Requiem Nunc Dimittis*

[Bernie01]

new final verse

A dull electric fan ripples my shirt,
I am listening to the saxophone
like the one my father played,
homeless cigarette smoke rising
to form a cirrus of white clouds
and vanishing like everything else.




V2

My father died in India
under stars restless as geese.
over Dhamondi Lake.
The moon gold as the mouth
of a Calcutta dentist
and my mother only nights
from a final Absinthe
with my father in his satin tux.

I rode with his open casket
on our journey to a British grave.
Thunderheads rose expecting
a Palme d’Or for acting.

Mourners with Macassaar
blackened hair, and a cortege
of saris from Bombay shops.
Women murmuring together
like park doves, stiff as peacocks.

My mother, a burnt toast color,
her monochrome dress plain
as monsoon rain.

A languor falls
on the manicured grass.
I hold myself aloof and stiff,
father retreats from us,
my feelings in Hindi
translated into English.

I cannot say
where you should look for me,
brown as forgotten tea,
uncombed long hair at baccarat

A dull electric fan ripples my shirt,
blue lights lower and turn the room
into the color of a gas pilot light.


*Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.
Simeon









Original

My father died in India under a moon
gold as a Calcutta dentist’s mouth.
Several days before he wore a satin tux
and drank a Pernod with my mother.

I rode with his casket
to the European grave site, thunderheads
rose expecting a Palme d’Or for acting.

Mourners with Macassaar blackened hair,
a cortege of saris and haute courture,
women arranged and beautiful as peacocks.

My caramel colored mother,
monochrome dress like monsoon rain.
A languor falls across manicured grass.

I cannot say where you should look for me,
browned as an Indian Sepoy, drinking
at a gambling table, long uncombed hair.

A dull electric fan ripples my zephyr shirt,
blue lights lower and turn the room
into the color of a gas pilot light.

[FranktheFrank]

A very nice poem Bernie,

[Bernie01]

Frank---

i agree.

in this experimental Forum I sometime use an image and word i like from one poem in a second...to see in which poem the words/images best fit.

a magazine editor, of course, only sees one final version or use of an image.

however, i have a new version of Requiem now posted. new title, too.

thanks for your detailed comment.


bernie

[FranktheFrank]

I still like the poem.

[BobBradshaw]

I really like this poem, especially the 3rd, 5th and 6th stanzas. The imagery is outstanding and the conversational tone carries us along. The last stanza doesn’t work for me. I miss the connection of the blue pilot light with the rest of the poem. I was expecting the previous stanza to flow into the closing. The next to last stanza would work better than the ending one now. Otherwise it is an outstanding poem. PS... I thought the image of the gold filling and the moon in the previous posting worked well, and had found a home....

[Michael (MV)]

 
Hi Bernie,

my comments, which I have been drafting since yesterday, are in reference to the original - I see you have retitled & revise since.

Must say, it's righteous to find your new title -

Latin, the opening words of the canticle, "(Lord) now you let (your servant) depart"

^^ I hear/discover a wonderful parallel to: It is done - Into Your hands I commend my spirit

Thanks for the epiphany, bernie


Now re the original, the demo

Admiral how the poem uses color, fabric, and the environ to symbolically compose itself - colorful without being decorative.



. . . thunderheads
rose expecting a Palme d’Or for acting."

^^ gets a standing ovation from me


"Calcutta" 2x & so close - maybe as:

My father died in India under a moon
as gold as a dental mouth.


"beautiful as peacocks." is cliché - but that is a wonderful stanza w/out that worn phase:

Mourners with Macassaar blackened hair,
women arranged in a cortege
of colorful saris and haute courture

or

Mourners with Macassaar blackened hair,
a cortege of women perfumed
in colorful saris and haute courture

or, and this might be too the voice of MV - but I do hear it by virtue of your colorful poem:

Mourners with Macassaar blackened hair,
a cortege of women perfumed
in saris and haute courture
as colorful as Colette


esp liked "monochrome dress like monsoon rain." is fitting - yes, a monsoon is monochromatic


workshop share for the next 2 stanzas:

My caramel colored mother dressed
in monochrome like a monsoon rain.
A languor shadows manicured grass.

I cannot say where you should look for me,
browned as an Indian Sepoy, drinking
at a gambling table, a long hair unkempt.



workshop for the last stanza:

A dull electric fan ripples my zephyr shirt,
blue lights lower and turn the room
the color of a gas pilot.



and thanks to your poem: these lines I wrote over 12 years ago are revived & revamped:

diva
pop-opera
perfuming en plein air
in costumes as colorful as
Colette
 



Michael (MV)
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 

[Bernie01]

Frank---

I rode with him, no casket
covered in flowers and herbs
to the foreigner's grave yard,

my mind work on this:

I rode with the open casket,
flowers formed a necklace
around the dead man's neck.

to use dead man, to use corpse, or his form, his sleeping presence.....?

i wonder which i would use if just starting this pom.

many thanks.



Bob---

very encouraging.

I thought the image of the gold filling and the moon in the previous posting worked well, and had found a home....

oh, i like that dentist...i hope it is not a put-down for a reader from Calcutta---it is once again at home in the pom.



MV---


charmed and informed by your comment.

may i keep Colette and perfuming en plein air for a near future pom?


film from scene from a Colette novel----delightful....

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KTsC9ij_XHs

The Ripening Seed (Wheat Grass---Le blé en herbe,

Glenway Wescott...she is ..."for all time, a kind of female Montaigne."

"I desire to speak * * * like a man in a waking moment to men in their waking moments."...


thanks again.

[BobBradshaw]

It’s better but I want more punch than I get with cirrus clouds...

an attempt:
my cigarette smoke,
homeless—vanishing
like everything
else