White Collar Blues
another rough draft.
White Collar Blues
Weary. Oh not
with the bone-ache
of working men,
that day-end drain
and strain on all
sinew and tendon
and limbs longing
for langorous ease.
Weary. Of thought
neverending, never
slowing, ever
racing around
the hamster-wheel
of the forebrain
while always, only
wishing for the
magic-zen-eraser
clarity of glass,
empty. Blank.
And glass, full.
Whisky.
...
edit: 12/12. see. told ya i'd work in hamsters. [grin]
9 comments:
not sure about this, but maybe work clearly in there somehow, rather than clarity. i think it might better echo weary.
then again, maybe not.
sound would work, but (at least in the existing lines) the meaning would not.
Well, I've forgotten the original second stanza mostly--wasn't it originally longer?--but I think I see where you're going here. (Well, maybe. I'm reading that it's the charity of a glass, full.)
I do agree that the first stanza is much better. And moreover, I know what you mean.
K
twiffer,
Since you said you still weren't happy with the last stanza..how about leaving out the first line and just using:
only, wishing for the
magic-zen-eraser
clarity of glass, empty
as that is self explanatory for the Zen statement. I don't think more is needed for the feeling and thoughts that have followed
in that stanza. Maybe capitalize the O in only?
But then..I know that what you're seeking in that stanza will come to you.
A
P.S.
All the work of yours that I've read here is beautifully lyrical and totally individual.
A
twiffer,
I think you should keep the "Weary, of thought" line because this is the phrase that unifies your poem, providing the echo with your first stanza, but also the transitional move in the second, from the physical to the sedentary. I see where you're going, and I see your difficulty as well, and you correctly identify it as being in the last three lines of your poem.
These lines are too top-heavy (or bottom-heavy) and they weigh your poem down. Against the zen instinct they are obtuse, recondite and ultimately indecipherable. You might lay it out, stretch out the images and have them speak back to you as they should. You'll do it if you uncomplicate your thoughts, particularly in the last line, where the jarring juxtaposition leaves one with a staccato feel of incompleteness.
Good luck.
lent & atemesia: i trashed most of the second stanza in an edit, and only left the shell (without leaving what i'd changed it from). hence the abrubtness.
a part of me wants to work hamsters into it, somehow. damnable imps, hiding out in the lizard brain.
Twiff,
Instead of hamsters I recommend you locate the arsehole of the poem and put a few gerbils up there. Should you wish to know where that is don't hesitate to ask.
i've often wondered what the result of a hamster vs. gerbil brawl would be.
there has to be an answer somewhere on the web.
Stupid and pretentious. Oh no obvious pretention -- but it seeps through.
"Look at me. I work with my brain, not my hands."
Vomit.
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