Poetry Forum

The Inevitable Consequence of a Glass House


Downwind of the gossip's where
she drops her anchor. Not enough
to know the weight of stones in metric
when what's at stake
is brunch, and tea
is served by a wrinkled sceptic.

Curtains either close too much
or never meet, and daylight stabs
a pinky finger in every pie
she bakes. When the RSVPs came late
summer was a one-woman
washout. Unstuck

by a rueful combination
of broken watch and too-high heel,
she blustered and bounced her big fat tongue
from snide side-swipe to full blown faux pas
with no regard
for testaments and wills.

If only she'd remembered the names
of every girl
he'd brought to dinner
there'd be no boxes in the hall,
no dust on all the silverware.
No fraudulent insurance claims.












~
PREVIOUS

Downwind of the gossip's where
she drops her anchor. Not enough
to know the weight of stones in metric
when what's at stake is brunch, and tea
is served with scones and scorn.

Curtains either close too much
or never meet, and daylight stabs
a pinky finger in every pie
she bakes. When the RSVP's came late
summer was a one-woman washout

and unstuck by a rueful combination
of broken watch and too-high heel,
she blustered and bounced her big fat tongue
from snide side-swipe to full blown faux pas
with no regard for wills and testaments.

If only she'd remembered the names
of every girl he'd brought to dinner
there'd be no boxes in the hall,
no dust on all the silverware
or fraudulent insurance claims.












~

Brian - the title of this is great, it made me want to read more.
Each individual stanza of this is good - my fav lines are:
tea / is served with scones and scorn. and daylight stabs / a pinky finger in every pie.
But my problem with this is that I feel I should be following a narrative, but I'm not really sure what is happening. The RSVPS really confused me - were they for his funeral? And what is the significance of the last stanza? What's the connection between the girls and the insurance claims?

It could just be my sunday brain, so apologies if I'm being thick
Sharra
xx

Sharra wrote:Brian - the title of this is great, it made me want to read more.
Each individual stanza of this is good - my fav lines are:
tea / is served with scones and scorn. and daylight stabs / a pinky finger in every pie.
But my problem with this is that I feel I should be following a narrative, but I'm not really sure what is happening. The RSVPS really confused me - were they for his funeral? And what is the significance of the last stanza? What's the connection between the girls and the insurance claims?

It could just be my sunday brain, so apologies if I'm being thick
Sharra
xx

Aye, 'tis a mystery . . . . thanks for peeping into the glass house Sharra.

B.

~

Great opening lines, and (of course) more great phrases (see Sharra) littered throughout.

At the end I thought that your lady must have been surprised by the discovery of her husband's adulterous practices, but that could be completely wrong.

Cheers

David

David wrote:Great opening lines, and (of course) more great phrases (see Sharra) littered throughout.

At the end I thought that your lady must have been surprised by the discovery of her husband's adulterous practices, but that could be completely wrong.

Cheers

David

Yes David, something of that flavour.
Many thanks.

B.

~

There are some nice phrases, "Curtains either close too much or never meet..." being my favourite. But I'm hamstrung by my desire to understand, find an overall meaning, which I don't. So, for me, it's something less than the sum of its parts.

ray miller wrote:There are some nice phrases, "Curtains either close too much or never meet..." being my favourite. But I'm hamstrung by my desire to understand, find an overall meaning, which I don't. So, for me, it's something less than the sum of its parts.

That's eloquently put, and I have to agree.
If only she'd remembered the names
of every girl he'd brought to dinner
- and the boxes in the hall strongly suggests a mummy's boy who has finally moved out; but of course in this scenario
"will and testaments" and "insurance claims don't really make sense, and I suspect that there may be some deliberate "Faux pas" (in the literal sense) .

Geoff

ray miller wrote:There are some nice phrases, "Curtains either close too much or never meet..." being my favourite. But I'm hamstrung by my desire to understand, find an overall meaning, which I don't. So, for me, it's something less than the sum of its parts.

Ray,
I apologise for my own hamstring: a desire to allow my readers to think.

B.

~

twoleftfeet wrote:

ray miller wrote:There are some nice phrases, "Curtains either close too much or never meet..." being my favourite. But I'm hamstrung by my desire to understand, find an overall meaning, which I don't. So, for me, it's something less than the sum of its parts.

That's eloquently put, and I have to agree.
If only she'd remembered the names
of every girl he'd brought to dinner
- and the boxes in the hall strongly suggests a mummy's boy who has finally moved out; but of course in this scenario
"will and testaments" and "insurance claims don't really make sense, and I suspect that there may be some deliberate "Faux pas" (in the literal sense) .

Geoff

Thanks Geoff.
That's eloquently put too, but I am perplexed by this obsession with sense. Why are we not all writing prose?

B.

I am perplexed by this obsession with sense. Why are we not all writing prose

Brian - Often in your poems, we don't know exactly what is going on, but aren't concerned by it, this one is different. I think it is confusing people more because its tone feels like a narrative and so we expect to make sense of it.
Sharra
xx

Brian, is a desire to understand more fully what a writer is attempting to say, tantamount to an obsession with sense? Are you implying that prose need make sense whilst poetry need not?

What, did she do him in? Did he throw one too many stones in his glasshouse?

Whatever, it’s your usual enticing mix of obliqueness and vivid language, with some great images. Love the scones and scorn thing, and there’s a well-crafted sense of finality about the rhythm of s4.

Minor comment – should RSVP’s be in the possessive – I read it as a plural? And I think the rhythm of lines 9-12 would be smoother with slight punctuation, thus:

When the RSVP's came late,
summer was a one-woman washout

and - unstuck by a rueful combination
of broken watch and too-high heel –
she

Nicely enigmatic stuff
peter

i liked the little pun on "stones" - as in when in glass houses never throw stones. perhaps a hint at bringing oneself down by attacking others in some way, e.g. through gossip?

Thanks for all the further reads and comments.

I have no desire to engage in a discussion about poetry/prose distinctions, nor to state my personal feelings about narrative and anti-narrative, but I do feel that prosaic poems that are digestible in one bite do tend to be highly revered on this site. It causes me to question how long readers are willing to spend with a poem, not just here, but generally.

Cheers.

B.

~

I suppose how long one spends on a poem depends on how much time one has to spare, and one's commitment to fairness. I sometimes feel I should be reading and responding to every poem in Experienced,and often try for a few days, but to do that I need short crits or a longer day. For myself, I'd prefer 3 or 4 short crits to one at length.
But I think you undervalue the importance of sense in poetry, Brian. Last week on this site I was assured that the sun was made of ice. Consequently I've invested heavily in umbrellas with headlights affixed, anticipating that the sun, like our polar caps will soon begin to melt and that the future shall be dark and wet. I've had my fingers burnt and henceforth I'm only reading poems that are fully referenced and indexed.

Best Wishes, Ray

Ray, you shouldn't believe everything you read.

Take your point, Brian: I haven't read all the comments, but the feel I get from this poem is that it appears to be a narrative, and we're getting a story, and then the all-important ending is not clear. So we feel a bit cheated. Even after reading several times and Thinking Heavily, I'm feeling disappointed about that. I feel that someone has died - or been killed? or left? but I'm not sure who, and by whom. And the language in the latter section is fine, but not sufficiently big bang that I can admire just that and say stuff the meaning. I think it depends on what the poem seems to promise.

Ros

Rewrite posted.

Thanks all.

B.

~

pink finger, instead?

brianedwards wrote:The Inevitable Consequence of a Glass House


Downwind of the gossip's where
she drops her anchor. Not enough
to know the weight of stones in metric
when what's at stake
is brunch, and tea
is served by a wrinkled sceptic.

Curtains either close too much
or never meet, and daylight stabs
a pinky finger in every pie
she bakes. When the RSVPs came late
summer was a one-woman
washout. Unstuck

by a rueful combination
of broken watch and too-high heel,
she blustered and bounced her big fat tongue
from snide side-swipe to full blown faux pas
with no regard
for testaments and wills.

If only she'd remembered the names
of every girl
he'd brought to dinner
there'd be no boxes in the hall,
no dust on all the silverware.
No fraudulent insurance claims.












~
PREVIOUS

Downwind of the gossip's where
she drops her anchor. Not enough
to know the weight of stones in metric
when what's at stake is brunch, and tea
is served with scones and scorn.

Curtains either close too much
or never meet, and daylight stabs
a pinky finger in every pie
she bakes. When the RSVP's came late
summer was a one-woman washout

and unstuck by a rueful combination
of broken watch and too-high heel,
she blustered and bounced her big fat tongue
from snide side-swipe to full blown faux pas
with no regard for wills and testaments.

If only she'd remembered the names
of every girl he'd brought to dinner
there'd be no boxes in the hall,
no dust on all the silverware
or fraudulent insurance claims.












~