Nook (rev4)

[Macavity]

revision4

Each weekend we trek our cliff path and peg
the fret and noise to dry in sea breeze,
and if a scatter of tiny bones are found,
we know that endings are edges only a foot away.
And when stumbling on a nook in salt-cracked rock,
we slide our limbs into the curves, share a flask of tea,
feast on ginger cake until, like soles buried in sand,
we're netted, dragged and tugged from a vermilion tide
of sky back to the rack of terraced houses.

Each weekend we flee the chatter of screens,
the hum of central heating, the kids that kick a ball
against next door's graffiti wall. We drive beyond
our valley that's blistered with bracken,
pockmarked with burnt out cars, and past
the bruised lungs of an open cast mine. All
are left behind. In clockwork motion we trek and peg
the line again and again away from the rack of houses.

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

revision3


Each weekend we trek
our cliff path and peg
fret and noise to dry
in sea breeze, and if
a scatter of tiny bones
are found, we know
that endings are edges
only a foot away.
And when stumbling on
a nook in salt-cracked
rock, we slide our limbs
into the curves, share a flask
of tea, feast on ginger cake.
Until, like soles buried
in sand we're netted,
dragged and tugged
from a vermilion tide
of sky back to the rack
of terraced houses.

Each weekend we flee
the chatter of screens,
the hum of central heating,
the kids that kick a ball
against next door's graffiti
wall. We drive beyond
our valley that's blistered
with bracken, pockmarked
with burnt out cars, and past
the bruised lungs
of an open cast mine. All
are left behind. In clockwork
motion we trek and peg
the line again and again
back to the rack of houses.


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

revision2


Each weekend we trek
our cliff path and peg
fret and noise to dry
in sea breeze, and if
a scatter of tiny bones
are found, we know
that endings are edges
away. And when stumbling
on a nook in the salt
-cracked rock, we then
slide our limbs into
the curves, share a flask
of tea, feast on ginger
cake. Until, like soles
buried in sand we're netted,
dragged and tugged
from a vermilion tide
of sky back to the rack
of terraced houses.

Each weekend we flee
the heart throb electrics
of the fridge, the hum
of central heating, the kids
of eighteen that kick a ball
against next door's graffiti
wall. We drive beyond
our valley that's blistered
with bracken, pockmarked
with burnt out cars, and past
the bruised lungs
of an open cast mine. All
are left behind. In clockwork
motion we trek and peg
the line again and again
back to the rack of houses.



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

revision

Each weekend we trek our cliff path and peg
fret and noise to dry in sea breeze, and if a scatter
of tiny bones are found, we know that endings
are edges away. And when stumbling on a nook
in the salt-cracked rock, we then slide our limbs
into the curves, share a flask of tea, feast on ginger
cake I've made. Until, like soles buried in sand
we're netted, dragged and tugged from a vermilion
tide of sky back to the rack of terraced houses.

Each weekend we flee the heart throb electrics
of the fridge, the hum of central heating, the kids
of eighteen that kick a ball against next door's
graffiti wall. We drive beyond our valley now
blistered with bracken, pockmarked on
occasion with burnt out cars, and past the bruised
lungs of an open cast mine. All are left behind.
In clockwork motion we trek and peg the line
again and again and back to the rack of houses.

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


original

Each weekend we trek our cliff path and peg
the fret to dry in sea breeze, and if a scatter
of tiny bones are found, we know that endings
are edges away. And when stumbling on a nook
in the salt-cracked rock, we then slide our limbs
into the curves, share a flask of tea, feast on ginger
cake I like to bake. Until, as soles buried in sand
we're netted, dragged and tugged from a tide
of vermilion sky back to the rack of terraced houses.

Each weekend we flee the heart throb electrics
of the fridge, the hum of central heating, the kids
of eighteen that kick a ball against next door's
graffiti wall. We drive beyond our valley now
blistered red with bracken, pockmarked on
occasion with burnt out cars, and past the bruised
lungs of an open cast mine. All we leave behind
in clockwork motion we trek and peg the fret
again and again and back to the rack of houses.

[ray miller]

Loved most of it. I don't know what peg the fret means, though, so that slightly obscures the start and finish.

into the curves, share a flask of tea, feast on ginger
cake I like to bake. Until, as soles buried in sand

I like to bake sounded awkward each time I've read it. So does as soles, though less so if you don't say it quickly. I'd suggest

cake I've baked. Until, like soles buried in sand

[Jackie]

Mac, I’m enjoying the sounds you have going here, and the wonderful release of the first verse, but I’m stuck on “peg the fret.” I know what a peg and a fret are, but does this expression have special meaning?

Later

Jackie

[Arian]

I really like the sense of release this captures, mac. For me, it works as a pome because, despite some nits I'd pick with the expression, the thing as a whole is undeniably powerful.

A couple of those nits are:

1. Like others, I struggled with 'peg the fret of noise'...even as a (not very good) guitarist, I couldn't quite pin the metaphor down
2. The last 3 lines of s1 seem (to me) to be a little awry. Couldn't quite follow.

Against that, 'blistered red with bracken' is terrific - though perhaps you don't need the red. A given, perhaps?
And the lungs of an open cast mine is equally graphic and excellent.

Cheers
peter

[Arian]

'Poem', even.

[Macavity]

Thanks Ray, Jackie and Peter. Loathe to lose such a small treasure as fret, but gone with your suggestions, learnt to trust the insights of pg'ers over the years.

all the best, take care

mac

[Jackie]

Mac, I'm dying to know what you meant by fret! I found under audioenglish.org,

The noun FRET has 4 senses:
1. agitation resulting from active worry
2. a spot that has been worn away by abrasion or erosion
3. an ornamental pattern consisting of repeated vertical and horizontal lines (often in relief)
4. a small bar of metal across the fingerboard of a musical instrument; when the string is stopped by a finger at the metal bar it will produce a note of the desired pitch

I had decided you were using meaning 2 at the beginning, but it looks like you were using meaning 1?

Jackie

[elotrooso]

Hi, Mac.

I wonder about "red tide/of sky"".

"Red tide" is a common way of referring to harmful algal blooms. Are you intending that allusion?

[1lankest]

Liked this Mac, right up my street.

Love the first stanza, although I wondered if cake and baked is not too obvious a rhyme?

Also, in the penultimate line of s2, I don't like how the pronoun 'we' is used twice. Couldn't you replace it with a comma?

Finally, I'm undecided whether repeating 'rack of houses' at the end is nice symmetry or a tad unimaginative....perhaps something else instead?

Best,

Luke

[Macavity]

Yes, it was option one Jackie! I've rid the poem of townie, back to fret of sorts

Yes, I know el and I was playing with the fact, but the break was suppose to take the negative away. Not working so back to the original.

All valid points Luke. The structure was intended to reflect the pattern of behaviour.

Thanks for taking a look. Appreciated.

all the best

mac

[Lexi]

Hi mac,

I enjoyed this very much. Your cliff walk scene is evocative especially with the fresh air, ginger cake and old bones. I really like the 'endings are edges away' line, sort of hinting that the ending could come at anytime even for this poet on his walk.

A change that I suggest would be in the line

'the kids
of eighteen that kick a ball
against next door's graffiti'

I think you could lose the 'of eighteen' part. It sounds a little too prosy. I think what you are trying to say is something about them being 'overgrown kids' but I don't think you have to in this setting. The graffiti half does that job for you.

Really good poem.
Lexi

[Macavity]

I think you could lose the 'of eighteen' part. It sounds a little too prosy. I think what you are trying to say is something about them being 'overgrown kids' but I don't think you have to in this setting. The graffiti half does that job for you.

Fair point Lexi. Probably forcing my message there. I think I'll let this one stew a little before making further tweaks - the list for which is growing

all the best

mac

[Jackie]

Hi Mac,

I like the shortened lines—they evoke the climbing effort, and sliding into the nook.

I'm wondering if the second Each weekend couldn't end the first verse instead of introducing the second. And I'm not keen on ending it with again and again, perhaps because the habitual nature of N's outings are already in the Each weekends. You might change the title to Again and Again? Or if the poem is about the nook, do you want to come back to it at the end? (It's so easy to make suggestions for someone else, isn't it!)

This is such a satisfying poem to read, for me at least; wishing I could get out there each weekend. . .

Jackie

[Macavity]

I like the shortened lines—they evoke the climbing effort, and sliding into the nook.

Thanks Jackie. I've been told this makes the reading disjointed. I find a lot depends on the reader - some are resistant to skinny poems

(It's so easy to make suggestions for someone else, isn't it!)

Yes, it is. I like your thoughts. My head is knotted on this one. Hopefully it will unravel soon

all the best

mac

[elotrooso]

Hi, Mac.

In this case I think I prefer the longer lines. Not keen on some of the line breaks of the shorter lines. (e.g. edges/away...away feels to me like it belongs on edges' line. On separate lines it makes the edge seem further away - and less of a potential threat.)

I keep having a nagging little bird in my head that wonders about reversing the strophes so the piece ends on the being netted and dragged back to the rack of terraced houses. ( Is rack the type you get tortured on? And are both occurences of rack needed?)

Sorry, probably not much help.

Ken

[Macavity]

On separate lines it makes the edge seem further away - and less of a potential threat.)

To be honest Ken it was me just being playful - just pulling away from the edge - but these little entertainments rarely communicate so one to tidy up I guess.

I keep having a nagging little bird in my head that wonders about reversing the strophes so the piece ends on the being netted and dragged back to the rack of terraced houses. ( Is rack the type you get tortured on? And are both occurences of rack needed?)

Yes, the rack of torture, the re-occurance reflected in the repetition. However, I might axe the second strophe, though it has the better lines, it is the positives of the first strophe in the poem that appeals to readers.

Thanks for taking another look Ken. Appreciated.

all the best

mac

[bodkin]

Hi mac,

enjoyed the latest revision. A couple of nits:

I know others love it, so maybe I am thick, but I cannot parse:

"we know
that endings are edges
away."

--are you using "edge" as a distance? Or is "edges away" a compound noun for "instances of the act of edging away"?

--

Other than that splitting "salt/-cracked" across a line felt a little odd.

--

I take your meaning for "fret" and had it right after a few re-reads. However I was only sure I was right after reading the comments/replies...



Enjoyable, however,

Ian

[Macavity]

Thanks Ian. The edges were referencing cliff edges - in the particular and the metaphorical. The splitting of salt-cracked was one of those silly things I do and learn to regret. Hopefully, I will be visiting Cornwall in late March and walking some cliff paths to clear the mind on this one and fret a little less

all the best

Mac

[bodkin]

Thanks Ian. The edges were referencing cliff edges - in the particular and the metaphorical.

I can completely see that apart from the word "away"... I can't work how "are edges away" parses.

I may just be missing something blinding

Ian

[Macavity]

--are you using "edge" as a distance?

Yes, I was Ian. Thanks for coming back. Another line for me to clarify in the poem

all the best

mac

[Nash]

Late to this one, Mac.

Terrific piece of work. Good to see the progression too. Parts of it sound quite Dylan Thomas-ish, which is no bad thing (...have I said that on of yours before?)

I particularly like the end of S1

dragged and tugged
from a vermilion tide
of sky back to the rack
of terraced houses.

Wonderful! And very clever picking it up at the very end again too.

Only bit I don't like is "heart throb electrics". I think I see what you're getting at but heartthrob? No, that's not working for me at all.

Rest of it is perfect though, I'd say.

Thanks,
Nash.

[Macavity]

Only bit I don't like is "heart throb electrics". I think I see what you're getting at but heartthrob? No, that's not working for me at all.

Thanks Nash. I was trying to resist tinkering until my Cornwall trip, but that just had to go!

all the best

mac

[elotrooso]

Hi, Mac.

I keep wanting to read a comma after the ginger cake. Hmmmn.

For what it's worth, I find the "then" in the "rock, we then slide our limbs" line rather jarring.

P.S. Looking forward to a Cornwall piece. Been many a long year since I was last there.

[Macavity]

Thanks for staying with this Ken. I've cut the then - a leftover from a previous version. The comma is a more difficult tweak. I know what you mean, but I'm fearful of comma litter. I wanted to signify time passing. Perhaps...Finally...will ponder some more.

all the best

mac