Taking Out Grandma (Final version)

[ray miller]

The Rest Home staff are mostly Filipinos,
although they look like Vietnam: there's an arm
in a sling, a neck in a brace, her name
is a flinch on a foreign face.
She hasn't attacked for a day and a half
but the uneasy truce is easily snapped.
By inches she dies, by strokes she vanishes;
our fingers are crossed for a final push,
not the Long March but The Apocalypse.

A Brass Band plays in The Winter Gardens
every Sunday afternoon of the summer.
We sit underneath the handkerchief tree
with an ear for approaching thunder
and an eye on the spiteful sky;
she spills tea and talks of the weather.
When the first fat drops of rain land
the band play Over The Rainbow,
without a stumble in their schedule -
as if the world had some agenda.
She sings, sings with such fragility,
that all those who share our shelter
join in to lift and help her.
Handkerchiefs float around our eyes
disturbed by weight of water.

[Nash]

I really like this Ray.

With the title and the jaunty rythm at the start I was expecting one of your humorous pieces. But as I carried on reading and that rythm broke down I started to realise that this was much more tragic.

By inches she dies, by strokes she vanishes;

This is a beautiful line and i think marks a distinct turn in the poem.

The use of the handkerchief tree is inspired.

Brilliant work.

[David]

Yes, the title very cleverly sends us one way, or so we think, and it is with some surprise that, reading the poem, we find ourselves going the other. A neat body swerve.

I do think it takes a while to get going. It's very jerky at first, and - despite that line Nash quotes - I think it really starts at "On her bedroom wall". Everything from there - especially "Like the wall of a stroppy teenager / with the Queen instead of Che Guevara" - is great.

Having said that, and getting even more brutal, if your poem was simply this:

A Brass Band plays in The Winter Gardens
every Sunday afternoon of the summer.
We sit underneath the handkerchief tree
with an ear for approaching thunder
and an eye on the spiteful sky,
and we talk about the weather.
When the first fat drops of rain land
the band plays Over The Rainbow,
as if the world had some agenda.
She sings, sings with such fragility,
that all those who share our shelter
join in to lift and help her.
Handkerchiefs float down
under the weight of rain;
my fingers fail to catch them
as my eyes are blurred by water.

and you fixed that final line, which I don't think is worthy of what precedes it, you'd have a stunning short poem. I know, I know, you don't do stunning short poems. Well maybe you should.

Cheers

David

[brianedwards]

A Brass Band plays in The Winter Gardens
every Sunday afternoon of the summer.
We sit underneath the handkerchief tree
with an ear for approaching thunder
and an eye on the spiteful sky,
and we talk about the weather.
When the first fat drops of rain land
the band plays Over The Rainbow,
as if the world had some agenda.
She sings, sings with such fragility,
that all those who share our shelter
join in to lift and help her.
Handkerchiefs float down
under the weight of rain;
my fingers fail to catch them
as my eyes are blurred by water.

Superb edit David. Remarkable, really.

you don't do stunning short poems. Well maybe you should.

Cheers

David

Ha! Yep . . . but I know a penguin that does . . .

B.

~

[ray miller]

Thanks gentlemen. I knew someone would suggest starting from A Brass Band plays in The Winter Gardens.It's by far the best bit and I may well end up doing just that but my intention was to paint more of a warts and all picture. So I would like to salvage something else as well. The 2nd verse will almost certainly go but I'd like to hear what else might be saved and maybe a different title.

[twoleftfeet]

Thanks gentlemen. I knew someone would suggest starting from A Brass Band plays in The Winter Gardens.It's by far the best bit and I may well end up doing just that
but my intention was to paint more of a warts and all picture.
So I would like to salvage something else as well. The 2nd verse will almost certainly go but I'd like to hear what else might be saved and maybe a different title.

I couldn't agree more, Ray.

I'd start with:

By inches she dies, by strokes she vanishes;
our fingers are crossed for a final push,
not the Long March but The Apocalypse.

then follow it up with the current S1 to continue the "war" metaphor.
(btw "like Vietnam" or "like Vietnamese" ?)

then
On her bedroom wall we've plastered facts
to paper over the wider cracks -
Another btw - I think you need a hyphen after "cracks" and before "like the wall.." to aid readability.

Then the brass band scene, of course.
Improving the final line while keeping a half-rhyme is easier said than done.

When the first fat drops of rain land
the band plays Over The Rainbow,
as if the world had some agenda.
- is wonderful

Geoff

[ray miller]

Geoff. Thanks very much for your suggestions. I've revised it. I'm not wholly convinced with the beginning but...
Definitely "like Vietnam", though I could say "this looks like Vietnam". She did cause a lot of damage!
You're right about the hyphens. Do you think I need the spaces now?

Any thoughts on a proper title. The Handkerchief Tree? The Winter Gardens?

[twoleftfeet]

Geoff. Thanks very much for your suggestions. I've revised it. I'm not wholly convinced with the beginning but...
Definitely "like Vietnam", though I could say "this looks like Vietnam". She did cause a lot of damage!

IMHO "this looks like Vietnam" is better, coz people can't look like a country
Every time I switch off my Pedantry chip (TM) it just switches itself back on again. Sigh!

Any thoughts on a proper title. The Handkerchief Tree? The Winter Gardens?

They are both excellent choices.
If I had to go for one, it would be "The Winter Gardens" because IMHO it relates to the whole poem , whereas
"The Handkerchief Tree" only pertains to the second half.

You could always release both a long (EP) version of the poem as it currently stands, and the short (Single) version as
suggested by David.

This one is up there with "Attention Deficit".

[brianedwards]

You could always release both a long (EP) version of the poem as it currently stands, and the short (Single) version as
suggested by David.

Or the full long play short story version that it clearly wishes to be . . .
Mediocre Poem or Decent Short Story: you should pin that above your desk.

B.

[ray miller]

Here's a suggestion, Brian; Just don't bother.

[clarabow]

If I am repeating any suggestions/comments of others bear with me - just coming to this late in the day - i think you need the preamble but I don't understand the reference to the inmate of the Rest Home and that terrible brutal war? I am not sure it works comparing the mother-in-law's attack to the loss of so much life over many years.

The first part is not as good as the second part but does have some good material so just some suggestions to (delete - not sure those parts add anything)) or maybe you could come up with something else as I think the reference to the war has sort of taken the poem off in the wrong direction and that might be the problem with the first part.


The Rest Home staff are mostly Filipinos,
although they look like Vietnam: there's an arm - not sure they can look like a country Vietnamese yes
in a sling, a neck in a brace, her name
is a flinch on a foreign face.
She hasn't attacked for a day and a half
(but the uneasy truce is easily snapped.)

By inches she dies, by strokes she vanishes; - great line
(our fingers are crossed for a final push,
not the Long March but The Apocalypse. )

(On her bedroom wall we've plastered facts
to paper over the wider cracks - )

My name is Patricia - not Pat!
I do not take sugar in my tea
I like my vegetables overcooked
I can talk about the weather
until you are blue in the face
I may not recognise you by sight
but I shall know you by your voice -

(like the wall of a stroppy teenager
with the Queen instead of Che Guevara. - maybe reverse this as stroppy teen would have CG ?but never the Queen?)

A Brass Band plays in The Winter Gardens - yes this part is great
every Sunday afternoon of the summer.
We sit underneath the handkerchief tree
with an ear for approaching thunder
and an eye on the spiteful sky,
and we talk about the weather.
When the first fat drops of rain land
the band plays Over The Rainbow,
as if the world had some agenda.
She sings, sings with such fragility,
that all those who share our shelter
join in to lift and help her.
Handkerchiefs float down
under the weight of rain;
my fingers fail to catch them
as my vision's blurred by water.

[brianedwards]

Here's a suggestion, Brian; Just don't bother.

LOL! Right back at ya!

(and the semi colon should be a colon, followed by a lower case j)

[ray miller]

Clarabow.Thanks. Well, I suppose I'm using "look like Vietnam" in the sense that "Vietnam" is more than just a country but a symbol. I'm not claiming equivalence, by the way!

our fingers are crossed for a final push etc. is meant to indicate that a quick death would be preferable to the war of attrition.

A stroppy teenager would have Che Guevara rather than the Queen. But she's travelling in the opposite direction - infantilisation.

[clarabow]

Hi Ray, I can't imagine you would compare the mother in law with a terrible war; I am sure you will have a reason for the relevant lines, it is just a question of how they come across, and the direction the poem takes in the first part, which is not continued in the second? So really I was questioning the relevance, and if necessary in this poem, which isn't really about war at all? This is about growing old, ill, alone, and the difficult person that these things can make of someone and the effect on the nearest and dearest?

Yes I understand what you mean about "Vietnam" as the word evokes some awful images (the girl with her back on fire running; the Villages slaughtered by drugged up Americans; Captured men in bamboo cages filled with water, etc. and tyhe words of futility and waste. Anyway, I digress and perhaps that is what the poem does in the first part, but the second part does work very well for the subject.

Sorry if this is not helpful.

[ray miller]

Clarabow. Thanks again for your time. I'm gonna labour a point here, I know, but it's important to me.The first part of the poem isn't a digression. The whole poem is a recollection of a Sunday afternoon. The care staff reminded me of Vietnam, their injuries were caused by this old lady and I wanted to show this aspect of her effect on others, not just the poignant, poetic part. Whether I've done that well or not is another matter but it's not digressionary.It's very tempting to truncate the poem as David suggested but that's not the poem I want.Again, thanks for your time. I'm all for constructive criticism.

[clarabow]

Ray, it's your poem and in the end you have to go with what you want. Poetry is always subjective and will evoke different opinions. You have a picture in your mind of a specific event and it is this you are trying to get across - and it might be me not getting it! Perhaps not having fought in any war will make it harder for me to relate?

[BenJohnson]

Clarabow. Thanks again for your time. I'm gonna labour a point here, I know, but it's important to me.The first part of the poem isn't a digression. The whole poem is a recollection of a Sunday afternoon. The care staff reminded me of Vietnam, their injuries were caused by this old lady and I wanted to show this aspect of her effect on others, not just the poignant, poetic part. Whether I've done that well or not is another matter but it's not digressionary.It's very tempting to truncate the poem as David suggested but that's not the poem I want.Again, thanks for your time. I'm all for constructive criticism.

I didn't find it too difficult when I read this yesterday

The Rest Home staff are mostly Filipinos,
although they look like Vietnam: - There was a pause here and a quick scan back and forth, before I realised that they looked like refugee's or victims of Vietnam, though I suppose the addition of that might break the rhythm.

there's an arm
in a sling, a neck in a brace, her name
is a flinch on a foreign face. - Easy to see why her name would provoke such a response with the previous injuries.

She hasn't attacked for a day and a half
but the uneasy truce is easily snapped.

By inches she dies, by strokes she vanishes; - That line is lovely and would fit in a poem of unpainting someone;s portait.
our fingers are crossed for a final push,
not the Long March but The Apocalypse.

However there is a marked disparity between the last stanza and the opening. The Vietnam image is strong but swiftly lost, a strong rhythm is built in the opening but that also seems to vanish. Then the next section doesn't seem to fit at all.

On her bedroom wall we've plastered facts
to paper over the wider cracks -

My name is Patricia - not Pat!
I do not take sugar in my tea
I like my vegetables overcooked
I can talk about the weather
until you are blue in the face
I may not recognise you by sight
but I shall know you by your voice -

like the wall of a stroppy teenager
with the Queen instead of Che Guevara.

It feels like a poem in three distinct parts, each with a strong voice, but together they are battling against each other. I wonder if the simple addition of dividing it into numbered parts would make any difference.

[David]

It feels like a poem in three distinct parts, each with a strong voice, but together they are battling against each other. I wonder if the simple addition of dividing it into numbered parts would make any difference.

I could go for that.

Sorry if I offended with my suggested edit, Ray, but that closing section is in itself as good a poem as any I've read here for a while. I would be short-changing you if I didn't tell you that.

Now do what you want with it, you grumpy old scrote.

Cheers

Godber

[coffeedodger]

I think Vietnam is perfectly apt and a much stronger and very different image than 'Vietnamese'..... I don't care if fillipinos look like Vietnamese but I do care that they look like Vietnam! It expands the poem way beyond the docile slumbers of a rest home. The middle part doesn't do much for me, although the allusions are quite interesting reagrding her inversion of mind and memory as she slowly dies, the phrase 'blue in the face' lacks originality! Also I think we can infer all of those aspects of demetia from the first and last stanzas without them being listed in a prosaic manner.

The final part switches the mood beautifully and the imagery is touching and very effective.

Whether it is one, two or three poems is a subjective matter, but for what it's worth, it reads most effectively for me, like this:

The Rest Home staff are mostly Filipinos,
although they look like Vietnam: there's an arm
in a sling, a neck in a brace, her name
is a flinch on a foreign face.
She hasn't attacked for a day and a half
but the uneasy truce is easily snapped.
By inches she dies, by strokes she vanishes;
our fingers are crossed for a final push,
not the Long March but The Apocalypse.

A Brass Band plays in The Winter Gardens
every Sunday afternoon of the summer.
We sit underneath the handkerchief tree
with an ear for approaching thunder
and an eye on the spiteful sky,
and we talk about the weather.
When the first fat drops of rain land
the band plays Over The Rainbow,
as if the world had some agenda.
She sings, sings with such fragility,
that all those who share our shelter
join in to lift and help her.
Handkerchiefs float down
under the weight of rain;
my fingers fail to catch them
as my vision's blurred by water.

[Danté]

Ray, Once again you demonstrate your skill in delivering so many observations in a way which rewards a reader.

I'm a bit late commenting and don't really find anything to pick at beyond my personal preference in respect of some of the phrasing.
It's certainly a piece with many facets, I don't personally write poems of this length but then I don't generally do what I see others doing in a more general sense which doesn't mean I don't admire what others do. I'm afraid my reply is totally useless beyond saying I enjoyed the piece more with each reading.

all the best

Tim

[ray miller]

Ben. Thanks for the time. Maybe it needs to lose the middle section and be a poem in just two distinct parts!

David. No, you didn't offend me at all.Yours is a good suggestion but I want the poem to be about more than just that scene.

Coffeedodger. Yep, you're probably bang on with all you've said. I'm thinking on it.

Tim. Thanks very much.

She finally died this evening, just before half-time in the World Cup Final. She were always an awkward cuss.

[Ros]

An apocalypse, then. My thoughts are with you, Ray.

Ros

[twoleftfeet]

Sorry to hear of your loss, Ray.

[ray miller]

Thanks Ros and Geoff. But more Long March than Apocalypse, I'm afraid.

[David]

Sorry to hear of your loss, Ray.

Likewise, Ray.