Generations

[barrie]

The old plants had toiled:
crawled along the soil
on pest-bitten stems,
offspring still clinging,
dragging out their mothers’ deaths
with a reluctance to root.

The spade can be a cruel tool,
biting through the grub-riddled root stock,
denying the old
a life
of mould and rot.

I took the plants, and with my knife
cut off each younger shoot.
The sponging life was over now -
time to learn to root or die alone,
not live
forever sucking from the hollowed bones
of worm plagued parents.

[David]

I like it, but it seems strangely familiar. Have you cannibalised some old thing of yours, Barrie?

[dogofdiogenes]

The old plants had toiled:
crawled along the soil
on pest-bitten stems,
their offspring still clinging,
living off their backs,
dragging out their mothers’ deaths
with a reluctance to root.

The spade can be a cruel tool,
biting through the grub-riddled root stock,
denying the old
a life
of mould and rot.

I took the plants, and with my knife
cut off each younger shoot,
the sponging life was over now -
time to learn to root or die alone.
Not live,
forever sucking from the hollowed bones
of worm plagued parents.


Morning Barrie, (or is it?)

This didn't quite do it for me, although I wanted it to. How much humour should be taken with it? Don't mean to be obtuse! I couldn't lock into any of the sentiments in it-or am I just not old enough yet???

best

morningmutt

[barrie]

David - It's a hacked back and trimmed old thing of mine.

I couldn't lock into any of the sentiments in it-or am I just not old enough yet???

- I don't think your age matters any - maybe you're not a gardener.

How much humour should be taken with it?

- Two teaspoons just before waking up - Seriously, none really. It's just a bit of a harsh comparison between plants (pinks and carnations in this case) and some kids who cling and cling. (Not mine BTW - they both left for University and then lived their own lives - just like I did).

Thanks both

Barrie

[dillingworth]

i rather liked this, quite hughesian i thought. also you have an echo of Eliot in

The spade can be a cruel tool,
biting through the grub-riddled root stock,
denying the old
a life
of mould and rot.

"April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain."

d

[Elphin]

barrie

One of my favourites of your most recent postings - you do this growing old and parent/offspring stuff very well. I particularly liked the sounds in this toiled/soil, cruel tool, stock/rot and alone/bones - all subtley done.

I have a few observations, none of which are vital but you may wish to consider;

In S1, I wonder if living off their backs is superfluous as you have already said they are still clinging which has living off them implied. Removing that you would get the sonics of clinging and dragging closer.

S2 I am not sure about the line breaks in the last three lines. I can see why you would want denying the old to stand alone but I think you could combine the next two to good effect.

S3 the punctuation seems a bit messy. For example a comma after plants followed by and and the last lines not really a sentence. Suggestion

I took the plants and with my knife
cut off each younger shoot.
The sponging life was over now -
time to learn to root or die alone
not live,
forever sucking from the hollowed bones
of worm plagued parents.

The period at the end of l2 enhances the finality of cutting off.

As I say none of the points major but perhaps enhancing.

Elphin

[ElleW]

Hi Barrie,

I enjoyed my several readings of this poem. It reminds me of rescuing my mother's waist-high-in-weeds garden after her death.



The old plants had toiled:
crawled along the soil
on pest-bitten stems,
their offspring still clinging,
living off their backs,
dragging out their mothers’ deaths
with a reluctance to root.

This stanza nicely sets forth the need for deep pruning. Consider reworking slightly to avoid using the possessive "their" three times in one stanza -- especially since the last use has a different referent than the first two instances.

The spade can be a cruel tool,
biting through the grub-riddled root stock,
denying the old
a life
of mould and rot.

I like the internal rhyme of this stanza. I also like the way the stanza ends up turned on its head because the reader ponders whether this deep pruning is cruelty or rescue.

I took the plants, and with my knife
cut off each younger shoot,
the sponging life was over now -
time to learn to root or die alone.
Not live,
forever sucking from the hollowed bones
of worm plagued parents.

Reading this stanza, I feel a strong wish that the poem had been written in the present tense, as though we are there with the gardener as s/he works to bring life and dole out death in the garden.

Wonderful imagery and great assonance throughout this poem. Theanks, enjoyed.

L

[oranggunung]

Barrie

Like the critical cur, I’m afraid this misses the mark for me. I can see the craft in the writing, but somehow the links between gardening and family feel, not awkward or obvious, but telegraphed. I feel like I’m being told to see the links, rather than finding them myself.

S1 – the description of the young plants in relation to their root stock confused me. It reminded me of strawberry plants, but the language prevented me from forming any enduring mental images.

S2 – beautiful language, but again a confusion of images. Is the spade denying life or death? The cruelty appears to be in saving life. That must be a misreading on my part, but I keep coming up with the same answer.

S3 – more confusing language.


the sponging life was over now

an image of death, for me, and yet not your intention, I feel sure.


Not live,

Another image of death.

I think that’s my biggest problem with this poem. I keep encountering images of life and death, when the analogy appears to be one of growth and independence. As a reader, I can keep telling myself that I’ve got it wrong, but each time I come back I keep stumbling at the same fences.

Wish I could appreciate the touches of Hughes and Eliot instead of tying myself up in logical knots.


og

[barrie]

Thanks Dill - I never noticed the similarity until you pointed it out. I spent about four weeks reading nothing but Eliot a couple of summers ago, obviously something stuck.

Thanks Elph - You’re right about the punctuation - I’ve messed about with the words and kept the punctuation as it was - bad mistake. I’ll edit accordingly, thanks for pointing that out. Living off their backs has gone too.

Thanks Elle - You’re right, there is an overabundance of ‘their’ - another oversight. It shall be pruned. I suppose I wrote it in the past because it was something I did just before my father died, years ago - plus I know what happened to the cuttings.

Thanks og - You can please some of the people some of the time….etc. Appreciate your view, if it doesn’t work then it’s good to know. I’m must say that I’m surprised that you found the last verse to be ‘more confusing language’. It can be read as just a few lines about taking cuttings.
I suppose you could get an image of death from - ‘the sponging life was over now’, if stood alone, but read in the context of what came before (taking cuttings) and the following line (learning to root), I can’t see any obvious confusion.

The central verse is just about life and death - The old die and the young live. ‘Is the spade denying life or death?’ The spade is denying neither, it’s taking the life of the old and decrepit plants who’ve outgrown their decorative usefulness.

Cheers all, your comments are much appreciated.

Incapability Brown

[beautifulloser]

Baz,

Not being a father, and being on the receiving end of this, I'd say it's plus sides are in the execution but it has an exasperated feel - which, dare I say, doesn't partoicularly inspire fatherhood in me.

It's not about what you pass on, more the cost of what is passed on . . .? I thought you were into ya cycles?

These lines particularly take the wind out of it:

dragging out their mothers’ deaths
with a reluctance to root.

But then, that may be the two teaspoons of humour you mention.

If I can make a suggestion, and something you'd be quite inept at. With it being Spring, there's stuff you're mentioning about spades and burying myth/correlations/whatever which get passed on from generation to generation, the dragging out of mother's death and the retience to new beginnings . . . corellations taken over, planted on and made to flower . . .

I'm worried I sound like a pretentious arsehole saying that, I really do, I hope it makes some sort of sense and well if it doesn't, pass me off as a precocious dick fuck and cook me a kipper.

Liking it, just not sure the thing with the jangling bits are oscillating in the right direction. I mean that honestly, but if I serve much else up you might as well execute me.

me
x

[barrie]

Thanks Beau

Basiclous, this is about the overgrow of straggly planters who have shot out from the soily dirt growing uglier each daytime in the annual struggle for life’s niceties. You may have displaced too much importitude on the caricatured analogym’s pointy finger at human parentology. Most offspringers don’t need pruning blades to cut off their inherent indolences, they have the urge to drift, like dandylines with wind. Others may need only a slightly kick up the backslide. Besiders, you need kids to add to the gin pool, otherwise mutants will inherit the earth - amen.
No mythologic intentious, my friend, my last springlymyth thingy was ‘Death in Spring’ but now he’s dead and resurrectum.
One thing an arsiehole can never be - that’s pretentious. So, I’ll be boiling no kipper filips - do yourgoodself a tastril Aberdown Smokit, they go down well on mushrules with scrabbled eggs to boot.

many thankyous for the commentators.

Barret

[beautifulloser]

Well, that's just an utterly fabulous reply.

I duly dip my brow accordingly, the importitude of the processes that hum inside the crainial pit of mis-conceived ideals that are spoilt by my unmatured set of experiences is truly gob smackingly desperate, I grant you.

Just scraping through the shit and muddle, Baz. Ya clarity is well alright, though.

Much obliged for ear- unstiching as well.

El - hmmm, only came to being in mind today, now ain't that weird.

Nice one, on both counts. And ta muchly.

me
x