organic restaurant my back side!
yet when was the last time I'd
smelt a tomato?
I mean really smelt one
I'd forgotten
they smell of sunlight
trapped in his old greenhouse
and the tiny dust particles
that floated on the still air
there
forgotten
how unreal they looked
leaf, branch, stem and fruit
all black-and-white-photograph green
tied like sacrifices to the yellow canes
of bamboo
shiny, hard and smooth
like my grandfather's bald head
knuckled like my thin child's fingers
arrow straight and foreign
like something he brought back
from World War Two
beneath his familiar flat cap
he wore dark rimmed glasses for eyes
I can still see him
sometimes without the cap
but never without those glasses
they peered beyond things
and now they surely peer back
from beyond
his old penknife
the rivets worn smooth
and the ivory handle yellowing
the blade burnished
unshining but bright
how he worked it
in his big leather palm
his ritual
with the liquorice black plug tobacco
the comforting acrid smoke
of his old pipe
another intruder no doubt
in the hereafter
the heartiness of his laughter
how I loved to watch him
wizard my punctured bike back to life
and the green tomatoes from orange to red
dead but not gone
so much of him lives on
in pipe tobacco
and in the stale air
exhaled from bicycle tyres
and in organic tomatoes
Author notes
got a loan of a laptop for an hour and I've been working on this since I got on the boat
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
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it moves, swirls, and breathes
and ultimately, this poem lives. through motion and a swirling change of thoughts, organic tomatoes, old greenhouses, flat caps, and old penknives, this poem takes flashes of the past, breathes life into them, and ties them together. It's easy to imagine you writing this on a boat, a totally different atmosphere.
should 'smelled' on lines 2 and 4 be 'smelt'?
good job!
nish(81)
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Smelly topic
It depends where you live. Smelled in US I think, smelt in UK, Canada, and other such. Or is it the other way around? Both have to be right.
It is rather like meter and metre, center and centre, humor and humour, and a half ton of similar words.
Terry
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It lives
I am such an old fuddy-duddy that total lack of punctuation has sometimes annoyed me enough to abandon a reading. Fortunately you had three of them in the first verse, and I read on hoping to find more. Ah, commas! Hyphens correctly used! Apostrophes used where needed, even the other neglected comprehension-aid, capitals!
I have to wonder why the period is persona non grata here, and must decide if their lack helps of hinders the meaning.
Please forgive me--this can be a lot of fun, not intended to destroy a poem which survives the lack of a major source of meaning and organization--
Skill, I guess.
So, in search of the missing terminal punctuation, I get choices:
"I mean really smelled one I'd forgotten . "
[OK, I get it.
It used to be important, but like so many things that used to matter, it had been lost-- until now.]
OR
"I'd forgotten they smell of sunlight trapped in his old greenhouse"
[I was unaware that sunlight has an odour. Ah, a heated greenhouse. ]
OR
"trapped in his old greenhouse and the tiny dust particles."
[ Now there's a scary thought! Poor old guy shrank to particle size? Or he's in a veritable fog of dust! ]
" the tiny dust particles floated on the still air there"
[OK]
Moving on:
"...the tiny dust particles that floated on the still air there or how unreal they looked"
[Surreal dust! In what way--? Forming dotted patterns perhaps
Quoting the Raven, "Nevermore." ?]
Enough. Point made.
A veritable typo: all
"sll black-and-white-photograph green "
I like
"... those glasses
they peered beyond things
and now they surely peer back
from beyond"
and
"his old pipe
another intruder no doubt
in the hereafter
the heartiness of his laughter" It even rhymes.
There used to be a rule that nouns are not verbs, but fortunately that old rule has been relaxed, releasing some very vivid action, like
"to watch him wizard my punctured bike back to life."
On the whole although the periods at ends of sentences would have prevented the sport of chasing elusive meanings, even without them and the obligatory capitals when they are deliberately omitted, this poem has a life of its own, borrowed from the memory of a very real old man who lives in memory.
Well done!
Terry
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A little stickly today!
Hi Terry, and how is my mentor today? You may recall I was a devotee of conventional punctuation when I joined Sharepo just over a year ago. Interaction on this site led me to believe that poetry is best paced and punctuated by the use of line breaks which, apart from anything else, make for easier reading when 'performing' a poem. This, of course, could be a 'fad' but I find it easier to work with and it is the reason for the short lines that mark most of my recent work. I've re-done the poem as you might have liked it presented and it interested me how difficult it was to decide on commas, full stops, brackets, hyphens, colons etc. I reckon if the poet has difficulty deciding between them, the reader will have equal difficulty. I think, on re-reading, that if each line-break is taken as a pause, with double line-breaks taken as longer pauses, the reader can more readily grasp what the writer intended. Perhaps you'd read both aloud and see what you think. I do agree this sort of debate is most interesting and stimulating and I know you regard these matters as 'fun' - much as I do! Thanks for the in-depth, enlightened and engaging comment! xxx >W<
oh - and here's the edit.
Organic restaurant my back side!
yet when was the last time I'd
smelt a tomato?
I mean really smelt one.
I'd forgotten.
They smell of sunlight trapped
in his old greenhouse,
and the tiny dust particles
that floated on the still air
there.
Forgotten
how unreal they looked -
leaf, branch, stem and fruit -
all black-and-white-photograph green,
tied like sacrifices to the yellow canes
of bamboo,
shiny, hard and smooth,
like my grandfather's bald head -
knuckled like my thin child's fingers,
arrow straight and foreign
like something he brought back
from World War Two.
Beneath his familiar flat cap
he wore dark rimmed glasses for eyes.
I can still see him -
sometimes without the cap
but never without those glasses.
They peered beyond things.
And now surely they peer back -
from beyond.
His old penknife,
the rivets worn smooth
and the ivory handle yellowing,
the blade burnished -
unshining but bright -
how he worked it
in his big leather palm -
his ritual
with the liquorice black plug tobacco -
the comforting acrid smoke
of his old pipe
(another intruder no doubt
in the hereafter) -
the heartiness of his laughter.
How I loved to watch him
wizard my punctured bike back to life –
and the green tomatoes from orange to red.
Dead but not gone,
so much of him lives on
in pipe tobacco,
and in the stale air
exhaled from bicycle tyres,
and in organic tomatoes.
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Windhover,
upon the first read I also had the feeling of two poems that the others mentioned, but after reading it several times I think it works well. The descriptions of the old man are vivid and I can truly picture him and imagine the smells. Also, the careful way you deliver these descriptions along with the organic theme gives me a bit of a view into the man's character. That character which you laid out is one that, at least for me, inspires a feeling of fondness for him.
For some reason, I got somewhat hung up on the word 'floated' in line 10. I know it would be a break from the form of the poem but perhaps 'were floating' might run smoother? Also I think it might be nice to experiment with other options for your opening line, I think starting out with 'organic restaurant my backside!' might give the reader a false impression of the subject matter to come which might be what initially gave it the two poem feel.
Those things are minor, however. The imagery is alive in this poem and I enjoyed it a lot.
-os
p.s. perfect title too!
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Bird, at first, I didn't like it...
...I read and felt it as two poems artificially linked into one, and I tried like hell to figure out who the poet is: father or child.
The more I read it, though, the more I liked it. And my final reading brings me to think that this is one of your best for me: deeper not only in rhetoric (as all your poems are) but far deeper in time and space and feelings brought on by lovingly nostalgic details.
I think the poem hangs beautifully together as one - the leisurely drawn-out image of organic living smells and sights and memories intertwined with tomatoes and "him". I take it now that the poet is you and the subject is your father. If I got that right, all the more reason I like this poem.
"arrow-straight and foreign"
"smell of sunlight trapped"
"black-and-white photograph green"
"burnished / unshining but bright" - great lines that somehow move me - I'm a sucker for sweet memories written cleanly.
Might the last whole line be better as
"and organic from those tomatoes" ?
Whatever you decide about that, the whole "organic" image, alive, rich with life and its remembrances, is nicely drawn throughout this good poem.
Lad
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Glad you liked this one..
I must say I'd have been perplexed had my soft ol' pal not liked such a sentimental tribute. This one is to my grandfather who used to fix my bike in his greenhouse and smoke his pipe there. It was inspired by the totally unexpected 'smell' of an organic tomato. They really ARE differnt! Nothing takes you back like smells, and I hope the mood of the poem reflects the warm nostalgia that unexpected aroma inspired. Very glad also you singled out 'black-and-white-photograph-green'' - I was particularly pleased with that as an original piece of description and I think the image and (now toned down) background colour point it up well. I worked hard on this one and you also picked up on some of that work regarding bamboo, which was really quite exotic in the sixties! Your comment was much appreciated as always. >W<
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Hey, John. Glad to see your poet's brain is not idling away on the Continent, not that I really expected it would. If anything, I would think France would lead to certain excitations, and this proves correct.
I love where this piece is going, but I don't think, and I'm sure you'll agree, that it's not finished.
The first 9 lines are superb. I love the description of the scent of fresh tomatos as "sunlight in a greenhouse." How perfect!
After that, it meanders too much. Some suggestions to start tightening it up:
Lines 13-22 are confusing. It takes several readings to separate what descriptions refer to leaf, branch, stem and fruit. You might break those lines up to clarify-- having them in a clump, I think, is mainly the problem. As a reader, I am trying to reconcile them as one idea when they are actually several small ones.
Line 38- supposed to be "licorice black" ?
There is too much repetition of the word "smell"-- lines 5, 39 and 48. But I understand that you were probably just trying to get all the images down.
Love the tie in between lines 45 and 46-- the magic our fathers and grandfathers can do with a pocket knife and some small tools.
Line 47-- totally unnecessary. We get that he's gone now since you refer to him totally in the past tense, as a memory.
You've got an excellent start here, though. My grandfather grew tomatos and wore a flat cap and repaired our bikes, so this struck a personal note for me.
Here's hoping your vacation yields more good stuff like this.
Cheers,
Lauren
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Thanks Pie
I tidied it up a bit along the lines you mentioned, particularly the repition, and easy trap to fall into since this one is all about smells. I smelled an organic tomato in a restaurant and immediately realized modern tomatoes don't smell any more. And that how they SHOULD smell brought me back to my grandfather's greenhouse. The rest of the poem is about him basically. Glad it resonated at least a little. XX >W< -
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Hey, John. Just read the edits-- much clearer now. I think the whole thing works-- nothing like scent to trigger memories.
Lauren
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umm...I am a bit confuzzled, but it was nice. Are you talking about your grandfather ... or a living tomatoe? I hate tomatoes...gross.
Anywho, It is okay, def. not your best. I think it just some touching up, then again you only had an hour on the computer. What boat?
Moving on, it just doesn't really hit the spot for me, but as long as it means something to you...it is suitable^^
Ash
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Thanks Ash
took what you said on board and identified my grandfather as the subject. Nothing brings back memories like smells. Nowadays tomatoes don't smell at all. I had an organic one recently and as soon as I smelled it I was back in my grandfather's greenhouse where he used to grow them. And fix my bike. And smoke his pipe. It was a nice memory.
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