This Poem was Submitted By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2005-04-20 19:35:41 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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A Loud Colored Museum Opens its Doors

  Cubes.  Murals.  White.  Light. (Where is Berryman?  We shuffle through the exhibits. There.  But no; this is an electronic visual arts place. The Walker is not about to commemorate a murmuring drunk Who fell off a bridge.  We invaginate our thoughts to  Henry.)  Large women asked about him for many years; Tears were shed, lawns mowed, beers imbibed. Limited partnerships expired in the waiting for. Tax shelters grew old and stale, green with mold. Children became lawyers, pets died and new pups Were named in his honor.  Henry was gone alone For some time.  He toughly fought the new contract His agent shoved at him.  With nothing left of his old Game, he came here with a pair of shoes and an  Attitude sharpened by history, wide as a river. Henry unwillingly came out of retirement. But he did remark how deep the dark water ran, How they found them in a heap trapped on a log. How he did not enjoy being named for a dog. How close to the river we are. We had cardinal and cat for dinner. Henry sat quietly on a stool, His pencil gnawed to the lead.

Copyright © April 2005 Thomas Edward Wright

This Poem was Critiqued By: Helen C DOWNEY On Date: 2005-05-04 07:31:23
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.68000
I feel as if I am at a circus with the 'Cubes. Murals. White. Light.'and then 'We shuffle through the exhibits.' THis is not some ordinary place. It's from the past I believe. The imagery is superb in this poem as well as the structure. The introductory line reminds me of things that they say while filming a movie. The metaphors you have used are excellent! Bravo! There is not a thing that I suggest to be changed in this poem. The flow of the poem runs nice and smooth. Helen

This Poem was Critiqued By: Audrey R Donegan On Date: 2005-04-30 19:37:38
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.15789
Nice alliteration and great imagery. I especially like: 'tears were shed,lawns mowed, beers inbibed' and 'an attitude sharpened by history, wide as a river.' Good stuff, Audrey
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2005-04-21 09:54:49
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Ho, From the synaesthesia of the title right down to the "gnawed lead" - i followed. And what a fascinating journey. If one demands that poetry inspire; if one demands that poetry, in the words of Pope Ratz, be of "concrete gestures that enter the soul"; if one demands . . . You are too profane for panegyric. And too alive. There may be an actual museum somewhere, an actual physical entity you put your head and Henry into that prompted this. Or it may be awl metaphor, picking into some elusive, ice-bound truth. unleashing demons and ids, egos and archetypes . . . a wooly mamouth. An alcholic pours the drink that he had avoided for what seemed an eternity. Berryman, he of the immortal "life bores me." Yes, Berryman. A bridge is as good as a shotgun. A bridge is a shotgun. And so is a museum. Or a cardinal. Or a cat. I could have merely luxuriated in "invaginate" - think about that one - or in "the attitude sharpened by history," or the "cardinal and cat for dinner," or the sublime coda that was Mozartingly delivered in just the right key, the right pitch, the right tempo. But . . . "Where have I been?" Not writing poety. This poem of yours freed a creative force that had been dormant behind doors for much longer than our friends in red were. Forgive me. Spring breaketh forth. Do not seek "sense" in that. Or in poetry. Just take its life. Yours, Nox
This Poem was Critiqued By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2005-04-21 08:59:08
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Cubes. Murals. White. Light. Where is Berryman? hopfully they dried him off and "buried the man" We shuffle through the exhibits. There. But no; this is an electronic visual arts place. The Walker is not about to commemorate a murmuring drunk Who fell off a bridge. Nah We invaginate[neat verb] our thoughts to Henry).punct. Large women asked about him for many years; Tears were shed, lawns mowed, beers imbibed. Limited partnerships expired in the waiting for. god how I love your specificity Tax shelters grew old and stale, green with mold. heh Children became lawyers,[jest like Marc S!} pets died and new pups Were named in his honor. Henry was gone alone For some time. He toughly fought the new contract His agent shoved at him. With nothing left of his old Game, he came here with a pair of shoes and an Attitude sharpened by history, wide as a river. in fact - wide as the mississippi and as deep Henry unwillingly came out of retirement. But he did remark how deep the dark water ran, How they found them in a heap trapped on a log. How he did not enjoy being named for a dog. did he remark that after he was dead? I would switch those last lines but what do I know - maye he did come back How close to the river we are. ah, yes We had cardinal and cat for dinner. we had partridge and flan Henry sat quietly on a stool, His pencil gnawed to the lead. wonderful ending please lend me your muse i used mine up Copyright © April 2005 Thomas Edward Wright --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2005-04-21 08:55:52
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.33333
Now is that William Henry or Henry Moore? Both sculpters. I kind of think you're referring to the latter. Now...just where is this museum? How they found them in a heap trapped on a log. ... just who is them? Now I'm confused. A bird and a cat for lunch? Yikes... This poem is wrapped enigmaticly (is that a word?) in symbols and couched in phrases I cannot get into, but somehow I do like this piece which says a lot. Large women ... is this because of Henry Moore's penchant for sculpting large bronzes and of large women? The first H. Moore I ever saw and became aware of was a piece in front of a bank in downtown Montreal (I think it was called something like "woman and child"). But this is long ago and I'm getting long in the tooth! Again...just where is this loud colored museum and why didn't you make mention of it in the notes? Thanks for this.
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