Still (version 3)

[CalebPerry]

Spots

Inside my old-man’s lair, an apartment
I leave only rarely, and gladly too,
for it is now my infirmities that
tell me what I can and cannot do,

and I obey them, there are certain spots
that I especially love, that mean more
than floorboards were ever meant to, like this
threshold bridging two rooms, askance a door,

my den, where my spirits sometimes soar
as I ply poesy to soothe a planet gaping
discord, and my diner, where pleasures bide;
but there is more to this spot: the door, escaping

downwards to the street, reminds me that
the world I have come to spurn and fear,
but celebrate in song, is still there, and that
we might some day renew our lost affair.

===================

Still (version 2)

Inside my old-man’s lair, an apartment
I leave only rarely, and gladly too,
for it is now my infirmities that
control what I can and cannot do,

and I obey them, there are certain spots
that I especially love, that mean more
than floorboards were ever meant to, like this
threshold bridging kitchen and den, askance a door,

my den, where my spirit sometimes soars
as I ply poesy to soothe a gaping
planet, and my diner, where pleasures bide;
but there is more to this spot: the door, escaping

downwards to the street, reminds me that
the world I have come to spurn and fear,
but still celebrate in song, is still there
and that we might, some day, renew our lost affair.

===================

Still (version 1)

Inside my old-age home, an apartment
I leave only rarely, and gladly to,
for it is now my infirmities that
control what I can and cannot do,

and I must obey them, there are certain spots
that I love in here, that mean much more
to me than floor boards ought to, like this threshold
between kitchen and den, askance a door,

my den where my spirit still sometimes soars
as I write words to soothe the rapidly fading
planet, and my kitchen, where pleasures await;
but there is more to this spot: the door, escaping

downstairs to the street, reminds me that
the world I have come to spurn and fear,
but still celebrate in song, is still there
and that we might, some day, renew our lost affair.

☙

I put the word "still" in the poem several times, so decided to name it "Still".

The final line strikes me as a little weak for being predictable. The grammar isn't that good, as the poem seems to be a run-on sentence.

John, I need your elegant clarity to make this poem really sing. Right now, I think it is falling short of what it could be.

[jisbell00]

Hi Caleb,

Some thoughts.

Still
*nice title

Inside my old-age home, an apartment
*the old-age home, my apartment?

I leave only rarely, and gladly to,
*too?

for it is now my infirmities that
control what I can and cannot do,

and I must obey them, there are certain spots
*I obey them?

that I love in here, that mean much more
to me than floor boards ought to, like this threshold
between kitchen and den, askance a door,
* nice sequence. I like askance

my den where my spirit still sometimes soars
as I write words to soothe the rapidly fading
planet, and my kitchen, where pleasures await;
but there is more to this spot: the door, escaping

downstairs to the street, reminds me that
*reminds me how?

the world I have come to spurn and fear,
but still celebrate in song, is still there
and that we might, some day, renew our lost affair.

I think the ending is fine. I like your rhyme scheme, you don't use rhyme much. Interesting poem.

Cheers,
John

[CalebPerry]

Thank you, John! I'm going to transfer your post into WordPerfect and try out all of those suggestions.

[jisbell00]

[CalebPerry]

I'm knocking this to the top. I've tried to pump up the language a little.

[jisbell00]

Hi Caleb,

I don't think bide can be revived in modern English. And I am pretty ecumenical! I think await works just fine there.
Also, for "but still celebrate," I'd leave otu still, since youv'e got it later in that line.

Otherwise, I like your tweaks here.

Cheers,
John

[CalebPerry]

John, I'm grateful to you for looking at my tweaks. Often, subsequent versions are ignored on this forum.

While you were critiquing it, I changed "gastric pleasures bide" to "gastric joys abide". You might be interested to know that the online dictionary I consulted doesn't say that "bide" is archaic, but I still think that "joys abide" is better.

I'll think about removing the second "still" in that line. The duplication feels like meaningful emphasis to me, but still, most people won't see it that way.

Thanks again!

By the way, I don't want you to think I don't know the difference between "to" and "too" in the second line. In the original draft, "to" was what I wanted -- but "too" was better.

[jisbell00]

Hi Caleb,

Gastric joys abide sounds good to me.

I like how you put the word still in your comment about your use of the word still. Very deft! Your call ,of course.

Cheers,
John

[CalebPerry]

That wasn't intentional -- I'm not THAT clever.

As for stanza 1, "too" may go back to being "to":

Inside my old-man’s lair, an apartment
I leave only rarely, and glad to, -- i.e., glad to [leave only rarely], see?
for it is now my infirmities that
control what I can and cannot do,

Thanks again for the attention to this.

[jisbell00]

[ton321]

Hi caleb

Reminds me of a self-pitying Bukowski poem
without the irony, but that's a good thing in my book.
At least you are aware

Tony

[CalebPerry]

Reminds me of a self-pitying Bukowski poem
without the irony, but that's a good thing in my book.
At least you are aware

Thank you, Tony. You have a talent for back-handed compliments.

Wait until you are in your 70's and have health problems which limit your life. You may see the poem differently then.

John, do you see self-pity in this poem?

[jisbell00]

Nope, I don't really see self-pity here, Caleb. But I do get a certain Bukowski vibe from it, which I can't quite put my finger on.

Cheers,
John

[CalebPerry]

I looked up Bukowski. I've read a few of his poems now. I need to read more. I'm not overly impressed. I don't see much "craft" in his poetry, just spontaneous self-expression.

[jisbell00]

I'm not a big Bukowski fan either. I pretty much agree with your assessment, Caleb. But he does have a large fan base.

Cheers,
Jon

[Macavity]

I like the floorboards line Caleb. Reminded me of Samuel Beckett, where awareness and significance, through isolation, shrinks to small worlds.

[CalebPerry]

Thank you, Phil. That is mostly what happens in old age. I'm mostly confined to my house because of my atrial fibrillations and my back which won't stop spasming. Linda Ronstadt, that wonderful chanteuse, is confined because of Parkinsons. The end of life is no fun. (At least for most of us -- all the old people in the commercials are dancing or jogging or playing tennis).

[jisbell00]

Oh Caleb, I should add that I find a poem about old age more interesting than a poem about drinking all things being equal. And I like this poem fine for my part, as I think I've said.

Cheers,
John

[CalebPerry]

Thank you for saying again that you like the poem, but what is that reference to drinking? I'm confused.

[jisbell00]

That's Bukowski. It's his primary subject, in what I've read of his at least. Tedious stuff.

Cheers,
John

[CalebPerry]

Oh, I see. I haven't read that many of his poems yet.

[jisbell00]

Yeah, he's not great IMO. It is a bit stream of consciousness, though, as if he lets the pen guide him, and I think that is what I feel a bit in this poem of yours. I have a lot of meandery poems but lately have been writing tighter stuff.

Cheers,
John

[CalebPerry]

That's interesting to hear. In this poem, I see meandering as good, as somehow more natural than my usual instincts. I was trying to write it as one sentence so I could send it to One Sentence Poems.

I'll be back later today if you post another comment.

[jisbell00]

I think the meandring is fine, and the single sentence is very nice.

Cheers,
John

[CalebPerry]

Since I'm in a dry period now, and there doesn't seem to be much activity on the board, I thought I would post the final version of this poem in case anyone is interested. I have been working on it all along. It took me a long time to get it all into rhyme. The word "discord" was, at one time, "tumult", but that word didn't have any assonance/alliteration with the rest of the poem, which "discord" does. (There is not a series of OR sounds running throughout.

My remaining concern is that the language may come off as too dense or convoluted.