The Lost Suitcase
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- Posts: 2692
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
The Lost Suitcase
V4:
The Lost Suitcase
In your suitcase that day
you carried your first novel,
always within reach.
You expected publishers
to dote over your manuscript
like brides over a wedding catalog.
As you turned around in the depot
your throat tightened:
the suitcase was gone.
You would have to start over,
like someone whose fiancee
has eloped with another man.
Never would you write a novel
again, you swore. It would be like trying
to cross China by foot.
Interviewed fifteen years later,
you say how grateful you are
someone stole your suitcase.
Even now, the thought of the manuscript
turning up haunts you,
like a former girlfriend
showing up at your wedding reception
reminiscing on how clumsy
a lover you once were.
V3:
The Lost Suitcase
Other suitcases in the bus depot
had vacation stickers from Australia,
Hong Kong, Rome, Beijing.
Yours carried something more valuable:
your first novel. You carried it
the way you carried your wallet
in your vest pocket,
always within reach.
You expected publishers
to dote over your manuscript
like brides over a wedding catalog.
As you turned around
your throat tightened:
the suitcase was gone.
You would have to start over.
You felt like someone whose fiancee
has eloped with another man.
Never would you write a novel
again, you said. It would be like trying
to cross China by foot.
Fifteen years later
you’re being interviewed,
saying how grateful
you are that someone stole
your suitcase.
Even now, the thought of the manuscript
showing up haunts you,
like a former girlfriend
showing up at your wedding reception
reminiscing on how clumsy
a lover you once were.
V2:
The Lost Suitcase
Other suitcases in the bus depot
had vacation stickers from Australia,
Hong Kong, Rome, Beijing.
Yours carried something more valuable:
your first novel. You carried it
the way you carried your wallet
in your vest pocket,
always within reach.
You expected publishers
to dote over your manuscript
like brides over a wedding catalog.
As you turned around
your throat tightened:
the suitcase was gone.
You would have to start over.
You felt like someone whose fiancee
has eloped with another man.
Never would you write a novel
again, you said. It would be like trying
to cross China by foot.
Fifteen years later
you’re being interviewed,
saying how grateful
you are that someone stole
your suitcase.
Even now, the thought of the manuscript
showing up haunts you.
Like the thought of a former girlfriend
showing up at your wedding reception
reminiscing on how clumsy
a lover you once were.
V1:
The Lost Suitcase
Other suitcases in the bus depot
had vacation stickers from Australia,
Hong Kong, Rome, Beijing.
Yours carried something more valuable:
your first novel. You carried it
the way you carried your wallet
in your vest pocket,
always within reach.
You expected publishers
to dote over your manuscript
like brides over a wedding catalog.
As you turned around
your throat tightened:
the suitcase was gone.
You would have to start over.
You felt like someone whose fiancee
has eloped with another man.
Never would you write a novel
again, you said. It would be like trying
to cross China by foot.
Fifteen years later
you’re being interviewed,
saying how grateful
you are that someone stole
your suitcase.
Still the thought of the manuscript
showing up even now haunts you.
Like the thought of a former mistress
showing up at your wedding reception
reminiscing on how clumsy
a lover you once were.
The Lost Suitcase
In your suitcase that day
you carried your first novel,
always within reach.
You expected publishers
to dote over your manuscript
like brides over a wedding catalog.
As you turned around in the depot
your throat tightened:
the suitcase was gone.
You would have to start over,
like someone whose fiancee
has eloped with another man.
Never would you write a novel
again, you swore. It would be like trying
to cross China by foot.
Interviewed fifteen years later,
you say how grateful you are
someone stole your suitcase.
Even now, the thought of the manuscript
turning up haunts you,
like a former girlfriend
showing up at your wedding reception
reminiscing on how clumsy
a lover you once were.
V3:
The Lost Suitcase
Other suitcases in the bus depot
had vacation stickers from Australia,
Hong Kong, Rome, Beijing.
Yours carried something more valuable:
your first novel. You carried it
the way you carried your wallet
in your vest pocket,
always within reach.
You expected publishers
to dote over your manuscript
like brides over a wedding catalog.
As you turned around
your throat tightened:
the suitcase was gone.
You would have to start over.
You felt like someone whose fiancee
has eloped with another man.
Never would you write a novel
again, you said. It would be like trying
to cross China by foot.
Fifteen years later
you’re being interviewed,
saying how grateful
you are that someone stole
your suitcase.
Even now, the thought of the manuscript
showing up haunts you,
like a former girlfriend
showing up at your wedding reception
reminiscing on how clumsy
a lover you once were.
V2:
The Lost Suitcase
Other suitcases in the bus depot
had vacation stickers from Australia,
Hong Kong, Rome, Beijing.
Yours carried something more valuable:
your first novel. You carried it
the way you carried your wallet
in your vest pocket,
always within reach.
You expected publishers
to dote over your manuscript
like brides over a wedding catalog.
As you turned around
your throat tightened:
the suitcase was gone.
You would have to start over.
You felt like someone whose fiancee
has eloped with another man.
Never would you write a novel
again, you said. It would be like trying
to cross China by foot.
Fifteen years later
you’re being interviewed,
saying how grateful
you are that someone stole
your suitcase.
Even now, the thought of the manuscript
showing up haunts you.
Like the thought of a former girlfriend
showing up at your wedding reception
reminiscing on how clumsy
a lover you once were.
V1:
The Lost Suitcase
Other suitcases in the bus depot
had vacation stickers from Australia,
Hong Kong, Rome, Beijing.
Yours carried something more valuable:
your first novel. You carried it
the way you carried your wallet
in your vest pocket,
always within reach.
You expected publishers
to dote over your manuscript
like brides over a wedding catalog.
As you turned around
your throat tightened:
the suitcase was gone.
You would have to start over.
You felt like someone whose fiancee
has eloped with another man.
Never would you write a novel
again, you said. It would be like trying
to cross China by foot.
Fifteen years later
you’re being interviewed,
saying how grateful
you are that someone stole
your suitcase.
Still the thought of the manuscript
showing up even now haunts you.
Like the thought of a former mistress
showing up at your wedding reception
reminiscing on how clumsy
a lover you once were.
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- Posts: 2154
- Joined: 18 Apr 2005, 04:57
Re: The Lost Suitcase
Bob,
On my short list
for all the right reasons
Michael (MV)
On my short list
for all the right reasons
Michael (MV)
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- Posts: 2692
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: The Lost Suitcase
Ken, Michael — thank you
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- Posts: 2154
- Joined: 18 Apr 2005, 04:57
Re: The Lost Suitcase
Hi Bob,
a couple of workshop shares:
As you turned around
your throat tightened:
the suitcase was gone, like a missing child.
Even now, the thought of the manuscript
showing up still haunts you.
Michael (MV)
a couple of workshop shares:
As you turned around
your throat tightened:
the suitcase was gone, like a missing child.
Even now, the thought of the manuscript
showing up still haunts you.
Michael (MV)
-
- Posts: 2692
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: The Lost Suitcase
The missing child line is good, but I am reluctant to add another image. It might be too many. I might “borrow” it for another piece, if you don’t mind.
I will take advantage of your other suggestion. It will make the stanza more efficient.
Thank you, Michael, for looking out for this poem’s best interests.
I will take advantage of your other suggestion. It will make the stanza more efficient.
Thank you, Michael, for looking out for this poem’s best interests.
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- Posts: 2692
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: The Lost Suitcase
I’ve revised one stanza per your suggestion, Michael. Thank you.
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- Posts: 2154
- Joined: 18 Apr 2005, 04:57
Re: The Lost Suitcase
Now I am seeing a potential concern with the use of "thought" twice.
Workshop-share without a 2nd "thought":
Even now, the thought of that manuscript
showing up haunts you,
like a former mistress
showing up at your wedding reception
reminiscing on how clumsy
a lover you once were.
Or, to keep it less biographical to the narrator:
Even now, the thought of that manuscript
showing up haunts you,
like a former mistress
showing up at a wedding reception
reminiscing on how clumsy
a lover the groom once was.
Michael (MV)
Workshop-share without a 2nd "thought":
Even now, the thought of that manuscript
showing up haunts you,
like a former mistress
showing up at your wedding reception
reminiscing on how clumsy
a lover you once were.
Or, to keep it less biographical to the narrator:
Even now, the thought of that manuscript
showing up haunts you,
like a former mistress
showing up at a wedding reception
reminiscing on how clumsy
a lover the groom once was.
Michael (MV)
BobBradshaw wrote: ↑12 May 2021, 01:34I’ve revised one stanza per your suggestion, Michael. Thank you.
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- Posts: 2692
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: The Lost Suitcase
Good point, Michael! The 2nd “thought” should be dealt with, and your revision is appreciated.
-
- Posts: 2692
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: The Lost Suitcase
Michael, your revision has found a hone. Thx...
Thank you, Meenas
Thank you, Meenas
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- Posts: 2692
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: The Lost Suitcase
The poem has been shortened and revised. Let me know your thoughts. Thank you.
-
- Posts: 2154
- Joined: 18 Apr 2005, 04:57
Re: The Lost Suitcase
Hi Bob,
Your first novel,
carried in a suitcase,
always within reach.
the suitcase was missing.
Never would you write a novel
again, you vowed.
or
Never would you write a novel
again, you swore.
Even now, the thought of that manuscript
showing up haunts you,
like a former girlfriend
showing up at your wedding reception
reminiscing on how clumsy
a lover you once were.
Your first novel,
carried in a suitcase,
always within reach.
the suitcase was missing.
Never would you write a novel
again, you vowed.
or
Never would you write a novel
again, you swore.
Even now, the thought of that manuscript
showing up haunts you,
like a former girlfriend
showing up at your wedding reception
reminiscing on how clumsy
a lover you once were.
BobBradshaw wrote: ↑14 May 2021, 22:43The poem has been shortened and revised. Let me know your thoughts. Thank you.
-
- Posts: 2692
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: The Lost Suitcase
Good points, Michael. I will adjust later. Thx!
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- Posts: 2692
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: The Lost Suitcase
Michael, in v4 I used your “swore” and changed the last 2 stanzas to 3 lines each. Thx again
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- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: The Lost Suitcase
Bob, you were generous in your critique of my poem
and it has changed it for the better.
I see you have workshopped this poem
as a proper workshopping event.
It has been a pleasure to see it evolve
with Michael's input.
Well done.
I particularly like the theme, of how writers mature
not to mention the fine simile at the end.
Very well done.
and it has changed it for the better.
I see you have workshopped this poem
as a proper workshopping event.
It has been a pleasure to see it evolve
with Michael's input.
Well done.
I particularly like the theme, of how writers mature
not to mention the fine simile at the end.
Very well done.