Begonias and Glass
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- Posts: 1619
- Joined: 01 Jun 2008, 09:17
Re: Begonias and Glass
Like it. I could not find the original poem by Ohara.
I'm assuming it's not verbatim
I'm assuming it's not verbatim
Re: Begonias and Glass
Here's the poem, though my poem has little to do with his great poem except those two words:
Clouds
by Frank O'Hara
How will I be able to keep you
if you don’t disgust me a little?
Why do you wear lipstick with trousers
that are stained and stain?
At the end of the raspberry patch
I found my own darling telephone
hiding away like a little reservist.
Why do you disgust me?
I can’t see the bridge any more.
“You look like a Dutch interior.”
“Then I guess I do know how pretty I am.”
But it is not dark, it is very sunny.
I wish that you would await me
without your horse near the windbells
on the path to the left of the jonquils.
If you just jangle your spurs I’ll know,
but who else would it be, anyway?
and if something tinkles it’ll be
one of your threaded silver bracelets
that you cover with your cuff before cops.
I want you to stop making me sick.
I want you to go away and not stay away.
Could you bring me razor blades when you come back?
and a sandwich of begonias and glass?
Clouds
by Frank O'Hara
How will I be able to keep you
if you don’t disgust me a little?
Why do you wear lipstick with trousers
that are stained and stain?
At the end of the raspberry patch
I found my own darling telephone
hiding away like a little reservist.
Why do you disgust me?
I can’t see the bridge any more.
“You look like a Dutch interior.”
“Then I guess I do know how pretty I am.”
But it is not dark, it is very sunny.
I wish that you would await me
without your horse near the windbells
on the path to the left of the jonquils.
If you just jangle your spurs I’ll know,
but who else would it be, anyway?
and if something tinkles it’ll be
one of your threaded silver bracelets
that you cover with your cuff before cops.
I want you to stop making me sick.
I want you to go away and not stay away.
Could you bring me razor blades when you come back?
and a sandwich of begonias and glass?
Re: Begonias and Glass
Actually, this poem feels unfinished to me, so I will be posting a revision soon.
Re: Begonias and Glass
Billy wrote:Begonias and Glass*
There you are pruning them, mother, a glass
of water drawn in winter. I stand on a stool, shirtless,
smiling like a fool for love. They hang above the sink
in the sunniest window, fragile, a stem or two
clinging to dear life. The two of us laugh about
nothing. They'll survive with care, as it used to be.
*from the poem Clouds, by Frank O'Hara
This is beautiful, Billy. I don't think it really feels unfinished, although perhaps the ending could be improved. Do you really need 'as it used to be'? Perhaps end with 'They'll survive with care.'
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- Posts: 1619
- Joined: 01 Jun 2008, 09:17
Re: Begonias and Glass
Billy I think it masterful and cunning that you can take two words from a poem and create something this intimate and beautful. Good job.
Your call to revise, but I second what Eira says.
Sometimes there is as much weight in what is left unsaid.
Your call to revise, but I second what Eira says.
Sometimes there is as much weight in what is left unsaid.
Re: Begonias and Glass
Thanks Capricorn and meenas
I will comment on some poems this weekend
I will comment on some poems this weekend
Re: Begonias and Glass
Wonderful poem, Billy.
just for talking, i wonder if this helps:
There you are ankle deep in pruning.
I stand on a stool, shirtless, smiling
for love like a circus ape.
The two of us laugh about nothing.
They hang above the sink in the sunniest
window, fragile, a stem or two clinging
to life as it used to be.
this is a unique framing of a childhood memory, haunting for the sense of something painful just under the surface.
i just love to see poets quote a poem that moved him or her...
bernie
just for talking, i wonder if this helps:
There you are ankle deep in pruning.
I stand on a stool, shirtless, smiling
for love like a circus ape.
The two of us laugh about nothing.
They hang above the sink in the sunniest
window, fragile, a stem or two clinging
to life as it used to be.
this is a unique framing of a childhood memory, haunting for the sense of something painful just under the surface.
i just love to see poets quote a poem that moved him or her...
bernie