Poem C:
Take a Letter
Take a letter, Miss Jones.
Any letter, take it.
Follow the threads of the ties of my life,
As they slacken.
What’s that you say?
Don’t worry, Miss Jones.
No need to write as I loosen these ties,
I’m unravelling.
The view from up here, Miss Jones.
Do you enjoy it?
Following the life of the city,
Beneath us,
Now Passing.
Where was I, Miss Jones?
Ah yes, letting go, for a moment.
Letters I lived for,
Giving me wings and my life back,
To follow her,
Smiling.
Did you meet her, Miss Jones?
Her smile and her grace and her touch, were beguiling.
Our years full of seasons,
Enchanting.
These letters, Miss Jones.
Are all that I have of her love
And a life,
I am leaving.
Don’t worry Miss Jones.
Keep them safe and explain,
That I leapt,
With a heart
That was breaking…..
Poem C
-
Byron
- Posts: 3171
- Joined: Tue Nov 26, 2002 3:01 pm
- Location: Mad House, Eating Tablets, Cereals, Jam, Marmalade and HONEY, with Albert
Thanks Laurie. I wanted to write something different. A short story wrapped up in prose connected by letters. Bringing all the elements and characters together was quite moving. The characters appeared on the page before me. I feel that they wrote this themselves in some way.
Last edited by Byron on Wed Mar 08, 2006 1:26 am, edited 1 time in total.
"Bipolar is a roller-coaster ride without a seat belt. One day you're flying with the fireworks; for the next month you're being scraped off the trolley" I said that.
-
Byron
- Posts: 3171
- Joined: Tue Nov 26, 2002 3:01 pm
- Location: Mad House, Eating Tablets, Cereals, Jam, Marmalade and HONEY, with Albert
He wants to go by choice. He will be happy again when reunited with his dead lover. He looks down and realises that the rest of the world is 'beneath' his feelings.
The way he refers to his assistant by calling her Miss Jones, is his way of distancing himself from personal attachment of any kind with the living.
He is above mortal expectations and desires. He will only achieve the joy and 'enchantment' of the years, by bidding this world goodbye. He is lost in the full flood of love, raught by the emotional deluge of their Love Letters.
He is committing suicide for all the right reasons, as he sees it. And who's to say he's wrong? He believes his heart to be broken. I believe it is as true a heart as we can aspire to.
Charles Boyer, a splendid actor, did the same thing. He followed on as soon as he was ready.
The way he refers to his assistant by calling her Miss Jones, is his way of distancing himself from personal attachment of any kind with the living.
He is above mortal expectations and desires. He will only achieve the joy and 'enchantment' of the years, by bidding this world goodbye. He is lost in the full flood of love, raught by the emotional deluge of their Love Letters.
He is committing suicide for all the right reasons, as he sees it. And who's to say he's wrong? He believes his heart to be broken. I believe it is as true a heart as we can aspire to.
Charles Boyer, a splendid actor, did the same thing. He followed on as soon as he was ready.
"Bipolar is a roller-coaster ride without a seat belt. One day you're flying with the fireworks; for the next month you're being scraped off the trolley" I said that.
-
Diane
Hi Byron~
Well, I liked your poem very much. On the surface, the punctuation was spot on; enhancing the reading, laying the map for the readers by a conscientious and well informed writer. The line breaks worked for the poem (as opposed to the other way around). It was well crafted.
I enjoyed the conversational tone that was revealing without being too telling. The quickened pace of the final stanza along with assonance of those last few lines worked very well. A great finale!!
Well Done!
L
Well, I liked your poem very much. On the surface, the punctuation was spot on; enhancing the reading, laying the map for the readers by a conscientious and well informed writer. The line breaks worked for the poem (as opposed to the other way around). It was well crafted.
I enjoyed the conversational tone that was revealing without being too telling. The quickened pace of the final stanza along with assonance of those last few lines worked very well. A great finale!!
Well Done!
L
-
Byron
- Posts: 3171
- Joined: Tue Nov 26, 2002 3:01 pm
- Location: Mad House, Eating Tablets, Cereals, Jam, Marmalade and HONEY, with Albert
Thanks Diane and Laurie.
The development of the words as they were chosen by me and the 'voice' (a joint venture) was the most satisfying part of producing this work. We wanted to give each line and the salient word therein, a double or triple meaning, whilst linking the final word of each stanza to each other.
Take a letter, Miss Jones. (provides the image of a boss and his secretary and sets the story in an office. But Voice is doing more than asking for dictation, he is offering his love letters to a trusted colleague, but still keeping a distance from the last person to see him alive)
Any letter, take it. (Voice is allowing Miss Jones to choose how to start a letter, and thus giving her a new freedom in her secretarial position, and as a fellow human being, which shows her that Voice trusts her. Yet, the love letters are now being laid before her, further showing the strength of the trust)
Follow the threads of the ties of my life,
As they slacken. (Harken to me Miss Jones, because I have something far more important to say than is usual. I am really trusting you here, as I lose the grip on my life. I want to lose this grip, but I need you to know why)
What’s that you say?
Don’t worry, Miss Jones. (She has spoken, but Voice is distracted by his thoughts, and so we know that she has some concern and is close enough to him emotionally to speak up when she's worried. She is concerned that he is actually distracted and this supports the view that he is not behaving normally)
No need to write as I loosen these ties,
I’m unravelling. (is he loosening the ties wrapped around a bundle of letters, or signalling that he knows he is starting to fall apart, or both?)
The view from up here, Miss Jones.
Do you enjoy it? (I wanted to allow the reader to picture for themself a view from an office window, which brings the reader into the office and allows individual imigary, as well as asking us all if we like what we see in the world around us)
Following the life of the city, (More imagery to see in our mind's eye the throng of people seen from a high window, with a nod to Philip Larkin's poem. Also mixed in with the question, are we all simply sheep driven in this commercial world? I'm asking the reader to look at their own view of their place in the world around them)
Beneath us, (are we sufficiently confident enough to be able to see ourselves as above the hurlyburly of life? We'd like to think so, but like Voice, do we believe we, as literary judges in this poetry section, have a greater understanding of the emotional side of our own character and these characters we present before you?)
Now Passing. ( life as seen by Miss Jones and us, is passing below the window, but all life is passing, and soon, Voice will 'pass' and be reunited with his lover)
Where was I, Miss Jones? (an echo and further strengthening of Voice's loosening grip, but a rhetorical question for him, as well as a request of her)
Ah yes, letting go, for a moment. (he forgot the line of his thoughts for a moment, but is already thinking of physically 'letting go' from the window, his life and this world. His distraction is increasing)
Letters I lived for, (and will die for)
Giving me wings and my life back, (he is going to fly to his lover and retrieve the life they had. The letters had given him sustenance in life and kept him going, but now they provide the emotional 'lift' he needs to go out of the window)
To follow her, (the letters helped and guided him in life to follow his lover and she to follow him through her life. The letters were and will be the cement in their relationship)
Smiling. (who is smiling? Voice, his lover, Miss Jones, us?)
Did you meet her, Miss Jones? (another rhetorical question. He knows if they met. Do we know someone who we'd die for?)
Her smile and her grace and her touch, were beguiling. (so many sensory impulses imprinting themselves, throughout his life, and ours?)
Our years full of seasons, (my favourite line. Pregnant with meaning. Voice, Miss Jones, us and everyone we know could spend hours thinking back through our shared lives. In sickness and in health etc.....)
Enchanting. (she was thus, and our memories are thus. But he is about to retain the enchantment for ever)
These letters, Miss Jones. (he's summing up the poem for us, but also, he is now letting go of them and Miss Jones)
Are all that I have of her love
And a life, (all of their love for each other is encapsulated in these love letters. Her written words to him are what remain, now that she cannot speak them to him)
I am leaving. (yes, he is leaving the letters with Miss Jones and he has decided that now is the time to leave the trials and tribulations of the world that continues beneath them in the streets below, and the time to close one door and make his way towards another life)
Don’t worry Miss Jones.
Keep them safe and explain, (even at the point of death, he is considering Miss Jones' worries. He is an unselfish man. He wants her to feel safe enough to tell others why he did what he did and is absolving her of any blame for not preventing his suicide)
That I leapt,
With a heart
That was breaking…..(this is where I differ from Voice. As I see it, he is taking his heart and his love and giving them to Eternity. An eternity he knows which he will share with his lover)
As for the final words of each stanza, I wanted to gradually lead the emotional journey which Voice was travelling along, towards an irrevocable conclusion. The steady slackening and unravelling of his life which is now to pass. However, some may smile as once again, he enters their joint enchantment while leaving us behind to consider if his heart was truly breaking. As I said, I don't agree with Voice's view of a broken heart. But....
It was only after I had submitted the poem that I remembered Charles Boyer. In 1934 he married Pat Paterson, his first and (unusual for a star) only wife. He was so faithful to her that he decided to commit suicide two days after her death in 1978.
Someone has told me that perhaps I was 'channeling' a message while writing this poem. It certainly moved me very much as I wrote it.
I hope this helps to explain why the words appear as they do in the poem. Thanks for being patient and reading all the way to here.
The development of the words as they were chosen by me and the 'voice' (a joint venture) was the most satisfying part of producing this work. We wanted to give each line and the salient word therein, a double or triple meaning, whilst linking the final word of each stanza to each other.
Take a letter, Miss Jones. (provides the image of a boss and his secretary and sets the story in an office. But Voice is doing more than asking for dictation, he is offering his love letters to a trusted colleague, but still keeping a distance from the last person to see him alive)
Any letter, take it. (Voice is allowing Miss Jones to choose how to start a letter, and thus giving her a new freedom in her secretarial position, and as a fellow human being, which shows her that Voice trusts her. Yet, the love letters are now being laid before her, further showing the strength of the trust)
Follow the threads of the ties of my life,
As they slacken. (Harken to me Miss Jones, because I have something far more important to say than is usual. I am really trusting you here, as I lose the grip on my life. I want to lose this grip, but I need you to know why)
What’s that you say?
Don’t worry, Miss Jones. (She has spoken, but Voice is distracted by his thoughts, and so we know that she has some concern and is close enough to him emotionally to speak up when she's worried. She is concerned that he is actually distracted and this supports the view that he is not behaving normally)
No need to write as I loosen these ties,
I’m unravelling. (is he loosening the ties wrapped around a bundle of letters, or signalling that he knows he is starting to fall apart, or both?)
The view from up here, Miss Jones.
Do you enjoy it? (I wanted to allow the reader to picture for themself a view from an office window, which brings the reader into the office and allows individual imigary, as well as asking us all if we like what we see in the world around us)
Following the life of the city, (More imagery to see in our mind's eye the throng of people seen from a high window, with a nod to Philip Larkin's poem. Also mixed in with the question, are we all simply sheep driven in this commercial world? I'm asking the reader to look at their own view of their place in the world around them)
Beneath us, (are we sufficiently confident enough to be able to see ourselves as above the hurlyburly of life? We'd like to think so, but like Voice, do we believe we, as literary judges in this poetry section, have a greater understanding of the emotional side of our own character and these characters we present before you?)
Now Passing. ( life as seen by Miss Jones and us, is passing below the window, but all life is passing, and soon, Voice will 'pass' and be reunited with his lover)
Where was I, Miss Jones? (an echo and further strengthening of Voice's loosening grip, but a rhetorical question for him, as well as a request of her)
Ah yes, letting go, for a moment. (he forgot the line of his thoughts for a moment, but is already thinking of physically 'letting go' from the window, his life and this world. His distraction is increasing)
Letters I lived for, (and will die for)
Giving me wings and my life back, (he is going to fly to his lover and retrieve the life they had. The letters had given him sustenance in life and kept him going, but now they provide the emotional 'lift' he needs to go out of the window)
To follow her, (the letters helped and guided him in life to follow his lover and she to follow him through her life. The letters were and will be the cement in their relationship)
Smiling. (who is smiling? Voice, his lover, Miss Jones, us?)
Did you meet her, Miss Jones? (another rhetorical question. He knows if they met. Do we know someone who we'd die for?)
Her smile and her grace and her touch, were beguiling. (so many sensory impulses imprinting themselves, throughout his life, and ours?)
Our years full of seasons, (my favourite line. Pregnant with meaning. Voice, Miss Jones, us and everyone we know could spend hours thinking back through our shared lives. In sickness and in health etc.....)
Enchanting. (she was thus, and our memories are thus. But he is about to retain the enchantment for ever)
These letters, Miss Jones. (he's summing up the poem for us, but also, he is now letting go of them and Miss Jones)
Are all that I have of her love
And a life, (all of their love for each other is encapsulated in these love letters. Her written words to him are what remain, now that she cannot speak them to him)
I am leaving. (yes, he is leaving the letters with Miss Jones and he has decided that now is the time to leave the trials and tribulations of the world that continues beneath them in the streets below, and the time to close one door and make his way towards another life)
Don’t worry Miss Jones.
Keep them safe and explain, (even at the point of death, he is considering Miss Jones' worries. He is an unselfish man. He wants her to feel safe enough to tell others why he did what he did and is absolving her of any blame for not preventing his suicide)
That I leapt,
With a heart
That was breaking…..(this is where I differ from Voice. As I see it, he is taking his heart and his love and giving them to Eternity. An eternity he knows which he will share with his lover)
As for the final words of each stanza, I wanted to gradually lead the emotional journey which Voice was travelling along, towards an irrevocable conclusion. The steady slackening and unravelling of his life which is now to pass. However, some may smile as once again, he enters their joint enchantment while leaving us behind to consider if his heart was truly breaking. As I said, I don't agree with Voice's view of a broken heart. But....
It was only after I had submitted the poem that I remembered Charles Boyer. In 1934 he married Pat Paterson, his first and (unusual for a star) only wife. He was so faithful to her that he decided to commit suicide two days after her death in 1978.
Someone has told me that perhaps I was 'channeling' a message while writing this poem. It certainly moved me very much as I wrote it.
I hope this helps to explain why the words appear as they do in the poem. Thanks for being patient and reading all the way to here.
"Bipolar is a roller-coaster ride without a seat belt. One day you're flying with the fireworks; for the next month you're being scraped off the trolley" I said that.
-
Nightstalker
- Posts: 142
- Joined: Wed Dec 07, 2005 5:31 pm
- Location: rural NC USA
Byron,
Thanks for this excellent work. As was already said the punctuation, the lines in the verses, the interesting format and everything is 'spot on'. I have read it several times and like it better each time. Your embellishment is good also both for its content and because I was hoping I was not reading actual suicidal idiation. Whew!
Thanks for this excellent work. As was already said the punctuation, the lines in the verses, the interesting format and everything is 'spot on'. I have read it several times and like it better each time. Your embellishment is good also both for its content and because I was hoping I was not reading actual suicidal idiation. Whew!
"For the captain had quitted the long drawn strife
And in far Simoree had taken a wife." (R Kipling)
And in far Simoree had taken a wife." (R Kipling)
Isn't it strange how if you call someone Mr, Ms, Mrs, it implies a coldness in a relationship. It creates a barrier.
I was at a place where I get copying done, the employee called her boss Mr. Smith. I felt hey that's not nice.....
The poem is very chilling, I want to grab him and say open up your heart and let Miss Jones in.
I was at a place where I get copying done, the employee called her boss Mr. Smith. I felt hey that's not nice.....
The poem is very chilling, I want to grab him and say open up your heart and let Miss Jones in.
Cheers & DLight
Tri-me (tree-mite) Sheldrön
"Doorhinge rhymes with orange" Leonard Cohen
Tri-me (tree-mite) Sheldrön
"Doorhinge rhymes with orange" Leonard Cohen
The irony in the last three lines is also effective. The phrase "my heart leapt" is generally understood as a metaphor[?] describing a situation prompted by joy, excitement, anticipation, or something positive of that nature, upward toward emotional gain.
The lines...
~ Lizzy
The lines...
... describe a situation of literal leaping of the heart, due to a situation of the [above-described] diametric opposite, downward as a result of emotional loss.That I leapt,
With a heart
That was breaking…..
~ Lizzy
-
Byron
- Posts: 3171
- Joined: Tue Nov 26, 2002 3:01 pm
- Location: Mad House, Eating Tablets, Cereals, Jam, Marmalade and HONEY, with Albert
Tri-me wrote, "I want to grab him and say open up your heart and let Miss Jones in." I wanted to drum it into him as well. She was obviously concerned for his state of mind, and I hope I allowed just enough of her personality through to let her declare to the readers that she cared for him.
Lizzie wrote, "The irony in the last three lines is also effective." Thanks for spotting that one. My aim was to get as many mulitiple interpretations for all of the words and phrases in the poem, as possible. Lizzie, there was a time when you would have said, "The Byrony in the last three lines....."
What is not clear from the poetry/words/story, is that I was listening to an Englishman as I wrote it. Imagine clipped sentences, starched collar, moustache, regimental tie, bowler hat on the hat-stand, and a triangle of a white handkerchief peeping out of his suit jacket's, top left breast pocket. Everything prim and proper, even to the final instructions to Miss Jones as he leapt. He infuriated me, because he coudn't see how much love he was capable of, and how he got his reason for jumping, all wrong. His heart wasn't broken, it was full to bursting. Such a heart, such an aspiration. So yes Lizzie, we can read his 'leaping heart' in several ways, physically, morally, metaphorically, succinctly, emotionally, forlornly, and for me, hopefully.
Lizzie wrote, "The irony in the last three lines is also effective." Thanks for spotting that one. My aim was to get as many mulitiple interpretations for all of the words and phrases in the poem, as possible. Lizzie, there was a time when you would have said, "The Byrony in the last three lines....."
What is not clear from the poetry/words/story, is that I was listening to an Englishman as I wrote it. Imagine clipped sentences, starched collar, moustache, regimental tie, bowler hat on the hat-stand, and a triangle of a white handkerchief peeping out of his suit jacket's, top left breast pocket. Everything prim and proper, even to the final instructions to Miss Jones as he leapt. He infuriated me, because he coudn't see how much love he was capable of, and how he got his reason for jumping, all wrong. His heart wasn't broken, it was full to bursting. Such a heart, such an aspiration. So yes Lizzie, we can read his 'leaping heart' in several ways, physically, morally, metaphorically, succinctly, emotionally, forlornly, and for me, hopefully.
"Bipolar is a roller-coaster ride without a seat belt. One day you're flying with the fireworks; for the next month you're being scraped off the trolley" I said that.
I like that thought, very much, Byron... of your channeling the voice of Boyer. Perhaps, the reason he came to your mind after it was written. [I've only, just now, read your lengthy explanation and enjoyed it very much.]
Another thought, on the these lines:
As I read your comments on "our years full of seasons," my mind's eye went first to the stairs in your home; and then to your and Margaret's bedroom, when the three of us talked for a while in there, as we were readying to leave for London. I hold a very precious memory of your sharing a framed photo on a side table, bookstand, or chest of drawers [I don't recall upon which surface it sat] and exclaiming how it was your all-time favourite photo of her. She was much younger in it, and it had that irresistable sweetness of the past... and I understood your feelings. What I do especially remember was the beauty in your sweetness of the present, as you proudly shared it with me. That kind of genuine, proud, and unabashed love of one person for another is like gold. Moments like that 'lock in' with me. Margaret demured at our shared appreciation of it, but, then, that's our Margaret .
Love,
Lizzy
Another thought, on the these lines:
Particularly, in an office setting... where he and Miss Jones have both a professional and 'personal' relationship... where she has seen many, literal/figurative ties of his life, through his piece of wearing apparel... and the loosening of them, after the rigours of formality have passed is also a common act in office circumstances. An interesting tie-in for me.Follow the threads of the ties of my life,
As they slacken. (Harken to me Miss Jones, because I have something far more important to say than is usual. I am really trusting you here, as I lose the grip on my life. I want to lose this grip, but I need you to know why)
What’s that you say?
Don’t worry, Miss Jones. (She has spoken, but Voice is distracted by his thoughts, and so we know that she has some concern and is close enough to him emotionally to speak up when she's worried. She is concerned that he is actually distracted and this supports the view that he is not behaving normally)
No need to write as I loosen these ties,
I’m unravelling. (is he loosening the ties wrapped around a bundle of letters, or signalling that he knows he is starting to fall apart, or both?)
As I read your comments on "our years full of seasons," my mind's eye went first to the stairs in your home; and then to your and Margaret's bedroom, when the three of us talked for a while in there, as we were readying to leave for London. I hold a very precious memory of your sharing a framed photo on a side table, bookstand, or chest of drawers [I don't recall upon which surface it sat] and exclaiming how it was your all-time favourite photo of her. She was much younger in it, and it had that irresistable sweetness of the past... and I understood your feelings. What I do especially remember was the beauty in your sweetness of the present, as you proudly shared it with me. That kind of genuine, proud, and unabashed love of one person for another is like gold. Moments like that 'lock in' with me. Margaret demured at our shared appreciation of it, but, then, that's our Margaret
. Love,
Lizzy
-
Byron
- Posts: 3171
- Joined: Tue Nov 26, 2002 3:01 pm
- Location: Mad House, Eating Tablets, Cereals, Jam, Marmalade and HONEY, with Albert
The applet of my eye has been in etherical communication from the subcontinent thingie and informs me that much enjoyment was had during the Festival of Holi. Grab yer powder and chuck it at everyone else. Hundreds of photographic images shall accompany our intrepid venturess on her journey home. I think I may be in line for a T-shirt.
Message ends. Stradate, 4136 point (thattaway).......
exit stage, right, chasing a bear.........
stradate?????? bloody fool!
Message ends. Stradate, 4136 point (thattaway).......
exit stage, right, chasing a bear.........
stradate?????? bloody fool!
"Bipolar is a roller-coaster ride without a seat belt. One day you're flying with the fireworks; for the next month you're being scraped off the trolley" I said that.
-
Byron
- Posts: 3171
- Joined: Tue Nov 26, 2002 3:01 pm
- Location: Mad House, Eating Tablets, Cereals, Jam, Marmalade and HONEY, with Albert
This way men, I think he escaped through the space time continuum everything else thread...........follow me...........there he is!!! He's got hold of several metaphores and is hurling expletives at us.
Damn!, he caught me with a guided ssimile <---------and there it is.
Damn!, he caught me with a guided ssimile <---------and there it is.
"Bipolar is a roller-coaster ride without a seat belt. One day you're flying with the fireworks; for the next month you're being scraped off the trolley" I said that.
