Intermezzo For Unaccompanied Cello

[Bernie01]

Intermezzo For Unaccompanied Cello

My life is December or late January, I am 76
and I don't know what to do about it.

Gray, color of convicts and mental patients.
As if a wool blanket is put over my head.

Complaints against my life forgiven,
bad memories absolved.

My tie tossed away. I forget things.
I drive badly and not at all after 7pm.

I retire, study French literature,
but I'm still afraid to visit Constantinople.

I'm crazy to tell you this poem. Trombone,
woodwind, the requiem train whistle.

My solo cello to your string quartet
played into the lingering reverance.

[Kenneth2816]

Clever, Bernie. Gentle but succinct.

I suggest changing dismissed to dropped, more concrete
Maybe change charges to indictments. It's a pivotal point where N has reconciled himself to the self forgiveness for past transgressions, something I think can only really occur as we reach toward eternity.

Last stanza is magnificent, a bit tragic.

I admire the craft in what could otherwise be another mundane poem about growing old.

Its celebratory but poignant.

[Bernie01]

K---


Loved your comments. Attempting to adopt your suggestions.

Preparing this for Black Box Manifold---an English zine.


http://www.manifold.group.shef.ac.uk/is ... rie10.html


i think they would favor your work, too.


bernie

[Kenneth2816]

Thanks for the suggestion. You will have no problem getting this published

[meenas17]

Well crafted, Bernie.

December, grey, disappearing train whistle subtly tell us the man in in his twilight years. At 76, one drives badly or drives not, memories fade, faults absolved, reads French books and plays on a solo cello.
Enjoyed reading the poem. I felt sad.

Meena

[meenas17]

Effortless write, bernie, I marvel your skill.

I find myself nowhere when I read your poems, yet I write.

Meena

[Bernie01]

M---


colors, sounds, scents where possible, textures---finding a specific starting place, an image never hurts---so i think about poms.

i just edited that train whistle to stay in musical character, i now call the whistle a requiem.


thanks for your comment.


does India see a glorious 2018?



bernie

[bananapie894]

In fact your creative writing abilities have inspired me to start my own blog now.
Really blogging is spreading its wings rapidly. Your write up is a fine example of it.

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[BobBradshaw]

Lovely, lovely mood poem....atmosphere perfect, the casual lines deceptively poignant. Even humor is tossed off, as in

I am 76
and I don't know what to do about it.

And of course that last stanza, a killer that most composers would trade a year's wages for...

[Bernie01]

B---894

that blog idea is intriguing. go for it full blast and please keep me posted when time permits.

thanks for your comment.


Bob---

think i'll frame your comment, share it with my mother.

let's all write the hell out of 2018.


bernie

[FranktheFrank]

I like this poem Bernie, the title speaks of music used in the intervals
in plays, short pieces, like you or N looking over his life, acts and scenes
no doubt with dramatic music in the background, so a good title.

It lacks the bazoom of earlier poems, who can forget the invisible hands
controlling a swimmer from a distance, the dolphin coloured a cobalt blue,
the Jew celebrating Passover from a number 53 bus. But who are we to demand
perfection in every poem, there are quiet poems and there are brassy ones,
this one is meditative, old age, we older poets recognise the sentiments.

S3 is forgiving, if only we could forgive all the time no matter what the provocation
not to remember hurts, anger, malice aforethought, nastiness, implacableness,
these are the sins of youth. Old age is mellow, easy on forgiveness slow to wrath.
So I like it, nice sentiment. Dylan says however there is a time to rage, but not
in this poem.

S4 dispenses with formality, we forget to shave and only do so when the itch gets too bad.
Who is there left to impress with a tie, why wear a tie, who cares, not the old guy meditating
on a long life.

My tie tossed away. I forget things.
I drive badly and not at all after 7pm.

It might interest us why N is afraid of Constantinople.

You sense urgency to tell, to write, so much to tell
so little time left, I get you, we all do, us old codgers.

I went out in the rain just before Christmas to visit an old pal,
it was rush hour and raining and a road I had not used for some time,
it was hell. The air in the car was blue with words
what use are words against rain and glare from other vehicles.

At the end of your poem I felt sad, worn out, and I sense that you
wanted to tell that also.

Well done
best wishes for the new year, yes, let's write out hearts out.