Rockaway Beach, New York, 1945 - 1963

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Bernie01
Posts: 777
Joined: 30 Jul 2015, 11:14

Rockaway Beach, New York, 1945 - 1963

#1 Post by Bernie01 » 18 Sep 2017, 21:32

Rockaway Beach, New York, 1945-1963


We ran like suicides against the ocean
and the sea threw us back pearly wet.

Half drunk on waves, salt threaded
across our lips and toes, the screak
of white birds hunting tossed bread.

The heat of kissing you in public,
a jetty where we watched a race horse
exercised across the beach.

The careless sprawl of bathers,
muffled sound of friends building a fire.

We light the boardwalk, stretched wires,
crisp green bulbs flutter as we pass.

i take down your white anklets, my eyes
spy into the overlap of your sarong.

Dizzy under a dozen ransacked moons,
stars steam with a stolen panama cigar,
sidelong into your standing applause.


1963

i cannot leave New York by ship
without seeing that summer beach
as it once dropped at our bare feet,
stars rolled in a sky of printer’s ink.

Glass emeralds exchanged today
for a diamond cloverleaf,
cotton anklets replaced by silk hose.

Today I favor winter months,
early evening and the lights turned on,
shoppers in heavy coats, stores quicken,
cabs busy as children on a play ground.

Stray leaves, trash blowing freely
and boldly branded by businessmen.
I sail under the Brooklyn Bridge,
the unruly ocean drifts and piles itself
toward the clairvoyant moon.

FranktheFrank
Posts: 1983
Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
Location: Between the mountains and the sea

Re: Rockaway Beach, New York, 1945

#2 Post by FranktheFrank » 18 Sep 2017, 23:06

Title sets the date and place
but i'd like to know if you are courting in summer

We ran like suicides against the ocean [not keen on suicides, maybe maniacs, happy maniacs perhaps]
and the sea threw us back pearly wet. [pearly wet is good]

Half drunk on waves, salt threaded
[yes we get drunk on the excitement of the sea, the rough handling the cleanliness when it is clean]
across our lips and toes, the screak [across something other than toes, why not our something bodies - love screak - apt]]
of white birds diving for tossed bread. [not sure tossed bread is right, diving for food sea food/]

The heat of kissing you in public, [kissing in public, way daring for those times end of the war]
a jetty where we watched a race horse [horses running through the shallows]
exercised across the beach. [exercising across an empty strand, i know some hate -ing words - still]

The careless sprawl of bathers,
muffled sound of friends building fires. [muffled sounds is exactly right muffled by the pounding of the surf]

We light the boardwalk, stretched wires,
clipped green bulbs fluttering as we pass. [now -ing ain't right here, use flutter instead :)]

i take down your white anklets, my eyes [I strip you wet anklets?]
spy into the overlap of your sarong. [spy into anything but sarong - my own view, could be wrong, doesn't seem to fit New York somehow]

Dizzy under wandering stars, ransacked. [maybe under a procession of a Milky Way]
Stammering with a stolen panama cigar,
sidelong into your standing applause. [hehe funny.]

Enjoyed as usual, you can always put the best of this month's into next month
unless you keep writing more gems.

I imagined an Autumn day when the beaches are bigger and louder, a sparsely inhabited beach
where lovers roam seeking the solitude of the dunes and the sea still warm enough for us to swim.
The daring teenager showing off with a purloined cigar, his date entranced, wet and ready for love's games.

You have helped this forum come alive Bernie with riveting critiques and even better poetry.

Kenneth2816
Posts: 1619
Joined: 01 Jun 2008, 09:17

Re: Rockaway Beach, New York, 1945 - 1963

#3 Post by Kenneth2816 » 19 Sep 2017, 05:10

Don't laugh Bernie, but I always thought Rockaway was in NJ.

Nice work. I'm sure you'll fiddle with it as you sed fit

Bernie01
Posts: 777
Joined: 30 Jul 2015, 11:14

Re: Rockaway Beach, New York, 1945 - 1963

#4 Post by Bernie01 » 19 Sep 2017, 07:20

Frank---

suicide. alas, crazy about that shocking word.

some ing modification. thanks. generally, i hold the limited to the no ing camp...

you didn;t see the second part. sorry, i was fiddling.

such a pleasant closing comment. if only deserved.


Ken---

this one ain't. Queens, New York.

thanks for coming to this summer beach frolic.


bernie


Trebetherick

We used to picnic where the thrift
Grew deep and tufted to the edge;
We saw the yellow foam flakes drift
In trembling sponges on the ledge
Below us, till the wind would lift
Them up the cliff and o’er the hedge.
Sand in the sandwiches, wasps in the tea,
Sun on our bathing dresses heavy with the wet,
Squelch of the bladder-wrack waiting for the sea,
Fleas around the tamarisk, an early cigarette.

From where the coastguard houses stood
One used to see below the hill,
The lichened branches of a wood
In summer silver cool and still;
And there the Shade of Evil could
Stretch out at us from Shilla Mill.
Thick with sloe and blackberry, uneven in the light,
Lonely round the hedge, the heavy meadow was remote,
The oldest part of Cornwall was the wood as black as night,
And the pheasant and the rabbit lay torn open at the throat.

But when a storm was at its height,
And feathery slate was black in rain,
And tamarisks were hung with light
And golden sand was brown again,
Spring tide and blizzard would unite
And sea come flooding up the lane.
Waves full of treasure then were roaring up the beach,
Ropes round our mackintoshes, waders warm and dry,
We waited for the wreckage to come swirling into reach,
Ralph, Vasey, Alistair, Biddy, John and I.

Then roller into roller curled
And thundered down the rocky bay,
And we were in a water world
Of rain and blizzard, sea and spray,
And one against the other hurled
We struggled round to Greenaway.
Blesséd be St Enodoc, blesséd be the wave,
Blesséd be the springy turf, we pray, pray to thee,
Ask for our children all happy days you gave
To Ralph, Vasey, Alistair, Biddy, John and me.


John Bejemen

FranktheFrank
Posts: 1983
Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
Location: Between the mountains and the sea

Re: Rockaway Beach, New York, 1945 - 1963

#5 Post by FranktheFrank » 19 Sep 2017, 11:03

Yes, a beautiful poem, but then Benjamin was a master was he not.

BobBradshaw
Posts: 2683
Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03

Re: Rockaway Beach, New York, 1945 - 1963

#6 Post by BobBradshaw » 20 Sep 2017, 22:05

Lovely poem...my favorite poem of yours this month. This revision is much better. Bob

FranktheFrank
Posts: 1983
Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
Location: Between the mountains and the sea

Re: Rockaway Beach, New York, 1945 - 1963

#7 Post by FranktheFrank » 21 Sep 2017, 10:00

Yes, funny how cross overs work and edits.

I missed the second part completely and now I have
time to enjoy it. Woke early today 6 p.m. Looks at
Ken's poem then Bob's about his dog, heartbroken
about a dog, still gets us doesn't it. And now I find
I missed B.'s second part.

I like the idea of two snapshots of that beach. Let's see,
it's so good to see Bernie writing in volumes, filling white
space with his gemstones. Only last year a broken leg
seemed the end for this fine poet, and here he is bashing
them out like a brand new xerox machine.

1963

i cannot leave New York by ship
without seeing that summer beach
as it once dropped at our bare feet,
stars rolled in a sky of printer’s ink.

Glass emeralds exchanged today
for a diamond cloverleaf,
cotton anklets replaced by silk hose.

Today I favor winter months, [Maybe: these days]
early evening and the lights turned on,
shoppers in heavy coats, stores quicken,
cabs busy as children on a play ground.

Stray leaves, trash blowing freely [-ing word, doesn't bother me, does with some]
and boldly branded by businessmen.
I sail under the Brooklyn Bridge,
the unruly ocean drifts and piles itself
toward the clairvoyant moon.

The curse and blessings of old age
reliving the past and it can hurt
and it can heal. Yes I liked, it was nice
to see the comparisons, then and now
young and old, changes we could never
have imagined. Maybe there are two
poems here, maybe best to keep together,
I don't know. I liked the cotton socks to hose line
girls of fourteen today can look like their film
idols.

I love it when B. is not content to just thank
a critique but posts the poem spark that
made him write, yes, we are made to write
it's like a fire in us. We are torn people,
like artists have to paint, we write. And
I enjoy the education of being fed some
of these old and marvellous gems.

I liked the mood of the second part
it seemed to me of love in thought
if not action, are our thoughts actions
we live them like they are.

I've said it so many times, I grew up on a beach
about 600 yards away, so every change of season
was welcomed, so welcomed. I knew the Atlantic
well: powerful, frightening, savage, serene. I never got
tired of the pounding of waves, they were lullabies to me
pounding waves, a train chugging past at nine on the dot.
There were three wrecks on the one beach, fairgrounds
dunes that stretched for miles, a broken down wooden
breakwater. The wrecks and breakwater continued to
claim victims every year until blown up and replaced.

So I'm a sucker for beach poems, a real sucker.

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