Great Expectations

[Helen Bywater]

Sunday lunchtime, visiting
"in loco parentis", cast yet again
in the role of black sheep,
the last thread snapped.
I'd had three bags full of it,
and wrenched off
that mask of lofty disapproval,
but it was knitted to your flesh,
and your face bled, raw with hurt
and hate.

The roast was served,
the tender lamb carved
in neat slices and consumed,
nothing left but bone.
Teatime was as brittle as bone china,
rattling on the tea-tray
in my unsteady hands.
Don't drop me, I am fragile.

Mum says you're the Rock of Gibraltar.
(I picture you as a young man,
tall and proud, bedecked with
fluttering Union Jacks, and me,
clambering on your shoulders, grinning
like a Barbary ape.)
I dashed myself to pieces,
receded from your shore,
only to return as the wide, encircling sea,
and every land mass, every empire
must rise and fall, rise and fall.

These memories,
torn up, and
thrown to the wind,
blow back in my face.
Let this rising tide
of bitterness
subside.

Down in your cellar, behind
the bottles of bitter brew
and Liebfraumilch,
there are some fine wines,
and a rare port, long forgotten,
laid down in richer times.
There it sits, veiled in cobwebs,
suddenly radiant
as I hold it to the light.
Let's share a glass.
Let's drink to our health.

[Ros]

Some good ideas here, but I'm finding your metaphors a bit mixed. I'm not sure what you're meaning by in loco parentis - this would put you in the role of parents, but I get the feeling it's you visiting your parents. Or are you trying to suggest the parents are a bit potty? If so, not sure it quite works. Or I could be on the wrong track entirely...

I like the refs to the nursery rhyme, but they fade out after the first verse. It's not really explained why you are the black sheep. At first I thought 'you' was your partner, but now I think he's your father.

These memories,
torn up, and
thrown to the wind,
blow back in my face.
Let this rising tide
of bitterness
subside.

I think this section doesn't add much rather telly without adding any facts - perhaps better without it?

So, overall I like the separate verses but I'm not getting a coherent picture here.

Ros (confused)

[Helen Bywater]

Thanks for the comments, Ros.

Oh dear, I'm confusing people again. I'm glad you like the separate verses, at least.

Yes, you're on the right track about it being my father. I thought the "black sheep" and the implied "yes sir, yes sir, three bags full" made that clear. I daresay it would have done if "in loco parentis" hadn't confused you. That was a black joke, meaning I was visiting in place of parents (ie parents' place) and, yes, also suggesting they're a bit mad (no more than the average parents, but we see these things more clearly in those we're closest to, especially when we're exasperated with them). I'm sorry that wasn't clear. Maybe if I said "visiting the 'loco parentis' " that would work?

Is it really necessary to the poem to know why I'm the black sheep? Parents have expectations of their children, which their children don't always live up to.

I was worried about the mixed metaphors in S3. I've had a lot of trouble with that one. I thought the transition from S1 to S2 had worked, though - the sheep becoming the lamb that got a roasting, bones to bone china and so on. You evidently don't agree.

I suppose S4 isn't necessary. I'm wondering whether to do away with S3 as well.

Cheers,
Helen

[David]

Damn. It occurred to me that "in loco parentis" could be a reference to the parents' place, but you deprived me of my spotter's points, Helen. Never mind. It is rather clever.

It's very emotive language in places - "your face bled, raw with hurt / and hate" stands out in particular in that respect. Against that, I like the way you finish it, and I especially like the first half of S3, although I think you maybe overegg the pudding a little bit in the second half.

To my mind, if you took some of the heat out of this, and concentrated on the wryer side, it would be very good. Of course you might say that then it isn't the poem you want to write.

Cheers

David

[LeMinh88]

I love your 2nd stanza. I said so much.

The roast was served,
the tender lamb carved
in neat slices and consumed,
nothing left but bone.
Teatime was as brittle as bone china,
rattling on the tea-tray
in my unsteady hands.
Don't drop me, I am fragile.

There are a lot of subtle humor in your writing so I want it to come in rapid gunfight in S2. My only difficulty lies in the title as the "Great Expectations" by Dickens. In the back of my mind, I'm constantly comparing the poem to the book. Consider "Helen's Great Expectations" or "The Great Helen's Expectations". This way I know the reference to the book and not a poem about the book.

[ray miller]

I liked the 3rd stanza best, thought it were a lovely image, the Barbary ape clambering.I don't think you need to repeat bone in 2nd stanza.
Let this rising tide of bitterness subside. That's good and 3 cheers to it. Thought last stanza didn't add much.

[Helen Bywater]

Thanks, all of you, for your comments.

David, you can have the points anyway - I'll take your word for it that you spotted that meaning before I explained it. In fact, there are more spotter's points to be earned, in relation to that phrase, and also to do with the title.

The poem I want to write....hmmm. That comment "if you took some of the heat out of this, and concentrated on the wryer side, it would be very good" makes me feel "that's the poem I want to write - the very good one!" Feedback is helpful, but confusing too - I'm not very confident of my poetic voice, and find myself wanting to please everyone, which is plainly impossible, even if it were desirable. It was about an upsetting row - some time ago, and I'm sufficiently distanced from it not to be attached to the feelings associated with it - but would the last stanza even make sense without the bitterness that had gone before?

Le Minh, I'm glad you enjoyed reading it. Thanks for your suggestion about the title. It wouldn't really work, though, because it was about my father's expectations of me, mainly - although mutual disappointment came into it.

Thanks, Ray - I'm glad you liked S3 - I like the first half of it, too, but I can't seem to get the second half right. I think you may be alone in your opinion of the final stanza, though - most people seem to like that, including me. I'll think about taking out the second "bone" (although bone china is the most fragile kind).

Cheers,
Helen

[David]

David, you can have the points anyway - I'll take your word for it that you spotted that meaning before I explained it. In fact, there are more spotter's points to be earned, in relation to that phrase, and also to do with the title.

Well, Pip was an orphan, living with Joe and Mrs. Gargery, as I remember, but that's the best I can do.

I've visited the locality. Flat. Bleak. Windy.

[Helen Bywater]

Not Pip - another character.

[David]

You're never Estella? But who else could you be?

And, in that case, who is Miss Havisham?

We're coming to the end of my sketchy recollections of the book (and, to be honest, the film).

[Oskar]

Pip's mystery benefactor was a convict called Abel Magwitch, the convict Pip meets on the marshes at the beginning of the book.

black sheep - Magwitch made his fortune from sheep farming in Australia!

Magwitch has a daughter who, much later in the book, turns out to be Estella!!

Helen, is your father Ronnie Biggs?

Great Expectations is just about my favourite book. I've read it several times and never tire of it.

[David]

Helen, is your father Ronnie Biggs?

A brilliantly mad Oskarish deduction. I congratulate you, sir.

Great Expectations is just about my favourite book. I've read it several times and never tire of it.

Have you read Jack Maggs by Peter Carey? A very good modern riff on GE.

[Helen Bywater]

No, Oskar - to the best of my knowledge, my mother has never even met Ronnie Biggs.

I'm not Estella, either, though mentioning Pip being an orphan had some relevance, as another meaning of "in loco parentis" was a reversal of the changeling idea.

There's an obscure reference to another character, but it isn't me, and it isn't my father. A sketchy recollection should be sufficient.

[Oskar]

There's an obscure reference to another character, but it isn't me, and it isn't my father.

That just leaves your mother, doesn't it?

loco parentis could, as you have already stated, be taken to mean mad parent. Estella's mother was a murderess called Molly, who happened to work for Mr Jaggers, who happened to be the legal representative of virtually everyone in the book, including Magwitch (Estella's father). It's all a bit of a coincidence, but ties things up quite neatly.

Is loco parentis a reference to Molly the maidservant? - the woman with the powerful hands of a killer? Come on now, be honest.

Failing that, has Old Orlick managed to break in to the wine cellar again?

Have you read Jack Maggs by Peter Carey? A very good modern riff on GE.

No I haven't, but I'll certainly look out for it now. Thanks.

[Helen Bywater]

No, I'd forgotten about Molly and Orlick, in fact. As I said, a sketchy recollection should be enough. It's not my mother, either. It's a well known purely fictional character. I could give a more obvious clue, but you'll get it immediately if I do. I'll just reiterate that it is an obscured reference.

[Helen Bywater]

Still stumped, are you, or have you given up? Okay, I'll give the obvious clue. David got the closest, but didn't quite spot it. An obscure/obscured reference could also be called a veiled reference.

[David]

You're never Miss Havisham? No way! How is that possible?

[Helen Bywater]

Haha! Not quite. Just to remind you:

Helen Bywater wrote:There's an obscure reference to another character, but it isn't me, and it isn't my father.

IT is Miss Havisham, but I'm not. She's the rare port in my father's cellar (as opposed to any port in a storm/a sailor has a wife in every port). She represents his anima, first seen as the aged, deserted bride "veiled in cobwebs", then transformed "suddenly radiant as I hold it to the light" restored to the ideal love object, representing that which is most precious, which inspires him and brings out the best in him, and which he projects onto all the females in his life in one way or another. It was me trying to reach out to the best in him. It sounds a bit incestuous, I know, but psychology's like that.

[David]

Phew. Deep stuff, Helen.

[Helen Bywater]

Too deep and impenetrable, probably.

[Helen Bywater]

Can anyone tell me what it means when the lines in the circle by a poem are moving upwards? I haven't been able to work it out, and now this one's doing it.

[Ros]

I'm not certain, but I think it just means you've had a stonkingly large number of replies.

[ray miller]

I've always assumed that it meant the subject matter were way over my head.

[Helen Bywater]

@ Ros: Thanks.

@ Ray: Are you saying you didn't understand it?

[ray miller]

Oooh! That's below the belt not over my head.