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Chatswood honey ‘If you knew how I got stuck in Chatswood, honey, would you be here?’—note left under a shadow left over from last night’s supper— now you see it, now you— & yeah okay you see it & it’s shaped like an ultimatum & reads ‘I’m gone, don’t laugh, you’re next,’ a kind of self-pesticiding beehive, perverse frontier of modern imagination viz. something’s got to die for my sake or I’m going nowhere kind of thing. You forget having packed it, but baggage is the thing, & if you wait time enough for love, then like the slow presto of an ice cube, musty undergarments pop up to the top just as her A-330 taxis to a take-off. Timing. Now in this context, one of those aliens who are usually happy to evaporate immediately pre-contact / if they are not they’re really gonna screw up the status quo earth-side, & you suspect they know this / steps up with your son’s mother in his eyes, singing ‘so it’s goodbye Chatswood honey, now’ beating the tattoo of 12 year old sarcasm that brackets the credit card language of shopping malls playstations eminems & the swell desire not to be a boy anymore, & ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this’ simply rubs your nose in the force of all the good ideas, cheap, renewable, but too much like cod liver oil, that you never used until your engine seized up & left you on the tarmac with all that baggage, obliquely wondering if the multinationals appreciate the trouble you go to to keep them in the black. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Elaine Marie Phalen On Date: 2005-12-04 19:37:34
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
‘If you knew how I got stuck in Chatswood,
honey, would you be here?’
There's something bluesy about this, as if it's meant to be slow-sung against a background of dark saxophone. Kind of an undertone of cynicism, too. I suspect the speaker knows the answer.
‘I’m gone, don’t laugh,
you’re next,’ a kind of self-pesticiding beehive, - love this metaphor! Self=pesticiding, whew!!
perverse frontier of modern imagination viz.
something’s got to die - the illusion and the reality. It bites sometimes, doesn't it??
for my sake or I’m going nowhere
kind of thing. - Casual, conversational style, and still very much a Blues kind of effect.
if you wait
time enough for love, then like the slow presto
of an ice cube, musty undergarments
pop up to the top just as her A-330 taxis
to a take-off
"Time Enough for Love" was also the title of a Heinlein novel and I've read 'em all ... I don't think you put anything in here that's accidental, despite the freewheeling style. "Slow presto of an ice cube" - very, very nice! Those musty undergarments give a shuddery pause. This is a relationship outlived.
Now in this context,
one of those aliens who are usually happy
to evaporate immediately pre-contact
... steps up
with your son’s mother in his eyes,
singing ‘so it’s goodbye Chatswood honey, now’
beating the tattoo of 12 year old sarcasm - excellent!!
that brackets the credit card language of shopping
malls playstations eminems & the swell desire - "swell" is an interesting and sybtle choice here
not to be a boy anymore
I did find that the alien detail weighed down this superb passage a tad more than might have been necessary. But you do need to get the son in there, and how he's usually not willing to hang around when the Dad (or stepdad, or Mom's boyfriend) is present. He's like his mother, so mercenary, so numb to everything but that brilliant phrased "credit card language of shopping". I sense a vast gap between the speaker's lifestyle and aspirations, and the manner-to-which-they-are-accustomed of the mother and offspring. This child thinks that being adult means consuming product.
‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this’
simply rubs your nose in the force of all the good
ideas, cheap, renewable, but too much
like cod liver oil ...
Yep, here's another contradiction. Speaker can live simply and find healthful, personally satisfying alternatives to all that conspicuous consumption. Significant other and son can't accept the terrible plainness of such options. But when all esle fails, sometimes you have to use your legs and walk out of there. I love the failed engine and the piled baggage! What a metaphor for the marriage/relationship itself! She's left with all this ... stuff!! ... and it's no good to her at the moment. The speaker can chuckle and walk off into his own sunset, unencumbered. He's good to go. Maybe not rich, but at least OK with it.
In the end, there's another tinge of cynicism, attributed to the woman who's now swamped with non-essentials and has to face her own acquisitiveness, her own inconsequence. The speaker seems unlikely to help her much. He's bleakly entertained by the whole scenario. She's getting hers. Does it feel totally satisying to watch her? Hmmmm, there's the rub. Possibly not.
Mark, this is impressive, quirky, original work. I like it a lot, actually. I'm not an ampersand fan but that's a personal idiosyncrasy and not worth worrying about. You're gifted with a strong, contemporary voice and seem to be on a roll with it.
Good on ya!
Brenda