thanks for that Caleb, heartfelt
KS
On 03/11/06, Caleb Cluff <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
> First the anecdote.
>
> Many years ago I had a partner, now a famous actress, and we seemed to
> be performing the 'Ironweed' screenplay pretty much to the script. She
> said at the time that she enjoyed coming down off the drunken high - the
> melancholy. I understood. We would have destroyed each other. That
> simple.
>
> I love a drink as much as the next. I live in a wine region; I love a
> good wine. Too much sometimes. I've also lost friends to alcoholism. The
> writer Jon Power was the most recent. He transcribed the long sad arc of
> drinking over twenty years. I remember - somehow - once drinking a
> week's wages in a night in a country hotel at the end of wheat harvest.
> Thankfully I cannot (would not? Maybe.) do that now. But I do have to
> set regulations (no drinking during the week etc) to keep things on the
> square.
>
> And so the work, and I'm going to fall into line here. I think you could
> cut it in half Heather. There are two ideas I can see, and the one that
> interests me is your grandfather. I know what the poem is about - so I
> (as the selfish reader) want to get to what you're doing behind the
> language - where the shift happens, unconscious to the surface. I could
> start at the second stanza, finish at the fifth, and be fulfilled with
> this, with some more exploration.
>
> And to finish what must be a record post of length for me, One of Pat
> Kavanagh's poems on the theme.
>
> Cal
>
> MEMORY OF MY FATHER
>
> Every old man I see
> Reminds me of my father
> When he had fallen in love with death
> One time when sheaves were gathered.
>
> That man I saw in Gardner Street
> Stumbled on the kerb was one,
> He stared at me half-eyed,
> I might have been his son.
>
> And I remember the musician
> Faltering over his fiddle
> In Bayswater, London,
> He too set me the riddle.
>
> Every old man I see
> In October-coloured weather
> Seems to say to me:
> "I was once your father."
>
>
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Poetryetc provides a venue for a dialogue relating to poetry and
> poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of kasper salonen
> Sent: Friday, 3 November 2006 10:57 AM
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: Re: Long snap: Drinking
>
> "Thanks for all the comments...I think the "plain" language serves the
> subject matter - not all poems have to be flowery or overly metaphored
> to
> get a point across. Sometimes simple is better I think."
>
> it does serve the subject matter, as I think I pointed out. but surely
> you're not of the opinion that the alternative to plain language is
> 'flowery, overly metaphored' language? that there's no space between the
> plain & the obtuse? as for what is 'simple', I don't think it can
> reasonably
> be claimed that it is the same as what is 'plain'. WCW (for instance) is
> simple, but definitely not plain.
>
> good hastening there Andrew, I was about to go into quantity/quality &
> other
> fallacies of poetics. :)
> I also agree with your suggestion about shortening.
>
> KS
>
> On 03/11/06, andrew burke <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> >
> > Just to put in my tuppence worth in on the poem itself, it is
> > obviously worth saying both personally and as literature. Just count
> > the responses: any poem that does that has to have something going for
> > it. (The corollary is not always true, I hasten to add.)
> >
> > My advice would be to shorten it - tighten it up, not by changing the
> > syntactical structure of it so much as taking out the obvious and the
> > always-said about this. The great lurker Glen Phillips always asked
> > his students to cut by 10%, but I would go for much more - maybe 20%.
> > (Hey, but keep the original on file ... just as a safety net. I find I
> > never need it because a shorter, more focused poem is always better
> > than a loose-lipped rambler, but simply the act of keeping the draft
> > makes you more daring in the editing.)
> >
> > I'll shut up now and go to work.
> >
> > Andrew
> >
> >
> > On 03/11/06, Douglas Barbour <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> > > I tend to agree with the others about this Heather. It's powerful,
> but
> > > almost a story. And I cant really think of a way to push the rhythm
> any
> > > harder, although that's what I would want from it.
> > >
> > > I'm not sure that trying to undermine grammatical structure a bit
> would
> > > do that, though it's what I would be tempted to try...
> > >
> > > Doug
> > > On 2-Nov-06, at 3:38 AM, Heather Taylor wrote:
> > >
> > > > This is a longer one but I wanted to share, get some feedback,
> etc.
> > > > Tried
> > > > to send it last night but it didn't go through...
> > > >
> > > >
> > > > It was absent in my house:
> > > > red wine, white, baileys, whiskey, six packs.
> > > > No one had beer at the end of a hot summer work week
> > > > or snuck something in their coffee mid-afternoon.
> > > >
> > > > My grandpa was a mean drunk way before I met him,
> > > > before he became the man who slipped me
> > > > fivers for candy, played cards late into the night,
> > > > sat me on his lap to show me how the world worked
> > > >
> > > > as he dieted on his new habits of coffee and cigarettes
> > > > and KFC family bucket meals - the ones we expected
> > > > every time he came round to visit, while my mom hovered,
> > > > making peace by fetching and cleaning and keeping quiet.
> > > >
> > > > Before me, my grandpa was best at blame, the strong
> > > > silent type that didn't talk about his army demotion,
> > > > or why my Grandma couldn't speak "Goddamn German
> > > > in front of his Goddamn children," or why he slipped
> > > >
> > > > vodka into his morning coffees and continued slipping
> > > > until the day was done and at least one of his kids
> > > > had a bloody nose and at least one of his kids was in a closet
> > > > or under the bed so he wouldn't find them.
> > > >
> > > > So alcohol didn't exist in our family beyond that shadow
> > > > of a past we're not never ever supposed to talk about.
> > > > Our breed don't talk about things.
> > > > Our breed knows how to keep things quiet.
> > > >
> > > > But still, I was taught what alcoholics looked like:
> > > > red veins mapping their way across noses, the meek man
> > > > shouting and fighting with strangers, the drinking of real
> > > > vanilla essence or lysterine when the shops shut
> > > >
> > > > and you couldn't get a hit. These people were cartoon
> > > > characters in bad America sitcoms, the ones that taught
> > > > you an ABC after school lesson so you didn't fall
> > > > down that path. It was no one I knew.
> > > >
> > > > The retired teacher who buys 2 litres of White Lighting each
> morning,
> > > > my uncles that finish the 2-6s of JD at every party, funeral and
> > > > wedding,
> > > > the friend who almost broke my arm over concert tickets -
> > > > They weren't alcoholics. Just another set of normal people.
> > > >
> > > > But when you're lying naked in a bed in a hotel room with
> strangers,
> > > > and your doctor says you're killing yourself, and your friends
> > > > marvel that you make it through the day after the night before,
> > > > and your best mates are wearing grooves in bar stools - is that
> > enough.
> > > >
> > > > My Grandpa was a mean drunk. He drank to cope.
> > > > My friend to cope, my uncle to cope, me to cope.
> > > > And forget. And forget. And forget. Until we all
> > > > forgot and drank another. A sweet release down the throat.
> > > >
> > > > My Grandpa was a mean drunk. He drank to cope.
> > > > But we don't talk about that anymore.
> > > >
> > > >
> > > Douglas Barbour
> > > 11655 - 72 Avenue NW
> > > Edmonton Ab T6G 0B9
> > > (780) 436 3320
> > > http://www.ualberta.ca/~dbarbour/
> > >
> > > Latest book: Continuations (with Sheila E Murphy)
> > > http://www.uap.ualberta.ca/UAP.asp?LID=41&bookID=664
> > >
> > > Where philosophy stops, poetry is impelled to begin. He was
> > > a man, far away from home, biting his nails at destiny.
> > >
> > > Susan Howe
> > >
> >
> >
> > --
> > Andrew
> > http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
> > http://www.bam.com.au/andrew
> >
>
>
>
>
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