Da_Yog Posted October 31, 2007 Report Posted October 31, 2007 (edited) This is about as straight-forward as I get. Normally I write poetry to be read on two levels. A top level for enjoyment and a deeper level for those who wish to look. This one is just laid out there, like an opened vein spewing life blood. At any rate enjoy and constructive comments welcome. The Price of Memory I remember when we stormed the beaches In search of beautiful waves. They’d wash by our sandcastles And giggle at their cuteness, As we admired every swell and crest. I will forever remember the colors: Bronze and white with splashes— And dashes of pink, blue, green, and red. All rolling along the shore In sweaty, sunny perfection. I remember the skin too red: Hot to the touch, Soaking in cool baths at night, Covered in aloe, Slathered in sun-screen, I remember the next day at the beach… I remember our camping trips: Pitching the old worn tent, Pressing bread to a hook and line, Pulling craw-dads from a stream. Running amok in the playground— Breaking my arm jumping from a swing. I remember the horde of chiggers— Our skin itching till we scratched it raw, Then—itching even more. I remember mom applying buckets— And buckets of Calamine lotion… And it still itching. Then came nail polish Applied to private places Followed by the screaming of raw flesh. But at least the itch went away, And so did we, Back to play. I remember the fishing trips: The one where I screamed Because my arm was still broken, And I hadn’t been to the doctor yet. And the day we spent all our time: Walking to the lake, Walking around the lake, Skipping rocks across the lake, Laughing with the lake, Never fishing in the lake, Walking back from the lake, Tipping trees in the forest, Watching my uncle—your step-father, Stalk us back to the house, And claim we never saw him. I remember when you caught Your own wave. At your wedding: Watched you smile, saw you beam Never saw her smile, never saw her beam I remember when she washed back to sea— Taking your most precious—your daughter—with her. I remember how you cared for her: Always when she needed you, Always making payments, Always loving like only you could. I remember when I got that last call: A stranger’s voice…My uncle’s An uncertain voice…My uncle’s A distraught voice…My uncle’s A lost voice…My uncle’s What? No! How can this be? Monday morning? Dead… No! Just a year younger… A daughter of thirteen! I remember when the pieces fell together: Gambling… Missing guns… Stolen money… Shame! “It rules my life!” Shame! Eleven days missing— Then in the hospital parking lot The crashing of the shot. Shame! The world left behind, “It was only money!” Maybe not… Shame! I remember the closed casket: A mother’s tears, A brother’s disbelief, A father’s love, A minister who couldn't get your name right …Four times! The songs of remembrance, A daughter lost. I remember the casket Lowering Into The Ground. Edited November 1, 2007 by Da_Yog
Da_Yog Posted October 31, 2007 Author Report Posted October 31, 2007 Guess I need to read that how-to indent thread. The last three lines are supposed to be indented just past the word lowering. I'll work on it later.
Wyvern Posted November 9, 2007 Report Posted November 9, 2007 I like this poem, Yog. :-) You have a good eye for personal details that shines through and conveys the experiences of the poem well. I really like how you depict the fond memories of growing with the girl, and particularly liked the memories related to irritation... the way that you depict things like the sunburn and broken arm gives them an air of nostalgia and makes them feel like things that are missed, which rings true. The poem is also thematically strong in a highly personal way, and drives across your emotions well for the most part. The last four stanzas where the woman's death is revealed along with the inevitable grief and shame were nice in the manner that they relayed the chaos and disbelief of the situation in their tone, but were not as strong as the other stanzas to me as they didn't have the same eye for detail or convey as strong an emotion to me. They felt more like a universal poem of mourning, whereas the first four stanzas felt more personalized. The "And giggle at their cuteness" in the fourth line of the first stanza didn't seem to fit with the grammatical nature of the rest of the lines, and you might consider adding a "we'd" after the "And" there should you choose to fix it. Also, is there any particular reason that all of the lines start with capital letters? I found that the capitals distracted me from the grammar of the piece a bit, particularly in the first stanza. Anyway, very nicely done Yog. :-) Thank you for sharing this personal piece here, I'm glad that you feel open and comfortable in posting it at the Pen.
Da_Yog Posted November 9, 2007 Author Report Posted November 9, 2007 (edited) Heehee Clearly I need to do some edits. http://www.themightypen.net/public/style_emoticons/default/ohmy.gif First off, my companion was a male. From Stanza four: "I remember when you caught Your own wave. At your wedding: Watched you smile, saw you beam Never saw her smile, never saw her beam I remember when she washed back to sea— Taking your most precious—your daughter—with her." I suppose although I never mentioned sex. I was implying the traditional marriage of man and woman. He got married, divorced, and lost his daughter in the divorce. The wave here was a play upon the wave in stanza one. "I remember when we stormed the beaches In search of beautiful waves. They’d wash by our sandcastles And giggle at their cuteness, As we admired every swell and crest." Wave serves as a metaphor for woman. We went down to the beach to look at girls. I used this metaphor because this is what we used to tell our moms. "Mom, we're going down to the beach to watch the waves," meant "Mom, we're going down to the beach to watch the ladies." Then we'd get distracted and build sandcastles. Then the ladies would show up. We never seemed to make the connection that boys being boys was enough to attract the women. Perhaps line four would be best served as, "And giggle at our cuteness." The their seems to be misleading. It was actually referencing the sandcastles. Perhaps it was our cuteness they were laughing at after all... The last four stanzas were perhaps too recent in my mind to get the kind of details you are looking for. All I know is that those close to him can barely read the those last four stanzas without crying. Mom had to stop several times to finish it. I think they do convey the chaos and turmoil surrounding the funeral. Everything was scattered, dismembered, and traveling in seven different directions near continuously. The quotes were things actually said by people at the funeral. I just collected them in no particular order and set them down as chaotically as they came in. As for the capitals...It's just a poetry tradition as old as dirt as far as I know. I can hardly ever remember seeing a poem—except for here—that didn't start every line with a capital letter. Perhaps some of the more modern writing that I'm not as familiar with? It's not something I've ever given any thought to unless I use lines that are an addendum to the first in which case I don't capitalize. Do you have any published poetical references that vary from this tradition? I'd certainly be interested in taking a look. Thanks for your comments and suggestions. Keep 'em comin'. Edited November 9, 2007 by Da_Yog
Da_Yog Posted November 9, 2007 Author Report Posted November 9, 2007 The Price of Memory I remember when we stormed the beaches In search of beautiful waves. They’d wash by our sandcastles And giggle at our cuteness, As we admired every swell and crest. I will forever remember the colors: Bronze and white with splashes— And dashes of pink, blue, green, and red. All rolling along the shore In sweaty, sunny perfection. I remember the skin too red: Hot to the touch, Soaking in cool baths at night, Covered in aloe, Slathered in sun-screen, I remember the next day at the beach… I remember our camping trips: Pitching the old worn tent, Pressing bread to a hook and line, Pulling craw-dads from a stream. Running amok in the playground— Breaking my arm jumping from a swing. I remember the horde of chiggers— Our skin itching till we scratched it raw, Then—itching even more. I remember mom applying buckets— And buckets of Calamine lotion… And it still itching. Then came nail polish Applied to private places Followed by the screaming of raw flesh. But at least the itch went away, And so did we, Back to play. I remember the fishing trips: The one where I screamed Because my arm was still broken, And I hadn’t been to the doctor yet. And the day we spent all our time: Walking to the lake, Walking around the lake, Skipping rocks across the lake, Laughing with the lake, Never fishing in the lake, Walking back from the lake, Tipping trees in the forest, Watching my uncle—your step-father, Stalk us back to the house, And claim we never saw him. I remember when you caught Your own wave. At your wedding: Watched you smile, saw you beam Never saw her smile, never saw her beam I remember when she washed back to sea— Taking your most precious—your daughter—with her. I remember how you cared for her: Always when she needed you, Always making payments, Always loving like only you could. I remember when I got that last call: A stranger’s voice…My uncle’s An uncertain voice…My uncle’s A distraught voice…My uncle’s A lost voice…My uncle’s What? No! How can this be? Monday morning? Dead… No! Just a year younger… A daughter of thirteen! I remember when the pieces fell together: Gambling… Missing guns… Stolen money… Shame! “It rules my life!” Shame! Eleven days missing— Then in the hospital parking lot The crashing of the shot. Shame! The world left behind, “It was only money!” Maybe not… Shame! I remember the closed casket: A mother’s tears, A brother’s disbelief, A father’s love, A minister who couldn't get your name right …Four times! The songs of remembrance, A daughter lost. I remember the casket ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ Lowering ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ Into ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ The ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ Ground.
Da_Yog Posted November 13, 2007 Author Report Posted November 13, 2007 I gave this some thought over the weekend. The more I thought about it the more I realized that it didn't matter whether the friend is seen as male or female. I just don't think it really affects the reading of the poem that much. It might even help the reader connect if they are allowed to interject the sex of the friend. I think, for that reason, I'm going to leave that aspect of the poem alone.
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