Sunday coffee (ed.)

[Divina]

rev. 2


I nod, say buongiorno, (you and I,
stranger, are dangling on a cliff
of self-awakenings). We are heroes,

brave, non-conventional, you know,
life isn't really heroic, it's quite tragic,
(tell you the truth), but yes,
today the sun shines.

I went to the Vatican with my mother
many years ago, couldn't pray.
We missed our bus.

On the wall, a poetically-drawn
lakeshore on canvas with a bright
yellow background, reds and pinks.

(Sunsets illuminate my eyes).
I look for words in a glance.
The music box is the sun,

the moon, all of the sky.
I've heard about Sardinian
shepherds reciting Latin poetry

from memory. Inside the radio
a man says: artists fear
face-to-face communication.

So, if you express
emotions too dramatically,
are you crazy?

If you don't, maybe you can at least
squeeze the cold from your heart
like toothpaste.

Or count the drops of coffee
spilled on a white tablecloth.
The men sitting in the cafe
start playing cards.





rev. 1

Some meanings elude the awakenings
of self. I nod, say buongiorno, (you and I,
stranger, are dangling on a cliff
of those awakenings).
We are heroes,

brave, non-conventional, you know,
life isn't really heroic, it's quite tragic,
(tell you the truth), but yes,
today the sun shines.

I went to the Vatican with my mother
many years ago, couldn't pray.
We missed our bus.

On the wall, a poetically-drawn
lakeshore on canvas with a bright yellow
background, reds and pinks.
(Sunsets illuminate my eyes).

I look for words
in a glance.
The music box is the sun,

the moon, all of the sky.
I've heard about Sardinian
shepherds reciting Latin poetry

from memory. Inside the radio
a man says: artists fear
face-to-face communication.

So, if you express
emotions too dramatically,
you're crazy. If you don't,
you can at least
squeeze the cold from your heart
like toothpaste.

The length of this poem
depends on how many drops of coffee
are spilled on a white tablecloth.

Too many evaporate,(and that's not
always mysterious or funny).
The men sitting in the cafe start playing cards.





---

Some meanings elude the awakenings
of self. I nod to the first person I meet,
say buongiorno, (you and I, stranger,
are dangling on the cliffs of those awakenings).
I might be a brave hero, a non-conventional one,

you know, life isn't heroic, it's quite tragic,
(tell you the truth), but today the sun
is shining. Yes, I've been to the Vatican,

couldn't pray, then I missed my bus. On the wall
a poetically-drawn lakeshore on canvas
with a bright yellow background, reds

and pinks. (Sunsets illuminate my eyes).
I've heard about Sardinian shepherds reciting
Latin poetry from memory. I look for
the words I hear in a glance, a dance step,

a song. The first notes are usually missing
because the music box is the moon,
the stars or all of the sky. Inside the radio
a man says: artists fear face-to-face

communication. So, if you express emotions
too dramatically you're crazy, if you don't,
you can at least squeeze the cold from
your heart like toothpaste. The length of this poem

depends on how many drops of coffee are spilled
on a white tablecloth. Too many evaporate,
and that's not always mysterious or funny.
The men sitting in the cafe start playing cards.



---

[arunansu]

Maria, though I haven't got it entirely, I'm left speechless by your use of imagery. I feel it's a terrific write.I shall come back to this again with a more open mind.

[Danté]

Maria, you have some good lines in the poem, though I'm wondering if the current formatting is doing it justice.

I'm a bit pushed for time and it's a complex piece which I'm not wanting to skim.

I'll come back to this tomorrow, enjoyed so far.

thanks

Danté

[Lovely]

express emotions 'this human race' and me..............love it; stay cool you to

"smoke on the water" loved it purple me brained me and crazy 'Vai' to see

I just like this one so me and out with a shout. Fire in the sky....

[Raincoat]

Really enjoyed this Maria, lots of fantastic images, flows nicely. I love

"couldn't pray, then I missed my bus"

"I've heard about Sardinian shepherds reciting
Latin poetry from memory." - this brings back my own memories of school - "crazy Catullus etc" so loved this

this line is brilliant:

"The length of this poem depends on how many drops of coffee are spilled on a white tablecloth."

I fell on this though:

"The first notes are usually missing
because the music box is the moon,
the stars or all of the sky."

because before that you are talking about words then you refer to them as notes and I'm not sure why they'd be missing because of the moon - but maybe that's me just not being able to work it out.

[Divina]

arunansu
I think you approached the poem with a very open mind. I've been working on it for quite a few months, so it's really good to know you liked. Thanks so much.

Hi, Lovely
That's a cool comment,
and 'smoke on the water', indeed.
Thanks, muchly.

Danté
Thanks for taking the time and letting me know your impressions. I am considering getting rid of the stanza breaks altogether. What do you think? My best.

Raincoat,
Thanks for pointing out the parts you liked most. I greatly appreciate.
I see what you mean about the notes missing - maybe the fact that they're the first ones makes a difference? I'll have to think on that. It's really nice to meet you.


Maria

[Divina]

Thanks again for comments and suggestions. I've posted a revision.

Cheers
Maria

[David]

Mmm, I woke up and smelled the revision. Very nice. Thoughtful, discursive, sensual. I like it.

Mind you, and no doubt I'm just a dreary literalist, I didn't get "The length of this poem / depends on how many drops of coffee / are spilled on a white tablecloth" at all. There's some poetical leap of faith that I'm just not making. Mea culpa, Maria.

Other than that, and a slight doubt about whether you can use a comma and a bracket like that in the final stanza, it's all good.

Cheers

David

[Arian]

I haven't read the original, just the revision.

And I like it. The first line is excellent, in my view, and the mix of conversational tone and reflective commentary is well managed - good rhythm and some strong lines. I especially liked:

If you don't,
you can at least
squeeze the cold from your heart
like toothpaste.

Which is where I think it should end. The recursive element (referring to the poem itself) comes too late and is too self-conscious, in my view, to work well (or at all). Like David, I think it jars a little(!).

Still, lots of promise here, I reckon.

peter

[KevJ]

Yes, lots of promise. An interesting read. Love the imagery. especially like the bit about squeezing the tooth paste.

[Divina]

David
I've always enjoyed your comments. I appreciate the way you read into a poem. Thank you so much.
I'm going away for a holiday, but will be back. Enjoy your summer.

Arian
Your critiques are very helpful. I'm grateful. I'll still be working on this and will have to ponder
on a more appropriate ending.
Take care.

Kev
Thanks for reading and letting me know your impressions on the poem. I'm pleased you enjoyed the imagery.


Maria

[Divina]

Thanks again, everyone, for your help on this.

Best regards,
Maria

[Annwn]

i like how youve trimmed this to its conversational nature...got
the line ending exactly right on some lines...particularly the 1st one

there is no wank
here just a rather brilliant expose of how a mind works...good reading too thats a bonus...i like the ''you know''....if i look im sure there is something not to like
but im buggered if i could be bothered....maybe i'll try....
nope....cant...perhaps maybe
the...toothpaste...tho....
[i've always wondered about toothpaste...]....superb job...those twits on the pro page will be jealous...loved it louis

[gavin]

your sitting in a cafe a nice ninety degree cleavage, sipping coffee, behind ray bands, the usual woman plumage, writing good poetry,