fair
x = bad
A lot of movies got rated xx 1/2 or x 1/2. An xx 1/2 was sort of the equivalent of a C+. Lord Jim was one of my favorite movies. It was rated three stars. In the listing, there was a brief synopsis.
If Guy’s poem had been a movie, it might have been listed: “Blueberry Hill (xxx). After removing life support from his dying wife, an elderly man seeks solace in the stored car that reminds him of their youth.” My poem might have been listed “The Dentist’s Wife (xx). Finding her marriage unsatisfying, the dentist’s wife takes advantage of a high-school boy.”
LoL. M, I laugh whenever you do your summaries - they are so on point that they are funny.
Guy, I agree.M, your scale was just interesting because it made me think of that. It was very disappointing for our choir to recieve an excellent in a competition in LA. I for one, knew we wouldn't get a superior.
My choir teacher is not happy with us when we get excellents. But then it's kind of his fault for letting people into the advanced choir who don't care about choir. *shaking head*
In The Art of Fiction, John Gardner rails against the use of participial phrases, and with good reason. I love participial phrases. It comes of having read Mom’s old Nancy Drew books when I was little. “Speeding up again for an instant, Nancy leaned her head out the window and tried to attract her father’s attention.” (The Bungalow Mystery, 1930.)
Sorry, for those of us who learned by experience and not by instruction, what is a participial phrase?
I should know what that is. I used to know what that is. I had to diagram them in grade school. But I've forgotten.
Cheyenne wrote: "The Lonely Road
Headlights flash against
Millions of windows
The girl on the bus pulls
Her ..."
Cheyenne, this is beautiful. Sparse, but vivid. The feeling of the blues is perfectly caught in the imagery and pacing and timing. Very very nice!
Alex (Al) wrote: "Frank: I'd like to get to know M's muse more. She's charming.Me: Oh, dear Lord. You stay away.
Frank: Did you name me after Frank Sinatra?
Me: No. That was a coincidence. I wasn't really into Sina..."
Al, I was just re-reading the thread before voting, and when I re-read this I thought again how clever it is! I loved how it concludes. Still laughing, again.
Participial phrase - now I'm stretching memory, especially since I was never very good at grammar: it seemed too arbitrary, overall. (Which now, after reading some linguistics, I know it is!)M supplies an example, and from that I think it is a phrase that contains a participle but lacks a subject/object construction.
I checked google, and I was close. There are, of course because of the arbitrary nature of grammar, slightly different definitions.
In one it is a phrase (group of words) consisting of a participle (past or present tense). It sometimes acts like an adjective. This I do not find a very useful definition.
Another definition is also lacking: it is a verb that modifies another verb or noun. But more accurately, it is a verbal phrase (verbal form plus objects and modifiers) that as a group modify another part of the sentence.
In M's example, 'speeding up again for an instant' modifies (our understanding) of (how or the context of) Nancy's head. 'Speeding' (or perhaps 'speeding up') is the verb and it with the other words make up the phrase.
I could be wrong, but it is a verbal construct lacking a subject because as a phrase it is used to change our understanding of another element of the sentence. So, using M's example, the phrase 'Speeding up again for an instant' is not a meaningful collection of words: we know something is missing. Either it needs a subject, such as 'Jason was speeding up again for an instant.' Not interesting, but understandable. Or it needs to be attached to something else: Nancy's head, in this case.
M's had more proper schooling and teaching, and will likely give a much better definition.
Oh ... last week I was wondering if I overused those.
Albert: (watching Frank with a grin)Me: Oh would you stop that?!
Albert: What? He's hilarious. Slightly odd, perverted maybe, but hilarious all the same.
Me: Good job Frank. Now he's going to be ranting about how funny you are all night. (slams head against keyboard)
Albert: Hey maybe if you do that again you'll knock yourself out. Then you won't have to listen to me commending Frank's comedicness.
Me: That's not a word.
Albert: Sure it is.
Me: No it isn't.
Albert: Oh stop being cranky
Me: .............
I was calling out a bingo number, although chess does sound good.
I just thought you had a random crazy moment. Don't mind me!
Terry: This sounds interest-Me: No, you're not allowed to popcorn. Especially when we're in the middle of a scene.
Terry: An awkward s*x scene.
Me: The s*x part is over.
Terry: There wasn't any actual s*x.
Me: Then it wasn't a s*x scene.
Terry: ... Okay. What happens next?
Me: Violence.
Me: [Laughing.] Al, tonight Frank sounds less a-musing than a husband!Professor: Not to me. He strikes me as the guy who, despite being nice, seems a bit off. Bingo? Give me a break!
Me: What are you doing here? Sorry Al, I'm not talking to you.
Professor: [Laughs very loudly.]
Me: Errrr, ahhh. Sorry Al, I mean I am talking to you. I meant I'm not talking to the professor. [Face turns a little red.]
Professor: [Laughs even louder.]
Me: [Ignoring the professor.] Oh, Hi Al. Don't tell Frank, but since we haven't been formally introduced my not acknowledging him isn't a slight, but rather diffidence. Or perhaps shyness because I don't want him to think our friendship is inappropriate.
Professor: Moron.
Me: Hey!
Professor: You talk to strangers all the time. In fact you talk to more strangers in your life than people you know. How else would you be able to do what needs doing if you weren't talking to strangers you trust every day?
Me: But that's different!
Professor: Moron.
Albert: You see I'm not as mean to you as you think.Me: When I saw a cobweb you suggested there might be a giant spider on it. (glares)
Albert: Soooo?
Me: You know I hate spiders.
Albert: Oh Lord, you're such a girl.
Me: Don't make me bring out Mo... (pulls spiky tailed lizard out of cage)
Albert: (Runs away screaming.)
Me: Who's a girl now?
Albert: HAHAHA you can't view page four!!!!!Me: (growls)
Albert: (laughing) Parental control always seems to limit your fun doesn't it?
Me: It blocks ridiculous things!
Albert: I know, but I'm not affected by it. Therefore it's funny.
Yeah..... My computer hates me. My computer account is labelled as a child's account or something like that. It blocks all kinds of random things on the internet. It's infuriating.
Me: Chess. Funny, I would have thought B7 was a chord or perhaps shorthand for Beethoven's 7th.Professor: Of course you wouldn't think chess. You haven't played it in years. Your electronic chess board sits idle.
Me: I stopped playing it when I came across a programming flaw. Once that happened, it became less interesting.
Professor: Well, there is the computer?
Me: Too easy. I had a great computer version on my old OS/2 machine, but lost it when my wife tossed it for being too old. [Sighs.]
[Long quiet.]
Professor: Well, you could always follow Edward's lead.
Me: [Startled.] What?
Professor: Write a s** scene — or almost s** scene. That is always a good selling feature since you claim to want to make money at this writing thing. Poems equals groans and moans. S**, well, I guess that equals groans and moans too, in a way, but at least they pay for it. Moron.
Me: But if I was writing s** for money, then you wouldn't have a voice!
Professor: What do you mean?
Me: Well, you live so much in your mind, that your thing fell off from lack of use, and you didn't even notice! [Laughs HHO.]
Professor: Now that's just plain silly. And your quip doesn't even make any sense. [Snorts dismissively, walks across the room to grab his pipe and tobacco with great flourish, and the leaves the room.]
Still can't view the fourth page.... *sigh* So I'm not sure if any of the later comments were directed at me, but if they were I can't read them. Sorry *pouts*
Hey, Guy, replace the e in s*x with a star to see if we can free up Cheyenne's parental controls.
Are you startled at the idea of following my lead? Should I be offended?You missed two words.
[Okay, s** has been changed. Hopefully you can see these now, Cheyenne.]
Me: Hello Frank. I've heard a great deal about you. And I find your edict to be that of someone who only pretends to be strong. And I find it rather sad that you feel that undermining Al is a redeeming behaviour. Playing with your bingo in the dark does not a gentleman make. And if you don't like that, well, quite frankly, my dear, I don't give a *female animal*. [Starts laughing His Head Off.] Moralist: Wow! You passed a judgment on someone. I am so glad I showed up tonight! [Starts to do a tightly controlled jig before jumping with an extended arm and pointed finger.] YES!
Me: [Big sigh.] What are you doing here? Where's the professor?
Moralist: The professor told me you were being unusually vile tonight. I always love that when that happens.
Me: I don't get it. I wasn't being vile. Nor was I passing judgement. Describing a situation as it is is being neither vile or judgmental. Actually, if anyone was being vile, it was Frank. He thinks, like you, that to save life you have to control it. It — life, I mean — doesn't work that way.
Moralist: But that is a false argument. Life is vile, amoral, filled with death and procreation. Yuck! Man, on the other hand, man has risen above his animal roots to become civilized. 'Civilized' means rules, rules allow control. Control allows for civilization. Just look at that Cheyenne girl. She's still so uncivilized, unruled that she takes pleasure in another creature's immanent pain and death.
Me: You are serious, aren't you?
Moralist: As death.
Me: [Turns to Al and Edward and Cheyenne.] I haven't been able to argue with this guy. Do you have any ideas? [Turns to the games button on the computer and opens the chess game.] I'll be here pretending to play chess while you figure out how to out argue a moralizing prig. And besides, Cheyenne, you didn't actually take pleasure out of scaring Albert did you? Or, at least not real pleasure.
Moralist: See what has happened with your irreverent ways? Everyone has gone to bed.
Me: Well, it is late. And besides, Al has been struggling with sleep, and if I can bore her enough to get some rest, then who am I to judge that a failure. Goodnight!
Well, Moralist, for us to agree with you, you have to first define civilization for us.
Moralist: If I have to spell out the meaning of 'civilization' to you, in all its historical greatness, then you are unlikely to be worthy of receiving that lesson.Me: See, it is people like you who are judgmental.
Moralist: I am not. Edward has surely proven himself to be at least to a significant degree uncivilized if he needs it defined. It was like teaching morality to the Natives. Largely a waste of breath.
Me: But that is so narrow and ethnocentric! It is quite vile.
Moralist: It is not!
Me: Yes, it is. It was that kind of thinking that gave North America's invaders the moral okay to attempt the genocide of the humans living here.
Moralist: That is out of context and a distortion of history.
Me: Now who is rationalizing away civilized barbarity. Your argument is built on sand and the blindness of an insensitive victor.
Moralist: See! See! Once again you've passed judgment! [Laughs.] You loser! [The moralist leaves.]
Me: Thank whatever! I was starting to think he was never going to leave. Now I can go to bed.
Muse: See what fun you miss when you go to bed so early?M: Those dreams weren’t much fun that I had last night.
Muse: (Smiles.) Not much fun for you.
M: Heavy rain, a flooding yacht club.
Muse: You know what water stands for.
M: I needed to pee?
Muse: (Laughing.) No, silly. The dark waters of your unconscious are flooding the daylit rooms of your conscious mind. Remember the water, inches deep, rushing across the floor of the clubhouse office?
M: I haven’t been to that place in years.
Professor: Still pretending to be a writer, I see. It's well past your bed time and you have work tomorrow. Early, as you know.Me: Really. You really feel the need to step in for my wife? [Laughs.]
Professor: I am sorry you seem to see that as a negative, since we are both concerned about your health.
Me: Yes, the annoying meddling of the good intentioned know-it-alls who aren't quite as knowledgable as they think they are.
Professor: Hrrrmmmphhh. [Fingers his pipe. Starts to open his mouth, then changes his mind. Puts the tip of the pipe to his lips, taps it with a little too much vigor.] Well, you weren't very diplomatic, yesterday. Frank thinks you hate him.
Me: [Laughs.]
Professor: Why are you laughing?! Having you think people hate you, even people as ephemeral as the Franks of the world, is not a good thing!
Me: [Laughs harder.] You're killing me! I don't hate Frank!
Professor: What do you mean, you don't hate Frank? Look what you said to him!
Me: You really are a bit dense. Kind of like Frank, in that way, it would seem.
Professor: I AM NOT!
Me: Wow, I must have hit a nerve with you.
Professor: Did not! I have read all about this kind of Freudian psychological manipulation, and that sort of amateurish effort will only get from me laughter.
Me: So then why aren't you laughing! [Laughs.] I am really, really tired tonight. I hope Al is sleeping. 'Night.
Professor: See, that's more manipulation. You said that just to see if I would bite. And it is obvious that l didn't.
Me: [Yawns.] Whatever. It's time to dive into M's ocean. I wonder what kind of fish I'll catch.
I had the brilliant idea to log onto a different account on the computer. Parental controls are still blocking me on mine. Now I see why, LOL.
The only fish swimming in M’s ocean are the haddock and cod he loves to eat (with lots of tartar sauce) at the cafeteria.
And welcome to the full blown popcorning going on here, Cheyenne. As you can see, it really isn't that bad.
No, it isn't that bad. But much worse than the usual conversations. I started laughing out loud because I was kind of surprised
If anyone is interested, here's that not-sex scene: http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/2...(If it goes to chapter one, just find a way to chapter ten.)
Edward, I enjoyed your chapter. (The link worked fine.)
If you don't mind me asking, what are all of these...scenes that everyone's writing?
Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company!
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