Hi Bunny,

I love the flow of this piece. I think that you could gain some more
definition by moving away from the continuous tense. What I mean is try and
lose the "ing" endings. I promise, it will look and sound good.
bw
James


>From: Bunny Goodjohn <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: sub: On the Corner of Carey and Clinch
>Date: Sun, 21 Jul 2002 22:46:56 -0400
>
>Hi all,
>
>Suggestions, cuts and critisizms appreciated.
>
>At the corner of Carey and Clinch
>
>in the church hall listening to the old man sing Folk,
>I sat between the beautiful Panamanian grad
>and the English professor with the thin wrists
>and expensive Italian shoes. Other students
>were rowed up behind us, bored and whispering
>about a baby on his mother’s lap in the third row.
>His white romper stained with blueberries
>and crossed with spittle, his chubby knees
>pumping air in time with the cracked chorus
>and all the girls were wondering
>when they’d have a baby,
>warm and heavy on their knee.
>
>When the elderly couple took to the floor,
>waltzed across the boards, shining
>in each other’s eyes with the kind of past
>the rest of us just hunger for,
>it happened.
>
>Luca, he was hearing minority and for once,
>it felt good. He felt part of fifteen people tapping
>and sipping soda and all remembering
>the first time they heard this song. Him thinking back
>to his sweet mother singing outside the church
>in Cerro Punta, dressed in black, and the heat
>of the morning and the press of all that love.
>
>The English Professor was listening to the music
>but thinking of the girl. Back to that night
>in his house when she stopped being tutored
>and started teaching, how the song
>had been playing on the eight-track
>in his back room.
>
>For the girls behind me, this night was trickling down
>into recollection and photos to be shown to friends
>and gilded with memories of waltzing
>with a Tennessee High Stepper. He told each girl
>she was the prettiest thing he’d seen
>since the Council planted Black-Eyed Susan
>on the median outside Dayton.
>
>Me, I just kind of held on, tried to fasten the night
>in my mind, realised that each moment
>is a memory in the making that can transcend
>to a level that sparks tears or smiles in the dark.
>You’ve just got to be ready for it.
>
>Bunny
>"Sometimes a poem about a fish is just that - a poem about a fish."




bw
James


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