The second poem, written second
We met eight years, one month, eight days ago
The fucking psycho bitch.
the lustful itch
got me without a pause.
I should have had an inkling
when I said, lets go to bed,
The no was ok, I stopped kissing,
of course.
What changed your mind? Iasked.
You are the first man who stopped when I asked him to.
There is no pride in that,
shame in my gender, but in bed
she said
do what you want,
I don't mind.
I don't mind.
Not I want you,
not fuck me senseless,
not I want you.
I don't mind.
The sex was just sex.
What would you expect?
Not her fault,
constant abuse,
raped at eight,
constant abuse
from father friends and lovers.
When it went bad it went bad fast.
I thought I loved her,
treated her with gentleness,
not what I thought was love.
I thought I was in love.
Then the resentment.
Should I have raped?
At least been rugged,
her contempt was palpable,
until I hit her, when she bit me.
The first woman I have hit in my life.
Then she gave respect.
The arguments started.
It happens.
However.
Bit a chunk from my arm,
still got the scar,
burnt some of my books and had a go at the house.
First time I ever called the cops.
A voice went off in my head,
a negative epiphany,
"if you lose her you will never love again."
Still haven't.
Seventeen years, ten months, eight days ago
The first poem, written first.
We met eight years, one month, eight days ago
Eight years, one month, eight days
after we met,
she called.
Eight years, four days
after we became lovers
she called on the phone.
Seven years, nine months, seven days
after our first fight
she called to improve her social skills
Seven years, eight months, seven days
after I had to go away for a while
she told me how alone she is
Seven years, seven months, seven days
since I came back,
bearing love and gifts
she told me of her losses
Seven years, one month, seven days
after we broke up,
she cried on the phone,
that she just felt weak,
couldn't make it,
apologised for crying at me
I said oh, hey, that's ok,
I'm honoured by your trust.
Seven years, one month, seven days
later, I hang up
and look at the phone.
Twenty five years later.
Iam no less a monster than the ones that didn't hear "no".
A voice went off in my head,
a negative epiphany,
"if you lose her you will never love again."
Still haven't.
Seventeen years, ten months, eight days ago
Comments
Jess...
Not going to comment on your love-life. This poem is good. At first I didn't like the constant reference to the amount of time that had elapsed in between episodes, but now I think that I might get used to it. Maybe... Good show of emotion here. ~ Gee.
.
Good comment, thanks Gee.
I need to look at the timeline. This happened simultaneously.
Jess, you certainly have lived
but you never can tell. My wife had a very difficult start in life but apart from a tendency to sometimes be a little more nervous than I was aware of, was able to settle down as both wife and mother.
I can't tell you which I think is better.
I think the references to a timeline give the first one more urgency and impact. But the personal opinions and reactions make the second one pretty damned powerful. The successes and the failings make it just palpably, painfully human.
One minor editing problem, but I won't elaborate, since it isn't necessary. You'll get to it; you always do.
Fucking excellent.
powerful symetry
the whole work is concise
like a diary scrawled on tin
something not to set aside
in the paper...but lasting
immense power in this
the complexities captured
Thank U!
Jess
I think I'm feeling different than everyone else. I really like the count down and placing the second poem first with the subtitles, for lack of a better word. It creates a feel like a movie flashback for me.
Since you've posted this poem, I'm guessing you're ready to work on the poem no matter how personal the content is, so I'll be back as soon as I can!
Back!
Jess, some thoughts for you to consider:
"The no was ok" --> "I accepted her "no"/denial/refusal/etc". I feel like it could be more clear that you mean she wanted you to stop and you agreed. I think some pronouns there would better signify that it was an exchange between the two of you as people. "The no was ok" feels like you're checking a box on a form to me, not a moment of trust, consent, and respect.
the first instance of "constant abuse" --> forced/learned compliance". Might drive home the idea that she's doing this because she's basically been "broken" by years of extreme mistreatment from people she was supposed to be able to trust.
"she called to improve her social skills" --> not sure if I'm just not sure what kind of social skills or if this is euphemism or if she really just called wanting to get better at talking on the phone, but there might be ways to make this line clearer. Is is really supposed to be an impersonal moment where she acted like nothing happened (this is the impression I get), or something else?
"she told me how alone she is" --> I want the "is" at the end to be "was" to match the tense better overall (you haven't written "she *tells* me how alone she is"), but that may be the school tutor coming out of me because maybe she is still alone and it's correct!
These are the only mechanical aspects of the poem that I can see that might need your attention. I can't imagine what these experiences in the poem must be like. I know what abuse does to a person, but that's about it. Even in the loss and sadness in this poem, you've captured the moments of trust and vulnerability that are so important in a relationship. In that tender moment on the phone, you let her cry and you listened and it was the right thing, I believe. I just know sometimes the mental strife and even physical damage of abuse can lead the best people and best relationships to ruin. Sometimes it's out of everyone's control and no amount of work can "fix" people sometimes because being "fixed" isn't that simple. I'm sure you know all this, but I wanted to reiterate so you know I've really taken my time trying to give you the best I can without ignoring the difficult reality of the poem.
Kelsey
PS: thoughts on the title?
Not sure if I'm feeling it. I like the "two poems" part, but not sure is "love's lies" does the poem justice.
As usual much food for thought
and superb critique.
Right on every count.
Thank you.
Thanks
Jim, Wolf, Kelsey and Mark.
Hmmm
Just based on the theory that less is more, I liked the second one best..............stan
both
the story is both.
Yet it clearly needs work. Fuckit. I hate redrafting, espcially when it involves structure,
thanks Stan.
Message me, I want to conscript you for something. Probably not life-threatening.
can I have the audacity to comment on my master's masterpiece
Can I have the audacity
to comment on my master's
masterpiece...
I just take a chance..
well this is a lovely poem
you have written in years
though I love the word
Fuck
but don't you feel it reduces certain subtleties of a lovely poetry
coming from no less exalted a personality as archaic. yes
thee
second my doubt when you say told
it should be
was
perhaps not is ...
maybe a typo jess
of my tense
Pardon the boldness of a student
to master I had given this privilege to those who played games with me
So I too improved in poetry
from shells
empty ones
you have discovered
an odd gem
thanks
Might I venture an opinion?
I don't swear, never have. Indeed I can recall one instance at my place of work when I astounded my colleagues by my outburst when I hit my thumb with a hammer. It was, "oh dear, I really didn't mean to do that." Having dusted off my credentials, I tend to disagree with your suggestion that any word should never be used. In fact, in this case the vernacular usage seems quite apt.
as you wish
KL
You are more learned
poetically
hence you may overrule me
boldly
AND
I will absorb it blindly
Jess
A very complete write and the reference to passing time was fine.
This showed me how completely different lives we have led and each has brought us to the same junction in the road or our probability tracks join.
We drift side by side now and still hold onto a past that to you was an eye opener, to me a shade longer at 39 years this past St Patrick's day when I would have loved to cross the bridge and enjoy the green fields there, yet I was held by morals and family ties that at that time I didn't break reading your piece reminded me of many things that could have happened along the way.
A regret held in my mind as yours for many years, I only wish that I could be healed but I wouldn't value others as much without those memories and the lessons I was taught by someone special.
It's another story and one that I will carry for ever,
Yours Ian..
PS:- did you now that this year all the days are the same as 1978 but the only difference is that Easter didn't fall on my Birthday, maybe I will tell you the story one day..
and they reckon the trinity
is God, Jesus and the Holy Ghost, but you are clearly a ghostly incarnation of Jesus since you die on a different day every year, and still come back to haunt us with loving poetry instead of guilt for uncommitted sins.