Boundaries (v.2)

[Nash]

~

(v.2)

The bus seat smells of dead offices and despair,
allow its matted fur to ensnare the fibres
of your clothes. Fight the itch in the back of your mind
to sound the bell; the bell that signals to the world
that you know your place. And fight the drone and rumble;
the group humidity lulls you into a workplace
state-of mind. Stay aware. White fingers hover
over the red button; you know the tension
could so easily be relieved, a subconscious
finger-twitch, the receptive give, the push that reads STOP.

The need will get stronger the closer you get,
each increment of the journey will wear
familiarity thinner, and thinner still,
until it’s too late to scream out “Wait, this is me!”

Soon the belt of trees that holds in the gut of the town
will appear; as your world slips past the window
discard your ticket along with other forms
of identification: wallet, phone and clothes,
teeth, skin and bones. Until all that’s left is a name
stretched back like an umbilical cord to a voice
faintly calling. Even this will wither in time.




~

(v.1)

The bus seat smells of dead offices and despair,
allow its matted fur to ensnare the fibres of your clothes.

Fight the itch in the back of your mind to sound the bell,
the bell that signals the world that you know your place.

White fingers hover over the brightness of the red button;
the tension could so easily be relieved, a subconscious
finger-twitch, the receptive give of the push that reads STOP.

The need will get stronger the closer you get, each increment
of the journey will wear the realm of familiarity thinner, and thinner still,
until it’s too late to scream out “Wait, this is me!”

And as you see your world pass by, your ticket can be discarded.
Soon the belt of trees that holds in the gut of the town will appear;

egress is easy, the warp and stretch of the membrane
of the life you have left will instantly snap back into place.




~

[ray miller]

Soon the belt of trees that holds in the gut of the town will appear; - nice line, very nice. I enjoyed the read.

White fingers hover over the brightness of the red button; - I thought to myself, why not just the bright red button? Then I noticed how many ofs you'd used. 10 in 14 lines. Maybe that's normal, seemed like a lot to me.

the bell that signals the world that you know your place. - could do with to after signals?

[brianedwards]

It feels unfinished Nash. I could definitely spend longer with this voice. Are you holding back?

B.

[Nash]

Thanks, Ray.

Then I noticed how many ofs you'd used. 10 in 14 lines

Good catch, I hadn't noticed that. I'll have to do something to reduce them.

could do with to after signals?

That bloody 'to' has been in and out of that line with each successive draft. I'll put it back in.

It feels unfinished Nash. I could definitely spend longer with this voice.

Thanks, Brian.You're absolutely right, it's not saying what I want it to say at the moment, it needs something else.

Are you holding back?

Of course I am! I'm English.

[Antcliff]

Nash,

I think you are this board's Urban/Psychological Landscape Laureate. I enjoyed this. Fun, but also conveys the mesh of Geographical/Psychological boundaries...a great topic.

I especially liked the opening line.

Like Ray I wanted a "to" after signals, but then, like you, wondered whether..

I wonder whether you need..

"the fibres of"

especially if you are on an "of" cull, and some killing of "of"s is in the offing.

Seth

[Jackie]

Nash, this is very immediate—puts me there playing with a time warp (place warp?) and I wonder if you're toying with the idea of going more sci fi with this.

Enjoyed very much. Reminded me of a cross-town bus I took on a visit to Manhattan last summer.

Jackie

[1lankest]

Nash,

Really enjoyed it.
Thoughts:


The bus seat smells of dead offices and despair,..........don't need 'despair' here
allow its matted fur to ensnare the fibres of your clothes.

Fight the itch in the back of your mind to sound the bell,
the bell that signals the world that you know your place.

White fingers hover over the brightness of the red button;
the tension could so easily be relieved, a subconscious
finger-twitch, the receptive give of the push that reads STOP.............love 'finger-titch, the receptive give'!

The need will get stronger the closer you get, each increment
of the journey will wear the realm of familiarity thinner, and thinner still,
until it’s too late to scream out “Wait, this is me!”

And as you see your world pass by, your ticket can be discarded.
Soon the belt of trees that holds in the gut of the town will appear;...........wow: gritty but wow!

egress is easy, the warp and stretch of the membrane
of the life you have left will instantly snap back into place........I would drop these two lines and leave it on the high of the gut image.

Great contrast of striking imagery and stark realism. Well done.

Luke

[Suzanne]

Nash, hi.

A wonderfully unsettling read for this bus rider.
Feels like a bad reality check, a plea of hope for significance.

The gut line is the best hook, i agree.

I will watch for an edit with the hope of hearing clearer what you are trying to convey.


And i find, I'm fond of couplets. Things in pairs.
Suzanne

[Macavity]

hi Nash,
Perhaps more gut and membrane, warp and snap and if/when you cull the of maybe consider the use of 'the'...This bus seat...Those fingers...This need...to have more immediacy and less distancing?

the realm of familiarity thinner, and thinner still,

An echo of Keats?

enjoyed

mac

[OwenEdwards]

Loved the matted fur of the bus seat, multilayered poetic image that works well at each of them. Probably my favourite bit.

I think I'm trying to identify whether the voice's anxieties are to be taken purely existentially - in which case the "vehicle" of the bus ride felt like a bit of a stretch for the topic. What I mean, in a bumbling sort of way, is this - the anxiety of the bus journey relates here and in reality at least in part to the waiting for one's stop. Perhaps it's in part also the alien environment of public transport. To push the concept of one's stop in the poem to also be "one's identity" is an interesting idea, but feels a little...thin? Perhaps a little density of expression is needed.

Or perhaps I've entirely misread what's being said, in which case ignore me!

[Nash]

Seth, Jackie, Luke, Suzanne, Mac & Owen.

Thanks very much for your comments all. I'm pushed for time at the moment but your suggestions are all really helpful and shall all be carefully considered for the rewrite.

Nash.

[David]

Nash,

I think you are this board's Urban/Psychological Landscape Laureate.

I'll happily go along with that. What a great job title.

I really liked this. It reminds me of an idle fantasy I used to have, in my days of getting daily buses, where I'd be sitting on a bus when it was coming to a usual turn, but instead of turning went straight on, with a cry from the driver of "We're going through!" That sense of not being in Kansas any more, and of Kansas being a bit of a dump anyway, which is what I'm taking from the poem.

On the other hand, I wasn't so fond of "the belt of trees that holds in the gut of the town", which seems to be self-consciously straining for the image. Could be wrong on that, though.

I look forward to your revision.

Cheers

David

[Nash]

Thanks very much, David.

Antcliff wrote:
Nash,

I think you are this board's Urban/Psychological Landscape Laureate.

I'll happily go along with that. What a great job title.

I didn't properly thank you for that, Seth. Very kind and exceptionally helpful. Thanks!

Anyway - a bit of a rewrite. Any thoughts on punctuation would be gratefully received as commas and colons (semi or otherwise) confuse the crap out of me.

Nash.

[1lankest]

Great revision:

Soon the belt of trees that holds in the gut of the town
will appear; as your world slips past the window
discard your ticket along with other forms
of identification: wallet, phone and clothes,
teeth, skin and bones. Until all that’s left is a name
stretched back like an umbilical cord to a voice
faintly calling. Even this will wither in time.

This is so good.....love the assonance of clothes and bones.

Still don't like 'despair' in line 1....I would say its no biggy for me it really would be better unspoken.

Cheers,

Luke

[OwenEdwards]

Fantastic revision of the last stanza.

[Nash]

Thanks very much, Luke & Owen.

I know what you mean about that 'despair' Luke. I tried taking it out, put it back, took it out again and it still ended up back in there. It feels sort of naked without it, I think. For the moment, it's staying.

Nash.

[Ros]

I like the idea of this very much - not sure it's quite there yet. It feels as if it's trying a little too hard. Some bits, eg

the group humidity lulls you into a workplace
state-of mind.

seem to me a little prosy. But I think it's well on the way.

Ros

[Macavity]

And i find, I'm fond of couplets. Things in pairs.
Suzanne

I don't have any fondness, or default position, on form myself, but I do feel the poem had clarity and boldness in the original form. I also miss membrane/warp/snap.

discard your ticket along with other forms
of identification: wallet, phone and clothes,
teeth, skin and bones. Until all that’s left is a name
stretching an umbilical cord to a voice
faintly calling. Even this will wither in time.

Just a suggestion to make the line more active than passive. Not really getting a spark from all will wither in time. Sort of obvious.

cheers

mac