Poetry Forum

It opened as a carnival: hoots and howls
distant, and you allowing for violence.
It knew you somehow; lowered your scowl,
hunched your back, adjusted your glasses.
Worked on you like a bunch of bees
bewildered,
like a bored drunk
punching,
like a seasoned mink
glaring,
like a playground
wound.
Worked on you like a list:
like a
long
long
distorted
shopping
list.

Something sinister here, starting with the title - 'the poem'.

The introduction - the reader's affected posture - the effect. The strange thing about it is the build up -

'Worked on you like a bunch of bees
bewildered,
like a bored drunk
punching,
like a seasoned mink
glaring,
like a playground
wound.'

Then, instead of the expected continued verbal crescendo, 'the poem' is likened to a simple list - what makes it strange is that it works.

Like I said - sinister.

nice one

Barrie

Camus

I liked the title "The Poem" - as if you are making a bold statement - it portends something terrible is about to happen - so the list , perhaps it is a hit list ! - your one word lines are staccato- rapid fire of some sort ? and

"the way you worked on you like a shopping list " - a beating by a bouncer ? or is it a list of grudges for payback!

violent camus - your darkest one yet

Arco

I didn't take it as violence per se--more of an outward change in a person that the narrator knew. As if their mood became personified--some 'other' person taking over.

It knew you somehow; lowered your scowl,
hunched your back, adjusted your glasses.

This sudden change (with the suddeness of a carnival coming to town) works over a person already not at their best. As if they had a scowl already and it just got worse. A sort of person who is open to violence, allowing it to permeate themselves. They stand back without trying to stop the carnival and let it do it's worst without fighting it.
When you get to the four ways that it worked on this person there are some striking images:

Worked on you:

1. Like a bunch of bees bewildered---as if this force of personality ran about in confusion--not sure which part of the soul to attack first.
2. Like a bored drunk punching--same aimless hurtfulness to anyone standing close by. A meanness without reason.
3. Like a seasoned mink glaring--on the defensive, hunted and ready to strike from a corner.
4 Like a long distorted shopping list--checking off ways to kill what is good in this person. One by one, it goes through the whole length of a human psyche until nothing human is left.

Great personality sketch, Camus.

Cheers,
Julia

I liked this when I first read it, but I couldn't connect it to its title. But now, I think, I can. However, I reserve the right to be utterly, embarrassingly, gut-wrenchingly wrong.

Is this about the first creative impulse towards a poem, the sheer (almost) physical discomfort of trying to get down on paper what you want to get down there, and the inevitable disappointment of what you end up with?

Ah well, only a guess.

Anyway, by attempting to impose (or extract) a meaning, are we just falling into a trap? Should we just let it be what it is? But then we come back to the question, what is it really? And we're back with the meaning again. Are we?

"Like a seasoned mink glaring" is a great line, which I can admire without fully understanding. In what way is its glaring different from that of an unseasoned mink? What is a seasoned mink anyway?

These are all fruitful obscurities.

David

"Is this about the first creative impulse towards a poem, the sheer (almost) physical discomfort of trying to get down on paper what you want to get down there, and the inevitable disappointment of what you end up with?"

Almost - its actually about reading (as opposed to writing) a poem trying to intrpret all the nuances etc, and yes in the end the dissapointment of a shopping list - all be it the fault of the reader or the writer - usually the reader in my case.

I find it extremely frustrating not being able to understand a poem.

Thanks for your comments guys, and the interesting interpretations. Of course there is a fine line between a poem allowing interpretation and a poem that just befuddles.

Irony and all sorts of shit going on.

cheers
Kris

How wrong could I be about this one!
I see it all now very clearly--still done well despite my former interpretation!

Kris,

I like this one, but I agree it has an almost ascetic edge. Something of a list poem, taking off on list poems. Lovely irony, but more sarcasm, methinks.

Cheers,

Keith

"like a bunch of bees"

Its a swarm I tells thee... a swarm!

Suprised no one picked up on that.

There is a story behind it and here it is:

My mother is a foster carer and she had a lad staying with her, who was slightly mad. Anyway one day he dissapeared for a few hours which he never normally did, as he was afraid of going outside - anyway he eventually turned up in a terrible state, the upturn was "A bunch of bees had chased him out of the garden, and he'd got lost in the corner shop."

I think a simple switch in the title would solve it Kris: "Misinterpreting the poem"

this is fantastic, great piece.

love:

<i>like a playground
wound.</i>

WOW. This works so well; all of us can connect to it, and yet, it will be different for each...because we have some deep association with a wound (emotional and/or physical) experienced at a young age at school etc.

Very nice.

I have no crits really, this reads wonderfully.

Sounds like Billy Collins.

.teeg.