Poetry Forum

I fidget with my gold crucifix
by the hotel’s terrace gate; a scented note
lies, curled, on a glass topped bistro table
and the melody of “Maria” whistles
from cousin Andrea’s concierge desk.
Cuginocide, is an interesting word. I quipped.

The advent of Maria surfaces as arrhythmia:
She’d left the taste of strawberry salve
on Murano glass, the perfume of orange blossom
in hair, an island of confusion. Only the moon
remained predictable, guiding the romantic tide
by Venetian balconies, where lovers listened to promises.

I remembered standing by these sinking steps,
disconnected, staring at a maze of toxic waterways
and neglected mooring poles, when evening’s miasma rolled in.

An uomo furioso raged that night. Porters described
Maria’s anxious eyes, her vacillating search for someone
she could not reach. His insistent grip tightened
as the black gondola eased wearily away to a foreign place.

I turn to the hollow clip of wood on stone,
think of our last kiss, her sweet design -- that note,
“If we should ever lose each other in the crowd,
find me, at 7:30, under the central arch of Ponte di Rialto.”

Tweaks

I fidget with my gold crucifix
by the hotel’s terrace gate; a scented note
lies, curled, on a glass topped bistro table
and the melody of “Maria” whistles
from cousin Andrea’s concierge desk.
Cuginocide, is an interesting word. I thought.

The shadow of Maria surfaced as arrythmia.
She’d left the taste of strawberry salve
on Murano glass, the perfume of orange blossom
in my hair, an island of deception. Only the moon
remained faithful, guiding the romantic tide
by Venetian balconies, where lovers fastened to promises.

I remembered standing, alone, by these sinking steps,
disconnected, staring at a maze of toxic waterways
and neglected mooring poles, when evening’s miasma rolled in.

A tall gentleman governed that night. The porters described
Maria’s anxious eyes, her vacillating search for something
beyond her potency. She'd surrendered to his insistent grip
as the black gondola eased wearily away to a foreign place.

I turn to the hollow clip of wood on stone,
think of our last kiss, her sweet design -- that note,
“If we should ever lose each other in the crowd,
find me, at 7:30, under the central arch of Ponti di Rialto.”

Original

I fidget with my gold crucifix
by the hotel’s terrace gate; a scented note
lies, curled, on a glass topped bistro table
and the melody of “Maria” whistles
from Andrea’s period concierge desk.
Parricide, is an interesting word. I thought.

The shadow of Maria surfaced as arrhythmia.
She’d left the taste of strawberry salve
on Murano glass, the perfume of orange blossom
in my hair and an island of deception. Only the moon
remained faithful, to guide the romantic tide
to Venetian balconies, where lovers fastened to promises.

I remembered standing, alone, by these sinking steps,
disconnected, staring at a maze of toxic waterways
and neglected mooring poles, when evening’s miasma rolled in.

A tall gentleman governed that night. Andrea described
Maria’s anxious eyes, her vacillating search for something
beyond her potency. She'd surrendered to his imperial grip
as the black gondola eased wearily away to a foreign place.

I turn to the hollow clip of wood on stone,
think of our last kiss, her sweet design -- that curled note,
“If we should ever lose each other in the crowd,
find me, at 7:30, under the central arch of Ponti di Rialto.”

JJ,

While I know this, 'is a serious poetry forum not a "love-in"' and although I do not have any 'detailed, constructive criticism' for your FINDING MARIA, I do want to say that I enjoyed reading it. It is a compellingly told story with attractive word use.

I see you have continued the story of the previous poem set in Venice, and the added information about Maria seems at odds to the impression I had before. I had not viewed her as deceitful, but clearly that is the case:

"She’d left the taste of strawberry salve
on Murano glass, the perfume of orange blossom
in my hair and an island of deception. Only the moon
remained faithful"

I know you have shifted the attention from the beautiful city to Maria but feel that in the process some of the imagery and feeling has been lost.

I was left cold by the reference to "parricide."

Steve

Thanks, Alan

Delighted you read and enjoyed this poem. I appreciate you dropping in to tell me.

Best

JJ

AlanReynolds wrote:JJ,

While I know this, 'is a serious poetry forum not a "love-in"' and although I do not have any 'detailed, constructive criticism' for your FINDING MARIA, I do want to say that I enjoyed reading it. It is a compellingly told story with attractive word use.

SteveR wrote:I see you have continued the story of the previous poem set in Venice, and the added information about Maria seems at odds to the impression I had before. I had not viewed her as deceitful, but clearly that is the case: ...Ah, it's his perception that's slightly skewed. The first poem reveals N's feelings for Maria, and the fact that she's left an intimate note demonstrates she is of a similar mind. They'd met before, you see. Maria's not deceptive at all.

"She’d left the taste of strawberry salve
on Murano glass, the perfume of orange blossom ...These romantic descriptions are deliberately juxtaposed with deception and the faithful moon. He hasn't fully understood yet.
in my hair and an island of deception. Only the moon
remained faithful"

I know you have shifted the attention from the beautiful city to Maria but feel that in the process some of the imagery and feeling has been lost. ...Good. I'd hoped to square that emptiness with the closing revelation IE the contents of the note. Part of the note anyway. He sees the city through different eyes now that he's had time to reflect. Where there was beauty there's now dereliction. The truth is somewhere out there.

I was left cold by the reference to "parricide." ...Yes, I'll remove it or add to it. Andrea is whistling 'Maria' in the background, taking the p'. He's also N's cousin ( a fact that was lost during revision in the first poem) Parricide is the murder of any close family member, including cousins. I was going to write 'cuginocide' to emphasize the humour. As it stands it looks quite chilling.

Steve

Thanks for the pointers, I have a bit of surgery to attend to.

Best

JJ

JJ

Thanks! This helps.

And yes, the reference to parricide was jarring to me in that context precisely because of the meaning. I like the mystery, and I would like you to add to it, not necessarily take it out. I am looking forward to seeing where this goes.

This is interesting.

Steve

Thanks, Steve, for dropping back in.

I've changed 'parricide' to 'cuginocide' which actually isn't a word. Hopefully this conveys the humour.

Best

JJ

SteveR wrote:JJ

Thanks! This helps.

And yes, the reference to parricide was jarring to me in that context precisely because of the meaning. I like the mystery, and I would like you to add to it, not necessarily take it out. I am looking forward to seeing where this goes.

This is interesting.

Steve

Hi.

It is like a mini theatre production!
The tweak reads a bit smoother, i think.

As a poem, it has words that are not needed for impact. For that reason, it is more difficult to give a crit.
As a prose poem, whatever exactly that is, it seems a pleasant and interesting narrative.

I am wondering if they will reconnect.
Hmmmm...
Suzanne

Thanks, as always, Suzanne

I think this falls into the category of the prose poem, rather than prose. It does use many poetic devices whilst employing
a conversational style. I know what you mean by, 'whatever that is'. I've felt the same way for eons. Here's a précis of my
understanding of prose and the prose poem.

Prose is essentially the everyday spoken or written word without the presence of deliberate meter or heightened imagery. It tends to move a story quickly
from one scene to another and may well contain some cliché and matter-of-fact discourse. Some rhetorical devices are evident but they rarely dominate,
unless by accident. Some will occur naturally anyway. The main unit is the paragraph and sentence rather than the line and stanza/strophe. Typically, the reader will tend to read prose quickly without pausing to absorb the nuances of word, storyline and place. This is an intended outcome rather than a weakness of delivery.

Prose Poetry occurs when the presented piece is written in prose whilst keeping one foot in the poetry camp. Qualities such as repetition of sounds, meter (blank verse) heightened imagery, assonance, consonance, half rhyme, internal rhyme, extended alliteration, asyndeton, polysyndeton, allusion, climax, metaphor, simile and dozens of others, may be present, deliberately. The problems of definition arise when an attempt is made to label a specific form as one thing or the other. Some have argued that the prose poem is a different genre altogether and should be regarded as such. Others see it as an anathema masquerading as poetry. Then there is the question of good, bad, ok or just plain crap prose, poetry or prose poetry. When all of this is lobbed into the pot the emerging stew is difficult to savour and swallow.

I've a few more tweaks to smooth things further. They don't interfere with the story or general thrust at all, but hopefully help....Thanks again.

"A mini theatre production". Ha! it's definitely heading in that direction

JJWilliamson wrote:I fidget with my gold crucifix...Oblique reference to the bream, purity and worry/doubt
by the hotel’s terrace gate; a scented note...Iambic pentameter, pyrrhic first foot.
lies, curled, on a glass topped bistro table ...nudge coming
and the melody of “Maria” whistles
from cousin Andrea’s concierge desk.
Cuginocide, is an interesting word. I thought. Ditto

There's a fair bit of alliteration going on here. A little more soon.

The shadow of Maria surfaced as arrythmia. ...Metered, depends on scan. Assonant internal rhyme.
She’d left the taste of strawberry salve ...iambic tetrameter. Plenty sibilance
on Murano glass, the perfume of orange blossom ...Plenty of alliteration here.
in my hair, an island of deception. Only the moon
remained faithful, guiding the romantic tide
by Venetian balconies, where lovers fastened to promises. ...These three lines are full of devices.

I remembered standing, alone, by these sinking steps,
disconnected, staring at a maze of toxic waterways ...Strict IP all the way.
and neglected mooring poles, when evening’s miasma rolled in.

A tall gentleman governed that night. The porters described
Maria’s anxious eyes, her vacillating search for something ...Iambic heptameter
beyond her potency. She'd surrendered to his insistent grip
as the black gondola eased wearily away to a foreign place.

I turn to the hollow clip of wood on stone, ...IP
think of our last kiss, her sweet design -- that note, ...Five stresses. Not strictly iambic.
“If we should ever lose each other in the crowd, ...Iambic hexameter
find me, at 7:30, under the central arch of Ponti di Rialto.”

I won't go on. I realise this reads like I'm on my high horse, but I promise you that's not the case. I'm just trying to demonstrate why I believe this is a prose poem or poem rather than direct prose. One of my main goals was to maintain a conversational style whilst employing all sorts of poetic devices.

It needs further work, that much is true. So I'll have another look .

I always appreciate you dropping in to share your thoughts. Thank you once again

Best

JJ

Suzanne wrote:Hi.

It is like a mini theatre production!
The tweak reads a bit smoother, i think.

As a poem, it has words that are not needed for impact. For that reason, it is more difficult to give a crit.
As a prose poem, whatever exactly that is, it seems a pleasant and interesting narrative.

I am wondering if they will reconnect.
Hmmmm...
Suzanne

It is always interesting to hear what people think concerning prose poetry.
The definitions are, of course, not as important as the piece itself but i find that discussing these things can help clarify a poet's own thinking.

And with that said.... Where is Maria?

Suzanne

He hasn't found her yet.

He's had a shave, showered, donned his best shirt, filled his wallet, brushed his teeth, sprayed the cologne (not necessarily in that order) and now knows where to go. What a bother.

Best

JJ

Suzanne wrote:It is always interesting to hear what people think concerning prose poetry.
The definitions are, of course, not as important as the piece itself but i find that discussing these things can help clarify a poet's own thinking.

And with that said.... Where is Maria?

Suzanne