Revisions

[BobBradshaw]

Revisions


When I started the year
I had a job
and an apartment,
books strewn everywhere,
on shelves, the floor,
my bed.

But I messed up at work,
got fired, and my landlord
opened my door
and coaxed me out
like a stray dog.

And here I am sleeping
on a roof of a rich hotel,
a thin cloud
my blanket,
the moon hovering over me
as if I’ve grown feverish
under her watch.

It's funny how a poet
longs for more time to write
and when he gets it
can’t hardly think
of anything but his stomach.

Give me one meal a day
and it’s enough to own a pencil
--a scrap of paper
--a used envelope
--an eviction notice
as long as the pencil comes
like the past
with an eraser—so a poem
can be reworked
when needed.

A poem like the future
goes on and on—
revised and revised

till it’s stowed away
yet one more time—
always to be pulled out,
reworked, put
away.

Or maybe it’s never gonna
meet my expectations…

like my tie’s knot
at a job interview
—no matter how well tied—
when I'm not looking
keeps untying
itself

[BobBradshaw]

Tweaked

[CalebMurdock]

I notice that you started a new thread for this new version. There's nothing wrong with that, but it does make it harder to compare the two versions.

The first four stanzas or strophes work well for me. Beginning in the fifth, it feels like you wander a bit. I'm not sure that three-line list in the middle of that strophe does much for the poem. However, I notice -- like with your other poems -- there are jewel-like insights spread throughout the poem. You are clearly a person with good insight into human life.

I'm going to look for the older version to make some comparisons, and then I'll come back to this. The ending on this one is pretty good.

One personal prejudice: I hate it when a poet devotes an entire line to one single word. But as I said, that's my prejudice.

[BobBradshaw]

Thank you for your kind words. There is no older version. I didn’t start a new thread. No one had commented on it previously. So I “tweaked” it to resurrect it.

[FranktheFrank]

Like this. Very good.

And here I am sleeping
on a roof of a rich hotel,
a thin cloud
my blanket,
the moon hovering over me
as if I’ve grown feverish
under her watch./quote]

[FranktheFrank]

I might steal it, Bob, use it myself.

[BobBradshaw]

Feel free, my friend. Clouds have been referred to as blankets forever. I don’t recall one being referred to as a “thin blanket” in a poem before, but it probably has been. So you won’t be stealing anything. No need to “cover” yourself!

[CalebMurdock]

Thank you for your kind words. There is no older version. I didn’t start a new thread. No one had commented on it previously. So I “tweaked” it to resurrect it.

I recall seeing it before. I must have read it when I first came to the forum.

I think I didn't understand the jump from the first two stanzas to top of the hotel. That keeps tripping me up.