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Underground > Creation >

A play piece from a moment of... well something

01:48 / 04.09.06

wrote this yesterday in what felt like a bit of an 'enveloped moment' when some words just seeped into my brain. 's it a bit, well, twee? a bit soppy? it is a love poem, of course!

anyway, a fresh, very subconscious piece i'd like to get fresh reactions to before i consider it again and do some work on when i know it better meself...

rising, and sure

(after watching vik walk towards the shop)

that curve of skin, rising with the exhalation
into a whisper of renegade hair escaped the band,
lower a shoulder, skin bone-rounded sliding across the weave
soothed inside coverlet dream-swaddled caressed
as the night before, gliding distorting in distance
and she loves me

the smell of citrus rising with the exhalation
into an adventure of sensual tricks manipulating
desiring following instinct, captured day-swathed kisses,
eyes glistening hands like flour dusting butter friction-free
to rise like an exhalation and she loves me

another promise rising with the exhalation
sleek perfection, magnificent enterprise fun-laughter
and potential untethered launching comet-ward near-
hit, no miss, singularity devotion absorption supple
assertion to be visceral, evincing heels and feet sure
and sure she loves me, o she loves
me.

03:08 / 04.09.06

I wonder if she does, really.

Love you, that is. You've been following her about the place a bit, haven't you? Just a little?

Not that there's anything wrong with that, necessarily. It never did Nabokov any harm. And it can be quite flattering, I gather.

And it's always better to write something than nothing. But this piece ... I don't know. There's no money in poetry these days, and if there's no money involved then it's going to be very difficult to get your ideas across if you're working in that medium, because no one's going to spring for the marketing campaign. I don't mean to be unkind, AJ, but I can help feeling that your talents might be better focused on something with a beginning, a middle and an end, that might, realistically, net you a big chunk of change once you've finished it.

(I'm saying all this only because I wish someone had said the same to me years ago; essentially James Joyce was a one-off, and isn't really a valid influence, in the sense of one's attempts to not spend the rest of one's wretched, miserable working life at Barclays Bank, or wherever.)

I'm in two minds as to whether I should post this, but, oh well ...

06:13 / 04.09.06

not at all, alex's great aunt - you should indeed have posted!

here's why: yes, i am working on a novel, so a much broader pallete to work with, but this one (and i do write poetry now and again, but i know i am but a poor fourth rate poet) just came out of a bit of stuff been swirling in me.

and so a propos, it is indeed interesting you pose the first question. because actually, rather happily, yes she does... but the poem should convey that and this is exactly what i needed to hear. thanks! : )

and a prescient final comment: see my post in convo

would love a career that emboldens and develops my writing, have to pay bills. but in the meantime, i write and plan to eventually live as a novelist. plan.

All Acting Regiment

15:45 / 04.09.06

Of course, while AG's right to say that there's little money in poetry, that's no reason not to write poetry if you want to- I'm not sure if I agree with the idea that the only real impetus for writing poetry is to make money, or if that's even a relevant point to make during criticism of a poem.

Looking at the poem in itself, I like the repeating refrain but think you could do with setting it to a metre- probably the usual iambic pentameters to start with, but see what works- to really just put across what you're saying in a stronger, tighter way. Also, think about the lack of capitals and whether that's something you want to change.