Poem for Poetry Thursday
Happy Poetry Thursday!
I've been trying to write a poem about this incident for a while. It's still not there yet, so I'm considering the poem a bonafide first draft. In order for the poem to go where I need it to go, I have to push it there--and I'm not ready to do that yet. So for now, here it is and know that I will post a revision of it for NaPoWriMo.
Looking forward to reading all of your wonderful poems this week.
“How Did You Turn Out So Well?”
When she said it, it was the proverbial
needle-scratching-the-record moment.
July 4 party, husband’s birthday,
we had been talking about Ebonics
becoming a second language,
and why so many black kids fail in school.
With just a few simple words
she opens my attic door that old hurt,
the intractable sadness that rises in me
like a bad moon, to reflect back to me
in the face of a friend I’ve known for years.
The conversation leans in,
takes a sip of the stiff drink,
tries to keep its composure
in the wake of its ransacked heart.
How can I blame her for speaking what she thinks,
and for the answer she thinks she deserves?
I do what so many of us have done for generations:
hide my displeasure in pockets of silence,
even though her blue eyes and blond architecture
keep asking the same question
I’ve asked myself every day of my
dark existence.
I've been trying to write a poem about this incident for a while. It's still not there yet, so I'm considering the poem a bonafide first draft. In order for the poem to go where I need it to go, I have to push it there--and I'm not ready to do that yet. So for now, here it is and know that I will post a revision of it for NaPoWriMo.
Looking forward to reading all of your wonderful poems this week.
“How Did You Turn Out So Well?”
When she said it, it was the proverbial
needle-scratching-the-record moment.
July 4 party, husband’s birthday,
we had been talking about Ebonics
becoming a second language,
and why so many black kids fail in school.
With just a few simple words
she opens my attic door that old hurt,
the intractable sadness that rises in me
like a bad moon, to reflect back to me
in the face of a friend I’ve known for years.
The conversation leans in,
takes a sip of the stiff drink,
tries to keep its composure
in the wake of its ransacked heart.
How can I blame her for speaking what she thinks,
and for the answer she thinks she deserves?
I do what so many of us have done for generations:
hide my displeasure in pockets of silence,
even though her blue eyes and blond architecture
keep asking the same question
I’ve asked myself every day of my
dark existence.
Comments
Love,
D.
the intractable sadness that rises in me like a bad moon"
Harsh my friend, harsh. I'm sorry that these words even are considered normal by many.
I must admit to being puzzled. In my situation, it's hard to relate to the color as even being an issue. I understand some people divide the world by color; but why?
This is a very strong poem, but I can see what you mean about pushing you, it does have a lot of energy and life jumping off the page.
Rose
xo
I really empathize with the last stanza. The last lines.
It's one thing to ponder these issues..another to live them.
Well done.
"With just a few simple words
she opens my attic door that old hurt,
the intractable sadness that rises in me
like a bad moon, to reflect back to me
in the face of a friend I’ve known for years."
It makes me think of when we as people hear someone who is wrong to say it, say something we might say ourselves - for example, my mother doesn't like gays, so when a relationship ends she thinks "see it wasn't meant to be" and she's right, for all the wrong reasons so I stay silent, unable to "get her to see." This is the main idea I am drawing from the poem, which pivots on that bit I pulled out.
This is a great draft! Hardly feels like a draft anyway! Hope my read lends some insight.
Thanks
Interesting perspective, as always. You should write a poem about the subject, if you haven't already.
One of the things I don't think I convey yet is that my friend said it without malice. It was meant to be a complement. And I don't think I do a good job of conveying how I felt. So I feel like I have a lot to work with. I just have to get to a place that's not always easy to tap into, nor do I enjoy going there.
But anyway, I have been sitting here for over an hour now and maybe I am just starting to understand a little bit where you are coming from. There's so much more I could say about this poem, but I will stop here as I fear I'll end up saying more about me than you, or the poem, which btw, is stunning.
hide my displeasure in pockets of silence,
even though her blue eyes and blond architecture
keep asking the same question
I’ve asked myself every day of my
dark existence."
And what is your answer to that question? Even if the poem ends without the reader's knowing, does the answer somehow inform the feelings you so powerfully evoke?
Powerful work.
"even though her blue eyes and blond architecture
keep asking the same question
I’ve asked myself every day of my
dark existence." The contrast says so much.
But, in regards to the question of how to convey that she's speaking without malice, I think it's this line,
"How can I blame her for speaking what she thinks,
and for the answer she thinks she deserves?"
which is key. "Speaking what she thinks' implies, to me, a stance/determined opinion--"speaking one's mind." Perhaps tinkering with that line will help convey the intention? I'm not deft enough with language to offer any suggestions, but I know you'll pull out just the right nugget...
You've expressed your feelings so clearly here that one can come to understand you a little more with each reading.
Even when we mean well, we can unknowingly touch sensitivities beyond our awareness.
Although this piece stands well as it is, I'd be interested in reading it when you think it says what you feel better.
Being raised in a low-income, prejudiced and poorly educated family I have had people use that same phrase on me. Your words have certainly prompted me to think of writing a poem of how the context of this single phrase can take on such different meanings.
If you're looking for ideas of which areas to develop then I'd love to see an exploration between the difference of 'speaking what she thinks' and 'the answer she thinks she deserves'. From my perspective, I am thinking we all deserve free speech, but we shouldn't be expected to be cosseted from other people's reactions to the ignorances our own words might well convey. Just a thought. Or maybe that's the poem I need to write! :-)
I think this poem really is a showstopper, January. (I am smitten with the imagery of the attic door (had me thinking of Mrs Rochester)) and the bad moon.
Really exciting and dangerous territory that has gotten everybody thinking ~ and beautifully executed as ever.
love bb x x x
A lot of what the piece is about is being in a minority class. So I think it's relatable for anyone who's been considered a minority or been treated differently for any number of reasons, not just race.
I hope you get to write that poem, BB. I'd love to see where it takes you.
I am again reminded of how strong a community we have here in the blogosphere.
I like the irony in the question of turning out so well combined with the "intractable sadness". I mean, did you see that? Makes me think, " Am I so well? At what cost?"