I like this one - possibly more than the others? Possibly... (but that's not
saying I didn't like the others!)
I would guess in a collection of poems about the place it would find its
place - the different style would't inhibit a reader from getting what's
here (imho).
I still find myself being slowed down by one or two of the adjectives (but
not many!) and sense that where you've linked two then maybe one may do...
(or, even, none?).
Also, because the poem's so densely packed together (and has long lines) it
reads very quickly (so quickly I tend to get tongue-tied in places). But
that's an observation more than a criticsism. Because, if you can read it
smoothly, not having to concentrate too much, then it might just be me. (I
find the alliterations sound too much for me - and I almost lose the flow of
what else is going on when I reach a cluster of such sounds).
But I really enjoy going where it's taking me!
And the end images, the
"All over the village lights burn a while, then dowse,
> > > one last raucous peal of laughter, a dog responds with indignation,
> > > then, slowly, silence and the moon folds Patutiva into sleep"

trail off into a quietness that lulls me into recognising the contrast.
Canny,
Bob


>From: Arthur <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Re: new sub: Ship Makkit at Patutiva
>Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2002 06:40:09 -0000
>
>Sally-ee, I had thought to try and write the book. Instead this rich seam
>of
>poems had emerged, almost,but no quiet,unbidden and of their own volition.
>I
>think as a memoir I prefer these. As to switch of style I thought this one
>the best to capture the atmosphere of this market, and all such markets in
>the Solomons.
>----- Original Message -----
>From: "Sally Evans" <[log in to unmask]>
>To: <[log in to unmask]>
>Sent: Friday, February 15, 2002 10:45 PM
>Subject: Re: new sub: Ship Makkit at Patutiva
>
>
> > on 14/2/02 6:51 pm, Arthur at [log in to unmask] wrote:
> >
> > Wow! Completely different from your other stuff, Arthur! What caused
>this
> > maxi-poem? I like the long lines, they make everything seem very rich
>and
> > exciting and quick-moving.  It will not sit comfortably in your sequence
> > though, it's an altogether different kind of construction. Unless you do
> > more like this. You'll have a whole bookful soon. Watch out you are
>eating
> > and sleeping properly if you are writing as much as this (seriously)
> > Sally ee
> >
> > > Ship Makkit at Patutiva
> > >
> > > Tilleys hiss in moth-drummed globes of light;
> > > kumaras glow like rubies, couched in grass;
> > > drinking nuts piled, brown and plump as Polynesian breasts;
> > > tapioca,  starlight-white, snows on glossy leaves;
> > > fists of bananas bunch on blushing mangoes;
> > > char-grilled pink-cheeked job fish, rich seams of meat;
> > > pulled apart for viewing in the hot and yammering market
> > > close to the jetty and the sleek lagoon.
> > >
> > > Black hands, swift as spiders, fiddle and arrange,
> > > leaf-waft  intrusive flies away from translucent melon
> > > and oozing plush-fleshed paw-paws ranged over
> > > treasured calico, chequered and chintzed and willow-pattern blue.
> > > Eyes, bright with betel, dart and compare,
> > > secret whispers fix prices, gossip, story and snigger
> > > behind the black fans of hand and leaf
> > > and always the anxious harking for a distant greeting
> > > down the long warm slumbers of the night.
> > >
> > > The swaying sentinel, palm-perched at perilous height,
> > > tears the night with his shrill cry," Uminao! Hem cam noa ia!"
> > > and a sigh settles on the market, like a lover on his bride.
> > > The hush explodes with shouts and squeals of laughter
> > > from the hip-wriggling pikininis' bare-arsed jig,
> > > the wafting leaves increase in speed as the night bulges
> > > with the whale-wide, low-watt-light-swung, rust-scabbed,
> > > tyre-swagged, hulk of the islands' ferry,
> > > as it sidles and nudges, with a gigantic grace,
> > > into the web of a dripping puzzle of ropes to mate with the jetty.
> > >
> > > Deep pound of diesel mutes to a murmur and the sides clank down.
> > > Light and people spill into the mill of the market,
> > > silhouettes till lamps define them and then they  melt into the crowd.
> > > Frangipani, diesel, sweat, paraffin,
> > > trodden earth and slapping sea thicken the air.
> > > I sit with friends on long logs beside the stalls apart from this
>press
>of
> > > strangers.
> > > We chat and smoke the black tabac in resinous clouds;
> > > spit betel-blood to roll in dust; watch women at the toilsome tasks of
> > > trade;
> > > play-act the constant hunt for change; parcel fish in banana leaf;
> > > bundle the kasava and nali nuts; sift and twist the powdered shell.
> > >
> > > The bull-blare of horn informs
> > > and the
> > > Uminoa departs.
> > >
> > >
> > > We watch her leave, thinning down the moon -path, fading, gone,
> > > then fold the fragments, shake and close the cloths with loving care,
> > > scold heedless, past-it pikininis with sharp words and long sticks.
> > > Lamps disperse, float up the hill and will-o-the wisp along the shore;
> > > canoes down-doppler in fast farewells;
> > > cash is counted, tucked and put to hoard.
> > > All over the village lights burn a while, then dowse,
> > > one last raucous peal of laughter, a dog responds with indignation,
> > > then, slowly, silence and the moon folds Patutiva into sleep




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