Sunset Sounds

Russell

My near-final version of this poem. Points of contention - the beginning three lines (Craig David?), the repetition (which started boring even me as I read it out in class, but people said they liked it) and the final line... which used to be completely different.

We met on Monday,
sat together on Tuesday,
became best friends on Wednesday.
You liked my pictures. I liked your glasses.
You asked if I was a virgin. I laughed but did not know.
You lent me ten cents. I never paid you back.

Three years later, you moved to New South Wales.
I grew up. I was good at music, bad at sports.
I liked Backstreet Boys, hated Year 5 boys.
I almost forgot you
until one day I saw a man that looked like
he could have been Adult You.

Now I wonder all kinds of things:
Were you good in school?
Did you get beat up for growing pimples?
Did you get beat up for being a cane toad?
Did you get beat up by unrequited love?

What kind of sharp are you?
The shot you use at Duntroon
the magnum you use on bikies
or the wit you use for mischief?
Do you wear contact lenses now, an ankle monitor,
or the burden of your dead father’s debts?

But most of all I wonder
if that had been you
outside Queens Plaza,
wearing black wayfarers,
drinking a Starbucks.
I wonder if you made it that far.

Unity!

For Tom A, Claire B, Hubby, Emma G (model extraordinaire), Nick-Nick, Sean L, Maureen M and Travis the Australian (and only other participant in THE STEALING GAME). This is draft 2.0.

20 years since it all changed
Thanks Schabowski
Hallo Gorby hallo Helmut
National guilt? None tonight!
It’s half 20
Equal goes it loose
Shot of Jäger?
Yes please
We’ll start in the Sparkasse
A teller wearing feathers
A Pilsener a pretzel a Pilsener a pash
Let loose! Consider me loose-let
Wide-eyed and loose-tongued
I can’t say the alphabet
backwards in German
Infinity in the Hbf–
how did we end up here?
Shot of Jäger?
Yes please
If you put her on
the S-Bahn at least
give her €20
Limes, so many limes
in my bag
Glad I took German
Glad the Wall came down.

Chile

Inspired by a poem about Peru in our set text, and embarrassed by the crap second poem that I submitted to my tute group for workshopping (never to be shown here, that's for sure), I wrote most of this on my iPhone on the way to work. Then I played around with it while oh-so-busy at work (WINK) and here is my poem on Chile. To be honest I wanted to write about Peru or Argentina but I'm pretty happy with this effort and maybe I can still do Peru and Argentina and put it together in a suite. I should probably follow the same format then shouldn't I. Food for thought re: impending portfolio...

The carefree end of our intrepid quest
where we played Where on Earth is Carmen Santiago
We wandered the urban sprawl
wary of pickpockets
and a depleted travel fund

The Colonel was the same in this city
where they are half a million strong
We settled into our final low-fund loft
Nicanor Parra covered the reception walls
and Nico covered the reception phone

The Cerro San Cristobal
where the funicular jostled us sky high
We watched as coloured cable cars
swayed at the Virgin's feet
and thrilled mini Santiaguinos

The Chilean clubbing scene
where I helped crown the prince
We slurred our silly Spanglish
I'll take you to the Atacama, he promised,
and marry you under the stars

The cursed journey home
where fourteen felt like forty
We smuggled in the dulce de leche
We bid each other goodbye
and promised we'd do it again

At work, I wasn't too happy with my final two lines, though I still can't think of a better alternative. Then on the bus ride home I did a bit of a read-through and felt that in my first line I said the end was carefree, but then go on the describe how I'm worried about crime and a lack of money. Hmm. Suggestions? I'd like to stick with a /k/-sounding C...

Temple

Ekka winds burn
my joss sticks swiftly; still I know
my prayers are heard.

Once again I resented fact that published poets were (are!) allowed to be completely flexy with the structure yet we were told strictly to write in the here-and-now with reference to nature and try to combine two images together, blah, blah, blah, bitch, bitch, bitch. Anyway I had many haiku that I liked, which I may post later, but here is stanza one of what I submitted. I had a second stanza but the more I read it, the less I like it.

I tend to use a lot of unnecessary words (I'm told). I'm mostly guilty of using too many conjunctions. I think I need them. Perhaps this is a sign I am not using the English language as well as I should be.

Note: I am not expecting a 7. Though I'd love one.

The Funky Pussy Club

I'll have to find what I first wrote and post that up because I liked it better. Obviously I trusted my tutor's feedback - even if poetry is subjective - but here is the reworked version of my attempt at a prose poem.

It was a cold evening in Hamburg, a hot night on the Reeperbahn. I saw her as soon as I walked in the club. She spoke fluently with an accent I couldn’t pick, and danced like no one I knew—cute. I won her phone number over a bet about my age. We danced for a bit. Then she said she felt like chocolate—quirky. The nearest place open was charging double but I got some anyway. When I came back, €1.29 poorer, she had her hand up some other guy’s shirt. Then the Kooks’ “You Don’t Love Me” came on. He laughed, she said sorry and I left and gave her Milka to a stranger at the train station. I never tried again with a tourist.

Requirements for this task: reference to a book or movie (I hope she accepts the song - I didn't even ask about it) and not more than 150 words. I was well under and had to flesh it out a bit. Also I attempted to write it in German as the main submission with an English translation to accompany it (because it's supposed to be his point of view and he's a German) but my tutor said it was probably better the other way around.

Untitled♥

The dreaded ghazal. My first attempt, completely unlike the product below, was very high-school and makes me cringe to think that I actually sent it to my tutor for feedback. Still, it's not a real ghazal, although what is a real ghazal? Apparently you can only change poetic structure if you're already famous, which I'm obviously not. I quite like this one - even if stanzas two and five refer to the same kind of heart. Again, admittedly, the minimum requirement made me force out a fifth stanza when I only had four that I was ready to submit. At least they're not so bad that I'm not going to publish them on this blog.

Nature, nurture, wicked hearts?
From everything comes wicked hearts.

No repentance; toss and turn
with red-stained hands and wicked hearts.

Beating sun on green gold rows
leaves grainy flesh ‘round wicked hearts.

Rush to head and coin to slot;
diamond hope on wicked hearts.

Deceitful you! And my faux-heroes;
Even saints have wicked hearts.

Is faux not a real word? The spell check said no. (Computer says no.)

Clever Girl: A work in progress

As I severely dislike my second and third stanzas, forced out by the minimum requirement and the impending due date, I am only showing my first stanza. As I do not particularly like blues poems, I doubt I will actually work on this any further.

Clever Girl, she’s seen the world but her eyes were never open.
Clever Girl, she’s learned four tongues but sense was never spoken.
Clever Girl,
Clever little girl,
How did you get this far?

Are the italics annoying?

Coming Soon: Actual Content

The first post can be expected in the next month sometime.