I would appreciate any thoughts/reactions/comments/suggestions regarding this poem that I've been working on for a while. I have a sense of what I'm trying to communicate in it, but I suspect that it is not coming through. It feels unwieldy, and I'm getting a little frustrated. Also I keep changing my mind as to whether or not I want it to involve any rhyming words.
Thank you!
*******************
I think I may be living out my days and dramas
in a paper world, a diorama
housed inside the three cardboard walls of an old shoebox.
I have carefully constructed the stage and scenery out of
tiny strips
cut from the pages of books and poems, and tips
from fortune cookies,
phrases to live by, and stories to give my
jumbled thoughts a shape that has some meaning.
I have trimmed and clipped and glued and curled
a series of familiar objects, a familiar world,
arranged them painstakingly
as a child arranges and rearranges a dollhouse.
Don’t worry about me here,
for although I have only
some glue and scissors, I am not lonely.
I have cut out crisp silhouettes for companions,
shaped them with care,
lovingly penciled in their arms and eyes and hair
I have painted their bracelets and neckties
in rich colors with a tiny brush.
I have dyed the background of my box
a brilliant life-green like mountain trees
and a yearning blue like the open seas,
and on the floor I have placed beach-pebbles and shells,
carefully selected,
that I once collected
during a trip to the sea when I was ten.
I think the air was wilder then.
This is a world that must be kept out of the wind,
away from the fire.
(Handle with care.
Paper lovers beware.)
I know this world I have built for myself,
I have traced over every corner, every curve of it
with my fingers a thousand times.
Does it matter that I do not remember what salt water smells
like?
Please don’t leave yet, I want to ask you something.
Forgive me if I do not recognize you.
We may have met, but it is likely that I
handed you a paper mask to hold over your face,
cast you as a character in one of my three-act plays.
I speak to you now through these flat paper words because
they are all I have, but I ask you,
if you are you going back outside now,
please,
take me with you,
give me your hand.
Wow Sarah. I think this absolutely gives a clear message by the end. Perhaps I should try to explain more of what I got and see if it aligns with your intention, but that's work... later
ReplyDeleteAnd I think a lot of those descriptions are actually necessary and helpful. It's possible that the unwieldy form just supports the idea even more. I think rhyming form would fit the idea too, if you chose, because rhymes would show superficial alignment and careful superficial manipulation.
The unwieldy part I would focus on is the first two lines, which just don't seem as strong or unique as the rest of the poem. Even just cutting it to "I live my days/
in a paper world" might be a start...
Also, this so reminds me of this amazing artist who uses just white printer paper: http://www.petercallesen.com/. We should add one of his works to this post!
Thanks for the feedback! Now that I've had some time away from this poem, I've also come up with a few additional changes. Maybe I'll post it again when I feel like it's "finished".... :)
DeleteAlso! This idea reminds me of a book Megan told me about: Paper Towns by John Greene.
ReplyDeleteHere are some quotes from the girl narrator that Megan had sent me:
"I was made of paper. I was the flimsy-foldable person, not everyone else. . . . it's kind of great being an idea everybody likes."
"What a treacherous thing it is to believe that a person is more than a person."
"all the strings inside him broke."
"Maybe it's more like you said before, all of us being cracked open. Like, each of us starts out as a watertight vessel. And these things happen— these people leave us, or don't love us, or don't get us, or we don't get them, and we lose and fail and hurt one another. And the vessel cracks open in places. And I mean, yeah, once the vessel cracks open, the end becomes inevitable. Once it starts to rain inside the Osprey, it will never be remodeled. But there is all this time between when the cracks start to open up and we finally fall apart. And it's only in that time that we can see one another, because we see out of ourselves through the cracks and into others through theirs. When did we see each other face-to-face? Not until you saw into my cracks and I saw into yours. Before that, we were just looking at ideas of each other, like looking at your window shade but never seeing inside. But once the vessel cracks, the light can get in. The light can get out."
Cool, thanks for sharing this!
Delete