The Writers Block

One dead house after another
on this joyless street.
Passaic, New Jersey was never known for anything.

Here I am, a godless August Sunday,
with the last load.
Westerns, mostly, their dried-up labels curled
on plastic spines
efficiently marked in your tiny script.

My heart revs like a furnace, then turns
vicious and cold.
How can you stand to live
in this ruined, rented room?
The cracked linoleum, rust-stained toilet hissing?

The faded yellow brocade chair, you brag,
and hold out for me in embroidered gallantry,
was left out on the curb.
It long ago lost its mate.

You lower the flimsy shades
as I slip into the waiting car.
The movie credits roll, slow pull away
and behind the blinds
you darken, disappear.

Jeniifer, this works on so many levels. Title is great, and the captured essence of being able to really see the ex as he was/is, now that things are over is remarkable.

Easy to relate to and I like the voice; understated but not hesitant.

I would not change anything. A good read, a "slice-of-life" poem that resonates.

J---


great concept. the details sweep and claw. the narrator's anger, her questions, the resolve are palatable. i cannot look away.

i liked the narrative progression all the way through the close.

could play, of course, with the opening.

flipping S1 and S2---for example.



Here I am, ON a godless August Sunday
with the last load.
Westerns, mostly, their dried-up labels curled
on plastic spines
efficiently marked in your tiny script.


i like that efficiently marked in your tiny script.....


One dead house after another
on this joyless street.
Passaic, New Jersey was never known for anything.


joyless street....street of low opportunity....unpainted street....would try several modifiers, joyless seems a little to obvious.


My heart revs like a furnace, then turns
vicious and cold.


revs doesn't sound like a furnace.


i love embroidered gallantry,


You lower the flimsy shades
as I slip into the waiting car.
The movie credits roll, slow pull away
and behind the blinds
you darken, disappear.


flimsy...maybe bent shades. more visual?


as I slip into the waiting car. the waiting Buick.....the idling Chevrolet...

identify the car? just a thought. i like the waiting part, maybe the narrator has a waiting companion in the waiting car. i like the ambiguity there.


and love this:

and behind the blinds
you darken, disappear.

one thing, why did the narrator become involved with this person? time changes things, but taste in movies? sloth? my mother would say, i woman's most important accessory is her escort.

just a thought, giving the shadow figure a dimenstional detail, like the hand writing and the gallantry. it might be enough.


very good poem. hard hitting. visual and wonderful narrative progression, the clarity is also admirable. the length, just right. title is a real working title. strong package.

bernie

Thank you Kenneth and Bernie. I will tweak a little -using your questions and suggestions. This isn't quite where I want it get but it is almost there! I like switching S1 and S2.
Thanks so much.

Jennifer

Jennifer,

Our way with words so different, yet my mind takes liberties and flips words around to its own comfort. First, a few comments, I like "dead" days better than godless, personally, and I sense a there is nothing joyful or godly about a dead day, being an almost non-day. I try a bit harder: 'godless hour or ungodly hour,' so used..


...with the last load of Westerns,
their dried-up labels curled
on plastic spines
efficiently marked in your tiny script

I think I tweaked something, but I really like that stanza--the sort of seemingly unimportant details that spark a much greater emotional reaction with their familiarity.

My heart, a revving furnace, turns
vicious and cold.....

Another slight tweak from me, and I like the thought spelled out from the narrator... I also like the contrast very much, but does it first turn cold, then vicious? hot cold hot?

In the next stanza, below, "brocade" competes with "embroidered" and "you brag" seems to float (I often need more coffee, so just pointing, as usual). If it was left out on the curb long ago, why is it an item now? The connection with losing mate does not impact me that much, especially because the narrator separates herself from the lifestyle and dislikes the ex so clearly. Yet, I would not wish to lose the message here, the ex still posturing as conqueror (so typical of the type painted here), feeling irresistible, a message. I think clipping may enhance this, though it often feels like a loss --I think embroidered gallantry could be a harsher and more common language statement and the chair metaphor may pop out. In short, the title implies the loss of mate, but the capricious vanity or inflated ego that makes the painted loser even remotely consider that his posture will impress as if the lost mate were branded forever with his stamp. It may be a personal feeling that makes me stress this--too familiar to me, perhaps--I more than commiserate.

The faded yellow brocade chair, you brag,
and hold out for me in embroidered gallantry,
was left out on the curb.
It long ago lost its mate.

In the last stanza, "The movie credits roll" eludes me and "slow pull away" is common usage, and I read it this way:

As I slip into the waiting car,
you lower the shades (or blinds),
you darken and disappear.

You lower the flimsy shades
as I slip into the waiting car.
The movie credits roll, slow pull away
and behind the blinds
you darken, disappear.


Effective poem with which I am sure many readers will connect closely. It is the kind of 'moment in time' that makes a lasting impact.

I like Bernie's suggestion of where to begin.

pen

Wow. Thanks. Yes. Back to working on this until I finally can put it away. The time you took is appreciated.

p.s. Our way with words is not very different. We speak the same language.
Jennifer

Here I am, on a godless August Sunday,
with the last load
of Westerns, their dried-up labels curled
on plastic spines
efficiently marked in your tiny script.

One dead house after another
on this unpainted street.
Passaic, New Jersey was never known for anything.

My heart revs like a furnace, then turns
vicious and cold.
How can you stand to live
in this ruined, rented room?
The cracked linoleum, rust-stained toilet hissing?

This yellow brocade chair, you boast,
and hold out for me in embroidered gallantry,
was left out on the curb.

I slip into the idling Chevrolet.
Slow pull away.
Behind the lowered blinds
you darken,
disappear.

Hi Jennifer-

Your revision is appreciated. I am there with the speaker.
I like that you moved this up to kick start the poem:

Here I am, on a godless August Sunday,
with the last load
of Westerns, their dried-up labels curled
on plastic spines
efficiently marked in your tiny script.


One dead house after another
on this unpainted street. (I know unpainted replaced joyless but I'm not convinced this is a better word choice- chipped street maybe?)
Passaic, New Jersey was never known for anything.

My heart revs like a furnace, then turns (I do like "..heart revs like a furnace". It fits the progression of anger and then detachment. )
vicious and cold.
How can you stand to live
in this ruined, rented room?
The cracked linoleum, rust-stained toilet hissing?

This yellow brocade chair, you boast,
and hold out for me in embroidered gallantry, (Love it)
was left out on the curb.

I slip into the idling Chevrolet. (Glad you specified the vehicle)
Slow pull away.
Behind the lowered blinds
you darken, (This visual turns the key to where the speaker's thoughts on her ex is entering. Very nice job)
disappear.


Great to read you.

Cheers,

J---

i like the revision. do you?

my approach is to give a try-out employment, probation, to changes and see how they look and feel on a Forum screen. completely free to return to the original or create a fresh revision.


joyless vs unpainted.

still open, in my mind. but I would go low key because of the wonderful line that follows:

Passaic, New Jersey was never known for anything.


i'm glad yoly stopped in. i consider her the master first person teller of male/female up close, in your face stories---stories of restraint, stray sensuality and trace elements of longing.

a genre.


not related at a deep level, but interesting to me, this Wendy Cope poem designed to be read during a classical music performance:

A date in row E

First Date: He

She said she liked classical music.
I implied I was keen on it too.
Though I don’t often go to a concert,
It wasn’t entirely untrue.
I looked for a suitable concert
And here we are, on our first date.
The traffic was dreadful this evening
And I arrived ten minutes late.
So we haven’t had much time for talking
And I’m a bit nervous. I see
She is totally lost in the music
And quite undistracted by me.
In that dress she is very attractive —
The neckline can’t fail to intrigue.
I mustn’t appear too besotted.
Perhaps she is out of my league.
Where are we? I glance at the programme
But I’ve put my glasses away.
I’d better start paying attention
Or else I’ll have nothing to say.

First Date: She

I said I liked classical music.
It wasn’t exactly a lie.
I hoped he would get the impression
That my brow was acceptably high.
I said I liked classical music.
I mentioned Vivaldi and Bach.
And he asked me along to this concert.
Here we are, sitting in the half-dark.
I was thrilled to be asked to the concert.
I couldn’t decide what to wear.
I hope I look tastefully sexy.
I’ve done what I can with my hair.
Yes, I’m thrilled to be here at this concert.
I couldn’t care less what they play
But I’m trying my hardest to listen
So I’ll have something clever to say.
When I glance at his face it’s a picture
Of rapt concentration. I see
He is totally into this music
And quite undistracted by me.





bernie

What a delightful treat. Thank you, Bernie, for sharing that delightful poem. I am very pleased with the changes on my own poem (although I am not particularly fond of this poem in general) but thank you again for your thoughtful edits.

Jennifer

Jennifer,

I like your revision. I have two nits: the two question marks, which, if you may consider a semi-colon, instead of a period, could be just one.

The other is here:

This yellow brocade chair, you boast,
and hold out for me in embroidered gallantry,
was left out on the curb.

"This" implies 'here' in conjunction with the present tense. Yet, it "was left out on the curb." It is not impossible that I may be missing something, but, I may use "The" instead of "this."

A symbollic statement made more ambiguous without explaining the lost mate, yet the message comes through as one of 'discarding what used to be' effectively, without overstatement of what it stands for. I like that.

pen

Very thoughtful crits and I will employ both of your suggestions. Many thanks! Jennifer

Hello Jennifer

Fine work here, Jennifer. Great details throughout. A poem tinged with regret and utter reality. I see the poem is going to IBPC for this month and Yoly has made a great choice. The best of luck with it there, Jennifer!

Chris

Firstly, I really enjoyed this piece. Two small ideas for your consideration. The first stanza I think is stronger with a double negative.

One dead house after another
on this joyless street.
Passaic, New Jersey was never known for nothing.

I don't like "revs" to discribe the sound of a furnace - how about boils, glows, or rumbles like a furnance...

My heart revs like a furnace, then turns
vicious and cold.
How can you stand to live
in this ruined, rented room?
The cracked linoleum, rust-stained toilet hissing?

You lower the flimsy shades
as I slip into the waiting car.
The movie credits roll, slow pull away
and behind the blinds
you darken, disappear.

I love the ending - "you darken, disappear." Nice and tight.

This is a very strong piece.

Thanks for commenting. It might be fun to use "ain't" there, too...but then I feel compelled to echo that throughout the poem.

I like 'revs' but maybe I could throw out furnace! mmmmm....perhaps "heart's engine"......

JP

Very good. I love the way you highlight the cliche element of the story (returning things to an ex lover) by bringing in cinematic elements (the credits rolling at the end, the man 'darkening and disappearing,' loved that) that are tied to the actual movies being brought to him, which put the piece on a specific, personal level. You are very talented.