Note, very long: The story spans 60 years.
The children are asleep,
and I their mother, have been
sorting files. Tossing tangled tales
and putative poetry, pausing. . . .
Here's a long one. "Cephalorphan Misfit."
Orphan, cast away, abandoned reject?
Foot-in-mouth, perhaps? Or secret?
With no memory of the poem, I read on:
"That time of week is here again." Yes,
I write. "The whole week holds its breath
awaiting this day; winds hold their blowing."
Hmm, thought I. I remember,
week-ends were the only time to write.
Judging by the date, I taught.
High-school French it was then.
(Flipping pages.) This is rather long.
I settled down comfortably, legs up,
on the couch by the window to read.
"Let my stream of consciousness
flow forth like mountain brook, brooking
no nonsense, to search out," (I read,)
"the golden nuggets from the sands of time,
and like the intermittent breezes,
playful." I release thought, no rhyme.
(Nice, I thought.) There will be no rhyme.
"No rhyme?" My rebellious companion
of solitary times, my Muse, (capitalized
when about to intercede,) retorted,
"But you always rhyme!"
I had to concede I wrote a lot of bad rhyme,
rhyme for its own sake, clever but pointless.
"Not when I was around," Muse said.
"My rhyme's sublime!"
Pushy creature.
"Hmmm. No form? Reform form!
Form again, re-form,
recreate the old
to New."
Remonstrating, reminding me:
"What glitters may be gold.
Alchemy."
And I, the week-end poet, sit back,
pen in hand--
then, all my poems were on paper.
(My Muse nods, remembering.)
I, too, remember. My gentle dad. . .
for I am far from home.
My Muse, prompting:
"The whole week holds its breath,
and yes, the wind, its blowing."
Even now, quiet memories whirl. . .
Muse, why are all your words
quoted here? I ask.
"Because they are not yours, silly girl."
.
That set me back. It's true. For years,
I had been sharing them as my own.
Why had I not thought? I knew my muse
lent wings to my thoughts, and I counted
her help among my skills. A hot wave
of embarrassment came, and shame . . .
My Muse just stood by and smiled.
Awgh! Rude.
What's so funny? I asked, feeling small.
Are you making fun of me? Will I be
going it alone after this? What I surely
deserved. With self-pity, there would be
no more poems to be proud of. I'd miss
her support, so badly taken for granted.
A lump was pushing tears into view.
.
"Nothing's changed," she said. "It's OK.
Over many years we worked together."
.
I understood, and we exchanged smiles.
Wonderfully comforting! To BE.
To be allowed to be as I had always been--
but with a difference. Ah, yes. Oh boy.
She deserved such a lot more respect!
.
Muse repeated, "The whole week holds
its breath, and yes, the wind is blowing?"
Feeling warm now, I had a lovely flow
over me, like love, spirit, Muse, and Dad.
A security like no other, Oh yes, Wind!
I'd miss the swirl, Wind's gentle hand
tousling curl, caressing, messing,
knowing freedom from appearances!
I miss my dad.
.
"A small thing," Muse reminded, "and
a golden grain of sand."
Yes, I thought, feeling strangely light,
and then, oddly transported, lifted to
another time, quite a different place--
.
Muse, what happened? Where am I?
Not alone, not at home, in dappled sun.
On the bank of a river, a low wooden dock,
reaching out over the water, floaters, a
rowboat bobbing in the swells as tide-water
entered from the Great St Lawrence . . .
and I, tongue-tied visitor struggling vainly
to understand people with me, all at once,
talking, gesticulating, laughing, . . Their
rapid French ran verbal circles around my
high-school translations!
.
My muse smiled benignly, reassuring that,
like all good things, comprehension would
find me. Ne traduire pas, do not translate!
...Écoute, pour mieux penser... Think French.
How did I know that?
Their house was on the shore. A short way
downstream a railway trestle ...traversait...
the river...une rivière, pas un fleuve...
they explained. ...Un fleuve est plus grand,
on m'a dit,... and flows into the sea. I was
...encore avec Anita,... in Cap Rouge, ...un village
en Québec... many years ago. I, a schoolgirl,
there to learn spoken French, twelfth grade.
Vivid memory of July ...dans la grande famille
d'Anita..., her nine ...frères et soeurs..., teens to
...le bébé..., 3. Their quick and pretty ...Maman...;
It was just before supper time, amid wild bells
from the church down the road, dear Lord,
I saw as in a dream, a most beautiful man.
.
My silent muse was grinning ear to ear, for
she knew what celestial permutations were
...en route... to my shy and impressionable life.
"Papa!" the young kids sang out, collecting
the warmth of their hugs, and I stood back,
entranced, struck voiceless, in the presence
--the Presence of a Prince! Was this why
I had been thinking of my own Dad? A more
familiar superimposition of the man ten kids
called Papa? Tall, much taller than my own,
bright blue eyes beneath strong brows, and
thick lashes quite wasted on a man! Big smile
as he greeted me, ..."Ah," dit-il,"Voici Thérèse!
Nous t'avions attendu!"... I was expected.
"Oui Monsieur," I stammered weakly, needing
a chair. And so began the biggest crush
since this thunderstruck world began!
.
...Je ne veux pas raconter, encore et puis encore
tes charmes inoubliables. J'y trouve souvent
les pensées, suivant le mème chemin comme le
pieux, visitant les stations de la croix,
nu-pieds, ensoleillés, dévoués, adorant à haute
voix mais en français.
Il est assez....
"Behold
The Gold!"
.
Muse music! It was concentrated
in their mutual family minutes,
I could scarce believe my eyes!
How did I stumble on such a prize?
I find you the lode where it all
originated!
.
I was seeing all the gold dust there,
among their riches. No wonder.
.
I got up and refreshed my coffee,
and thoughtfully returned to my seat.
Reading such excitement took me back
to the month in Quebec, so long ago.
.
The magic time, the kindness, and I
tried so hard to hide what had to show!
I read a lot of stuff. ...Des romans faciles,
avec mon dictionnaire, péniblement....
.
Le Devoir the daily newspaper.
We all rode bikes to visit friends, swam,
boated, sang ...des Chansons de Folklore...._
Awkwardly, I'd from a distance, sigh.
I remember.
It was so awkward. Most embarrassing.
I saw him glance at me, and he knew.
I saw them, a whispered something, and
She knew too. Madame.
She was kind.
And I continued to read the old poem.
With a sigh.
.
My Muse smiled her concern at my
discomfort, smitten, just a kid, new
to feelings that rolled over me by
night when they did not hear me cry.
Too quiet by day. Stupid!
.
"Do you think," Muse asked, "that only
you would stumble, and agonize?
As fortunes dream, fortune also flies."
I nodded as my tears began again
while my Muse went on to explain
historical Goldrush truths
about all my golden dreams:
.
"That claim is staked. It reflects
a prospector without prospects,
and you? Is it a forgotten mine?
Tilted no-trespassing sign?"
I had no trouble reading her mind.
"Hidden in bracken, covered in moss,
Easily forgotten legitimate boss?"
I put the paper down, and said aloud,
Not even close! Memories allowed
another view of that long-ago crush,
thankful that nothing made me blush.
This was a fine man. His kindness,
the respect for me, quiet gentleness
brought to light someone I'd not forget
who forever raised the standard to be met
by all the future guys! Even teens.
He taught me just what Honour means.
My Muse, much amused, went on:
"Penniless pauper, far from home,
floating here aboard a poem
Like some Turk aboard his rug
or wispy genie from genial jug.
It must be stated irrevocably
that neither is the drifter free."
And so the sun-drenched drifter sits,
adding still these few small bits;
that grateful, thankful deposits
surely can enrich the mind--
revive the heart, and there find:
"Downstream benefits."
Author notes
"Downstream benefits." Panning for Gold, swishing river sand and water in a low pan reveals nuggets if lucky. (With thanks to Nocturne who helped so much, and for Kevin who suggested it needed a story! Where would it have been without those?)
Please tell me what you think [Reward: double points]
Comments
1 - 31 of 31
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totally unexpected!
I am floored! This is the very last poem I would have expected to see here, having lost everything with the name-change to something plus convenable. J'aurais trouvé toute chose perdue!
It took my breath away to find it here. Thank you, thank you!
This has been a very special poem, spanning most of my life as it does. Maybe I'll stay a while!
The same-ole-Terry -
Enjoyed it.
Excellent est l'histoire. J'ai trouve' ici des lecons preciuses. Le principal message est que nous avons besoin de reflechir sur le passe. Souvenir est un enseignant, et nous sommes reconnaissants de l' education.
Terry, I enjoyed this for many reasons. Number one is that it gave me a view into you and your creative process, always of interest to me is the method of other writers. Number two is that you place a value on writing as a personal history and then give it weight with the education that reflection on such history brings. I'm so glad that I began writing because my mom has been hounding me for years as to the value of keeping a journal. I've never really listened, but this site has turned out to be a personal journal of sorts for me and when I reflect on the past I can see how I've changed and grown in different directions. It's funny, but it's like taking a trip back in time and meeting myself. The whole experience is very educational and gives me a better grip on just who I am and what it is that makes me tick. It's so easy to aggrandize and color rosily time's faded perceptions. But when time is committed to paper we get just the facts and it allows us to truly see where we've been and more importantly, where we may be going.
This was long, but all was of merit in carrying the purpose of the poem. The imagery was good and the mood was good. I could see you there doing your thing and it was enjoyable to see a little piece of your world, terry.
Now, as for the muse? Ehhh, I've never tapped into all that happy horse-$#!+ as I'm a nuts an bolts kinda guy, but I get the metaphor. I don't make it a science, I just do it. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. I guess I call my muse "being in the groove". Sometimes it's there, sometimes it isn't.
I like the matter of fact telling of this poetic tale and the variety throughout. The change-ups in form were nice and important given the length of the poem. Most long poems I have to hang tooth and nail to finish, but this kept inching me along to the finish and I enjoyed it. I wasn't running circles round the block waving my hands in the air, I just enjoyed it.
Thanks, Terry.
al
. Rewarded 8
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French accents.
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[I can handle a box with 21 columns, wide enough to be able to edit.]
Je voudrais te remercier: le début a manqué seulement les accents. Voici un cadeau pour toi et pour tous les autres qui vont te suivre. De mon clavier français (keyboard) voici les accents! à À â Ä ä é É è È ê Ê Ë ë î ï Ï ô ö Ö û Ç ç -il me manque seulement le
u-grave et quelques maguscules.(capitals)
Just copy-replace. I no longer have a French keyboard and use this.
Have to go but I will edit and add more later.
--Stand by?
Terry -
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HEy, you know
I could do that if I wanted to, Terry. But as I typed it I thought "Naaaaaahhhhhhh." I knew you'd understand just the same. I don't have a compelling need to be proper in all things. So long as you get the jist I'm good with it. I know you probably can't stand the mangling of your language(are you Quebecois?), but I think it a fair trade in exchange for all the French-Canadians who've lied to my face " Non, je ne parle pas anglais."
Pshawwwwwww!
Sorry, Terry. How you been doing?
al -
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19 column box.
True, it was easy to understand.
No, it is language #3. I'm a suomalainen, could speak, read, write Finnish before I started school, with no English at all.
Not Québecoise, I live among francophones; Quebec is across the river.
That "ne parle pas anglais" is just plain rude.
.
How am I doing?
Victimized. Glad to have AP to distract me from heavy stress. Too complicated to tell here but it is seriously harming health.
Some day if I survive there will be a poem in it.
Thanks--
Terry
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Tres bien, Madam.
C'est vrais. C'est une chason d'jeune filles. [Please forgive my awkward and long unused highschool French]
You were most fortunate to have had a crush on an honourable man; gainst whom to measure all future suitors.
I enjoyed the line 'Ne traduire pas'. When I am concentrating very hard, but listening to certain foreign language broadcasts in the background, I often realise that I understand what is being said; at least in part. But if I stop to listen, to translate, I loose the plot immediately.
JG
. Rewarded 8
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Merci,JG
Ah, but you tried! That counts for a lot! Oralement, ça marche très bien!
Pas de problème, je l'ai compris. And I'll bet you understood that too.
D'accord, his sense of honour spoiled me for life! Remember though, that was in the 1940's when it was not at all unusual. Today's world-- ...isn't.
La traduction, is as you say, a barrier to comprehension, yet it used to be the way all languages were taught. Immersion French, as some schools now teach it especially at a very young age, is rather like osmosis, direct meaning. So much easier to learn it with no English to interfere. Mime and images help. The words contain their meaning, just like they do in our native tongue.
From a standing start with total confusion, by the end of the first WEEK, what they all said made good sense, and soon I could take part in discussion.
It did help that English had been my second language, all learned in school. The trick is tranferable to the next language, and the next.
Ça suffit, non?
With thanks!
Terry
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I cannot help but sit here wiping a tear from my eye. Your poetry took me back 18 years to a time in my life that my life hung in the balance and my dearly departed Aunt turned me to writing to quench my anger. She would have loved your style as I do.
. Rewarded 6
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What a treat it is to know--
--that you tuned in this poem so well. Every so often I read it again, and it always transports me to other times and other places.
I would have loved to meet your aunt. Nocturne would have enjoyed your message too. She read French fluently, probably spoke too, and was a real help in its writing. I really think, considering length and complexity it might never have been completed without her encouragement to keep on going. My enduring appreciation is the result. It is a real value of our experience here in Sharepoetry when mutual support helps us grow. And it was Kevin who pointed out that the poem was much too long without an integrated story...which is when Muse came in and provided exactly that.
Writing is truly a gift lent to us, to use especially at times like yours. If allowed to happen spontaneously, without counting the syllables even in form poetry, it becomes a window into memories and values and motivations and emotions--not just emotions alone.
Mind you, sortasonnets are an affront to the purists, but the benefits outvalue the hazards! Thank you for taking me back!
Terry
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As a canadian & a fellow poet all i can say is that this amazing piece of poetry has definitely been a gr8 read. Its full of amazing imageries which flung me into ur words. Good stuff !!!
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Good morning badmashabhi,
Good to hear from a fellow Canadian any time but one who in a comment can say: "--imageries which flung me into ur words" has got to have much to offer as a poet! Very evocative words!
I have to tell you though, that I have skipped anything that has "texting," assuming that I am not the one it was written for.
We all have our target audiences, people somewhat similar to ourselves. Since I am about as far from being a teen as Nature permits, already anticipating the great achievement of my eighties, and feeling very lucky still to be productive, you'll understand that we live in quite different worlds...except that my four children, all of them with gray in their hair, have never used texting; they spell "your" with four letters, not as "ur." Even my grandchildren don't use "ur."
I guess what I am asking you is to widen your audience.
Texting has a real place in the use of electronic communication where the keypad is tiny. I use some of it for convenience, ASAP for instance, and TTYL. Handy things that will join SOS and OK legitimately as part of the language if they have not got there yet.
English is a living language. Changes constantly happen, as technology advances, and living conditions change. No one objects to advancement in a most powerful language. Its grace and beauty are among the most versatile of all languages in the world-- or else it was.
In the past fifty years, slowly at first, but speeding alarmingly, I see a decline, then a loss. The wonderfully logical organization shared by French and Spanish and all major languages, (the grammar) has decayed or been lost already in a large portion of this ORAL society where "if it sounds right, who cares?"
I find it alarming to know that today's great literary works will have joined Shakespeare in the darkness of ignorance within another generation, when all the old teachers have died, and the younger ones were not taught. (It has started already, and will accelerate.)
I see English as a language like the old English of Beowulf and the Middle English of The Canterbury Tales of Chaucer now inhabit--works most people can only read in translation.
But can the subtlety and the power of today's greatest works be translated into texting?
Please, won't you help fight such grievous loss, not by losing "ur" personal style which fits its young audience, but by including the rest of us too?
Please send me a link to some of your poems where no texting is used, where such great
"poetential" exists...
Thank you for making it possible to say these things!
All best wishes,
Terry
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Hello Terry,
I am extrememly sorry if you think that is how i write in general. Obviously it is the language of the internet & therefore has a huge effect upon my typing technique. But when i hold a pen the real english flows through the ink. I am however grateful for your concern.
Abhi
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Abhi, I expected that
--which is why I asked for links to poems without texting. After all, texting was for thumb-typists, not where a full keyboard exists.
Regardless, I understand what it is to have a personal style, and am not asking you to change that, just not to limit yourself.
Sorry.
Terry
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Enjoyed this trip on the river of your memory
I remember taking the boat between Montreal and Quebec city, and the train to Toronto... loving the great St Lawrence, French Canada too - and haltingly trying to fathom the accent, so different was it from what I knew, despite all my studying.
Rivers are always a powerful symbol for me; a muse less so. But I can appreciate a sense that sometimes one is or seems to be channelling rather than writing poetry... and that there can be side of onself that is so different from the norm - from the part-time poet and mother who you draw so well.
Very enjoyable interlude
. Rewarded 8
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Thank you Alex! I agree rivers have retained their fascination for me ever since. I live now on the Ottawa River which has 400 miles of navigable waterway, and is the borderline between Ontario and Quebec. I have 300 panoramic photos!
It has been a privilege. Not only for the beauty, but in a bilingual community, to remain moderately fluent in the language...even yet. Indelible experience.
I tried to entice francophones to help set up a new AP course in written French, native speakers being authentic as no second or--in my case, third language can hope to be. So far, no luck. There is a lot of work in it and most folks are busy.
Thank you again for visiting my memories!
Terry
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This is an interesting poem. It was nice to be transported into the mind of another person, and to view certain episodes of her life through her eyes. It was also amusing to see your conversations with your muse, which is something I can well relate to.
Much of the poem has an air of naivete to it, at least in the stanzas from the past. There is a strong theme of nostalgia and reminiscence throughout, which serves to envelop the reader within a fuzzy haze of empathy as the poem progresses. The fact that it flows well helps this process along, and means that this relatively long poem seems to fly by.
There is so much here. It's a very full, personal poem. The imagery is effective. For example, the stanza in which you describe your crush is very rich, perhaps reflecting your obsession. The fact that he sets a standard for all other males to meet is ironic, due to the fact that he probably had many faults and imperfections of which you were unaware. But of course, when we're young, we don't take that into account.
The thing I like most about this poem is its use of French. Unfortunately, during my compulsory school days, I was highly unformed personally and also very apathetic. I remember I didn't like my French class. I didn't like the teacher, and I didn't like the people, and I had so much going on emotionally that I simply couldn't get involved in the language. Only recently did I realise how much I love French. It is a wistful, beautiful and poetic language which flows off the tongue like it was made for self expression. I think it would be wonderful to use it in every day life, but alas, I didn't take my best chance when I had it.
Now, however, I hope to amend this mistake and start learning it again. The only problem is time. Fortunately, snatches of French remain, and I could make sense of certain sentences, but my lack of full comprehension is still frustrating. I was wondering, seeing as you're an ex-French teacher, perhaps you could help me make a start with re-learning my French? But if you don't have the time, then that's fine.
I loved this poem. It reflects a clarity of mind which seems extremely hard to find. Keep it up.
Samwise
. Rewarded 8
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Let's do something about it!
................
Pasted here:
You said,
"The thing I like most about this poem is its use of French. /
I think it would be wonderful to use it in every day life, but alas, I didn't take my best chance when I had it.
Now, however, I hope to amend this mistake and start learning it again. The only problem is time. Fortunately, snatches of French remain, and I could make sense of certain sentences, but my lack of full comprehension is still frustrating. I was wondering, seeing as you're an ex-French teacher, perhaps you could help me make a start with re-learning my French? But if you don't have the time, then that's fine."
Sam,
I don't have time, but will take it anyway.
I work with the staff at AP School, and am putting out a call to our francophone members:
Wanted, to help prepare an applied course in French to be provided by AP School for those with rusty and uncertain mastery of French, and a Fr-Eng dictionary. A team effort.
Purpose: to brush up la grammaire française while polishing our franglais to a semblance of respectability in the process of using what we know, applying it to the writing of verse.
Qui? Nous chercherons surtout des francophones, des étudiants actuellement au lycée, et des professeurs et des instituteurs / institutrices....
Who? We will need volunteers whose mother tongue is French
for authenticity, preferably some teachers of French and senior students presently in French classes.
Samwise, we need you there so the course will fill your needs, and I'll be there because I need to update skills too! (More than 45 years since I last took classes! Un peu chocquant, n'est-ce pas?)
I will be away until Monday, 3 September.
Terry
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Terry, I would be happy to join this course. How do these things work? I never used AP very much.
Samwise -
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I tried, I really tried!
No one has come forward, and I am too overloaded to attempt it on my own. Can you find friends locally who would be willing to work with you?
Help is available, even if it has to be mine.
It is worth the try.
Terry -
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It's fine. Where there's a will, there's a way
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16 columns is
better! Pasted!
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To Sam, with thanks!
It takes a specially perceptive reader to tune in to a writer's mind while reading. Impressive benefits result not only here, but in all less-than-obvious works, where a kind of telepathy opens doors that others do not even see.
Muse has been with me all my life--the imaginary playmate of an "only child" growing up among grown-ups, always there, always taken for granted. But a very special playmate that grew, and guided the writer-part of me from the start. "Imaginary" some would say, but very influential.
It is surprising that there is a continuity here for really it is a mélange of several poems, set into a story-matrix with help of another member here, Nocturne. Tireless friend! The poem is real proof of what this site is capable of--there must have been twenty edits!
It is easy to write a highly emotional piece when it is stored in memory! If Monsieur had flaws, they were trivial, unseen while I was there!
---------------------------
About French, except for some "street-french," I learned mine all in high school, starting in grade 9. (My third language. ) The teacher, Miss Russell, was a real sweetie! We all brought our lunches for noon-hour French Club where we learned dozens of French songs-- "Un p'tit chaperon rouge/ trottinait dans les grands bois...." "En roulant ma boule roulante-- " We wrote,
prepared skits, played games en français, fun! Let's be realistic! Not everyone was there of course.
I went on to major in French for my BA degree, concentrating in Lit, especially centuries of French poets and philosophers.
And as you know, taught French for a number of years--
Much of Canada is bilingual, especially where I live, across the river from la belle Province de Québec! Easy here.
{Afterthought: On the internet google SIRIUS, CBC.ca,
RadioCanada, to HEAR IT. --not sure of the exact address. We have at least four French TV available too. (I get them on Cable.)
Let me think of your last request. I work 18-hour days now, and tutoring will soon begin in the mornings.--perhaps also afternoons, though I'd prefer not. I work with the AP School (click Classes in AP), and will put out a call for a native-speaking French teacher to partner with me but I cannot guarantee anything.
. Best of all would be a person living near you to hear and speak. Google the Berlitz (sp?) and other CD versions.(Many claim to be excellent.)
Sorry, Must go! Thank you for a super reply!
Terry
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This is beautiful writing, the very essence of what poetry is... Despite its length, it just seems to roll wonderfully down the page. I love how you integrated the French, which, I must admit, is something that I've never been able to do with my own writing.
Very nice writing, and I wish you the best. -
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And a treat to hear from you!
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Pasted into a narrow box.
Angel, I am particularly happy to note that you liked (and understood) the French! So few do, and I feared it might be a mistake to include.
It's great to have a bilingual muse!
I am not sure I can display another of my examples of integrated French, for you might enjoy them,
but will try. They are in my archives here...if I can find them.
The real trick is in writing with French end-rhymes. My advice would be to let it happen,...
mais
plus facile si on pense aussi en français! J'attendrai jusqu'à ce qu'on verra d'autres examples ici.
French was my third language; English was all learned in school. It's great to have all three but I use my written French so seldom now I may have trop de fautes.
Great to have you here!
Terry
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so long so sweet
about all my golden dreams...this is so beautifully written that one is simply lost while reading this piece.I appriciate your work and continuity of the subject.
. Rewarded 4
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Pasted into the 6-letter-wide box.
I particularly appreciate your comment here, because I have finally emerged from a barrage of abuse in the forum at AP, dusting myself off, refusing to accept all the scoffing that the MUSE does not exist. I have had years of wonderful help from mine. How can she possibly not exist?
Everyone can have a Muse, just by allowing poems to "write themselves." I first heard of muses in school, with names like Calliope, and understood what they meant...except that mine had been a silent partner already for years, without a fancy name or particular duties.
This poem came as a result of suggestions here in
Share Poetry. It was assembled from three shorter poems, glued together by their story, written over decades. Muse provided the glue.
Thank you very much for this message. Muse, smiling gently, thanks you too.
Terry
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Canadian eh ? :)
Hey ,
This piece has a place in my heart not only because its about Canada but its about Quebec one of the most beautiful places i have EVER seen !!!
The story though long was worth it ... every minute was worth it. The imagery, the flow & the entire piece is just perfect. Nice job buddy ... u deserve an applaud !
. Rewarded 6
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So you've visited there!
We were in the Quebec City area, and as far as Ste Anne de Beaupré. A lot of history there too.
Thank you! -
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LOVE IT !
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With thanks, replying in "notes." My reply box is six letters wide, hard to express cogent thoughts.
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Terry
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Sublime & Subliminal.
A tour de force of redolent "reminiscents" viewed through the misted pane of poetry written long ago, swept me along to the point where I knew I´d be saddened by its culmination - not wanting my exposure to another life to end.
"Downstream benefits" indeed, Terry, looking backwards into the backwoods through the Looking Glass of the past, can certainly have golden moments.
Using your off and on conversant companion Muse (much more personal avoiding "The" preposition!) was a masterful stroke that enabled this reader to become embedded in your retrospeculations, a calm passenger to the alternating pace your poignant peregrination led.
There was an air of (almost) veneration herein that rendered the notion of a pilgrimage. An important one yet unenforced, accepting the giddy swirl of both pain and delight with the equanimty one feels when discoursing on such matters with a dear friend (in this case Muse).
The pictures shift seamlessly from "legs up,
on the couch by the window to read" to interpolations of Muse (I think even the "My" bit could be cut here,just Muse like the name of a friend - Janet or Ethel whatever) to delightful inundations of The French and painfully sincere reverberations of adolescent adoration.
Seamless also Terry, are your variances of expression and the twists and turns of your wordcraft (whether in rhyme or not).
"My rhyme's sublime!" Heheh!
Muse repeated, "The whole week holds
its breath, and yes, the wind is blowing?" Back on track, you can virtually hear the shaking of a head to clear thoughts of distractions.
"Feeling warm now, I had a lovely flow
over me, like love, spirit, Muse, and Dad." Sad and beautiful all at once.
"A small thing," Muse reminded..." and onwards to the descriptions of your addled attempts to interprete new languages such as French (and tongue-tied by the new biological language of puberty), was for me the high-water mark of the poem, Terry.
"..rapid French ran verbal circles.."
"Big smile
as he greeted me, ..."Ah," dit-il,"Voici Thérèse!
Nous t'avions attendu!"... I was expected." and perhaps even anticipated?
"Muse music! It was concentrated
in their mutual family minutes.."
I remember myself how alien yet familiar the enfolding of a different family´s warm, boisterous embrace was (and is).
"I was seeing all the gold dust there,
among their riches. No wonder."
Ah but there is indeed wonder.
"She knew too. Madame.
She was kind."
Beautifully real detail.
Like some Turk aboard his rug
or wispy genie from genial jug.
It must be stated irrevocably
that neither is the drifter free.
A poetic aphorism in and of itself (and it bloody well rhymes too!)
..small tidbits.. (?)
Suave ending though I think "Downstream Benefits" does not require either apostrophe "..." highlighting or a line space between the preceeding as it speaks so clearly in itself flowing into the subliminal part of a reader´s mind.
Well I had to end with a pathetic peccadillo didn´t I Terry! Cheers I really enjoyed this!
Mighty regards
gG
. Rewarded 8
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What a delightful critique! A very narrow box stops this so I will continue in "notes." Meanwhile, words fail...
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