A Great Grandad

[camus]

Rattling pans clashing in their daily
saucepan broil, metallic solid disguises
for life, set on low heat. And you almost dead,

with your transparent skin, and cardigan
buttoned to the last.

Your indignant dominoes,
waiting for a tip.

And that sickly sweet Smell of Death.

Yes Oh yes
I now know the smell of death, it’s similar to a goat cheese topping
on a posh piece of nosh, perhaps brazed halibut, on a bed of asparagus.
Yes that is the smell of death my friend, I’m sure.

Or bubbling mutton, still trendy with the dying.
Or mucus stained armchairs.
Or old dog carpets.
Or brill creamed scalps, on greasy liver spot heads.

[cameron]

Kris my boy - this is wonderful, great, brilliant.

Scary and brilliantly specific details which show show show!

'Time's winged chariot' indeed.

Or

'And age, and then the only end of age.' (Larks)

Would like to feature this one. Leslie's picking the next one but he seems to have gone on holiday or something. I'll wait and see if he reappears first.

Cam

[camus]

Thanks Cam,

Leslie is a Guy?

[alex69williams]

i didn't know that either

[camus]

What no comments!

I'm presuming with only one comment, that people don't like the poem.

I welcome all critique, I do hope Cam's comments (of course much appreciated) doesn't put anyone off saying what they don't like about the poem. I'm here to learn.

Of course as Arco once commented, one shouldn't expect input/comments/critique on every poem you post, but I'd appreciate it on this one.

Thanks awfully.

[pseud]

Great metaphors, it's very simple and descriptive. I'd like seeing this as the feature poem as well.

My only question is, was there a deeper meaning intended? I find the guy a bit flat honestly. I see a very good description of a dying man with nothing to do but vegetate. Perhaps that was the intention.

I like the lines

"Rattling pans clashing in their daily
saucepan broil, metallic solid disguises
for life, set on low heat."

A wonderful runon sentence - referring, I believe, to the man, to old people in general, also set on low heat. Was that intentional? I see some opportunity for deeper meaning.

And you've captured his smell quite perfectly.

- Caleb

[camus]

Caleb,

Thank you for replying, much appreciated.

"I see a very good description of a dying man with nothing to do but vegetate."

Exactly.

Nothing more to it than that. It was indeed a poem of a purely descriptive nature, perhaps with the brazed halibut stanza leaning toward the satirical.

And yes the "set on low heat" was very definitely a key sentence, more though alluding to his limited control over his ebbing life, but yes you got the gist, which is great.

thanks again.

[Leslie]

maculine: Leslie
feminine: Lesley

[camus]

Ahhhhhhhhh.

Apologies Mr Leslie.

[tobias]

Now here's an English poem.

Dominoes and cardigans.

I found the poem humorous "it’s similar to a goat cheese topping on a posh piece of nosh, perhaps brazed halibut, on a bed of asparagus." yet also uncomfortable, it must have been the last stanza "mucus stained armchairs." I'm squemish.

Great read.

Tobi.

[camus]

Tobias,

Firstly welcome, secondly, thanks for the feedback.

And yeh the mucus makes me squirm too, it always did.

I'll check your posts out, but I'm presently packing for a sojourn to Amsterdam.

cheers
Kris

[Bombadil]

Come back to us alive and hungover.

Have fun.

Cheers,

Keith

[camus]

Thanks keith,

Yeh I'm going with my Mum my sister, and her gay boyfriend. lol

Well we were all having a bad time, as families sometimes do, so I thought fuck it, a party is required.

More of a museum, canal laze than a stoned deborch (I like that spelling) but I'll be sure to introduce them to the finest cake known to man.

cheers
Kris

[clion]

Rattling pans clashing in their daily
saucepan broil, metallic solid disguises
for life, set on low heat. And you almost dead,

with your transparent skin, and cardigan
buttoned to the last.

Your indignant dominoes,
waiting for a tip.

And that sickly sweet Smell of Death.

Yes Oh yes
I now know the smell of death, it’s similar to a goat cheese topping
on a posh piece of nosh, perhaps brazed halibut, on a bed of asparagus.
Yes that is the smell of death my friend, I’m sure.

Or bubbling mutton, still trendy with the dying.
Or mucus stained armchairs.
Or old dog carpets.
Or brill creamed scalps, on greasy liver spot heads.

I'm sorry, I don't like this piece. There may be something of personally observed truth in it but there is no kindness. Let the dying die with any slight shred of dignity they may have.

If you should glimpse my aged face
don't be moved by mirth or sorrow,
for what is my lot of loss today
is your gift for tomorrow.
clion

[camus]

Well Clion,

You missed the point entirely, I shall say no more.

Except, I shall say no more, and thats it.

No seriously, thats a comment.

Look the point was to capture the reality of dying in certain circumstances, very common circumstances.

And I speak from experience, personal - my great grandad - and well lets say for argument sake, professional. I was a meter reader, both gas and electric for 4 years. You see inside many homes, many lives.

Believe me I've seen poverty, degradation, people dying alone in filth, on many occasions, there is no dignity in that, non at all, and I would like people to know about that.

[Bombadil]

eek.

next the Romulans will be attacking.

[pb]

Kris,

Another great poem. You have the gift for random associations that somehow make sense, I think that is probably one of the many marks of a true poet. Who would have thought that 'brazed halibut' would fit as nicely here. Cynical tho, man is meat?

The last line I particularly enjoyed, the reference to the brylcreem of youth. (Oh the brylcreem of youth!). I would use this line to disagree with clion that this poem is purely cynical, as this image shows youth shining through, almost like a palimpsest, and in a very poignant way. Old habits die hard, and all that.

Enjoy Amsterdam, if you get time the Erotic Museum has some of Lennon's pictures.

pb

[clion]

Well Clion,

You missed the point entirely, I shall say no more.

Except, I shall say no more, and thats it.

No seriously, thats a comment.

Look the point was to capture the reality of dying in certain circumstances, very common circumstances.

And I speak from experience, personal - my great grandad - and well lets say for argument sake, professional. I was a meter reader, both gas and electric for 4 years. You see inside many homes, many lives.

Believe me I've seen poverty, degradation, people dying alone in filth, on many occasions, there is no dignity in that, non at all, and I would like people to know about that.

I'm sure you would like people to know of what you speak, the world is made up of the horrors of the human condition. Any fool can tell the truth but a compassionate, sensative poet should have sufficient words at his command to avoid rubbing the noses of the unfortunate in the mire of life.

[pb]

Clion,

Crucially, you are conflating the vocations of 'poet' and 'wet-blanket'. Cynicism is part of the human condition. Are you suggesting that we should only write 'nice' poems, that a sense of redemption and glory is mandatory? In that case, how would you justify Holocaust literature?

pb

[pseud]

it really boils down to this: one poem need not say everything.

[Bombadil]

Clion,

I think you're misinterpreting Kris, here. Let's not mistake cynicism for cruelty. I think it's fairly obvious that Kris feels similarly to you--and that is communicated in the softly scornful/ridiculing tone of the poem. There are no monsters here, save one. The rest of us are quite humanistic and caring, if not to a fault.

--A.S.

[pseud]

There are no monsters here, save one.

[Bombadil]

HA!

Fair enough. You today, me tomorrow.

[pseud]

is that a threat, or a promise?

[Bombadil]

Both I suppose.