I just wanted to ask if you have ever thought in depth about poetic meter. I noticed with your poem about Ludo, and also with this one, that you often tend towards a kind of blank verse with lines of similar length. For example, this line:
“Their interference pattern writes a spell”.
This is perfect iambic pentameter.
In my view, a simple thing like meter can massively improve a poem. One doesn’t have to be a complete stickler about it, and even Shakespeare didn’t write every single line in mathematically perfect meter, but it can do wonders to attempt some kind of regularity and rhythm.
Considering you’ve never been there, you paint a very pleasant blue and white scene of New England America. However, I don’t know why, I kept visualising a 50’s French resort in black and white. Probably the Huguenot thing and the mention of racing bikes down cobbled streets.
I like this very much.
Thanks, G. I saw a pic of the cobblestone Main Street and the Paris – Roubaix bike race came to mind. Falling off and breaking a leg seemed a likely consequence etc etc and it unfolds as a film before the mind’s eye. Great fun provided you get a good/interesting starting point. Rick.
ps I did not have a title then found out that ‘the little grey lady of the sea’ is a nick-name for Nantucket š
pps The Huguenot aspect came about as I thought there might be Huguenots in New England as there were – Du Cros is a Hug. name – but most importantly I liked the ‘ring’ of ‘Huguenot villanelles’ (being a bit of a word tart š )
I challenged myself to write a piece about some place I’ve never been to and of which I had no prior knowledge. Hitherto I thought Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket were onland townships not islands. I had to sleep on a conclusion – the one that transpired took me by surprise.
A very interesting discourse here, but I must confess I found it a little difficult to follow. I must read it again, again. It deserves to be re-read. Such a brilliant idea.
This is almost an autobiography, made it science fiction playing with voices in my head, my private universe of writing, there are Writing Bots and Cow Bot is a Bot that replaces me when I sleep or play poker.
Voice Philip is an imaginary chanelling of Philip Dick, he appears in the story which I started writing when my father died. Dad almost appears in the story but it’s never clear, at least so far, real personalities appear such as Voice Diogo, who is a real person, and I borrowed Archie’s appearance, soon I’ll add other real personalities, such as Swep Lovitt.
Thanks for reading
Wow! This is truly brilliant stuff, John, very impressive. Excellent craftsmanship and imagination. The bat that becomes a wolf is particularly appropriate.
What’s the form you’ve used here? It looks like two sets of Rimas Dissolutas with a concluding line that takes you back to the beginning. Is there a name for this, or is it another one of your inventions?
If you’re at a loose end nowadays, I have a suggestion for you. Why not post your entire back catalogue on UKA?
Seriously. If you have the time. You are a genuinely talented poet, of exactly the kind this site needs. UKA is flagging nowadays. It needs someone like you to post much more regularly.
Written in an authentic and descriptive voice, guaj. A few stray capitals (Hornet, the Governor, Pit-Viper, Hell is disputable) but that’s just being niggly. A good read and just the right length for a monologue.
Thanks, Steve. I guess I’ve been watching too many American films. In fact I wrote this a few years ago, I remember reading about this situation regarding the confusion about death row prisoners in some states. I don’t know if this was ever resolved. Some states commuted sentences but not all apparently. Maybe I should check it out, just for curiosity.
May I follow Gammon in extending a welcome to you.
Young love is much more volatile and full of intense overpowering emotions. I’m a very long way away from that state, and I feel that old love – or should I say love experience in advanced years – is far more gentle, and in my (our) case tempered by nearly fifty years of being together 24/24.
I was prompted to say the above after reading your piece, which reminded me of the angst of youth – the memory of which never goes away.
If I may I’m also into suggesting a mod to “waves that crash”.
I’m somewhat intrigued to know why the feelings expressed by the protagonist are not being reciprocated? There are many reasons I can think of where I would turn around and say ‘walk away’ you’ll be better off without him/her! But it is good that your writing created within me that hunger to know more.
Well done.
the bonus is what was lost or stolen from you, like finding your lost wallet in the subway after decades. you wonder who lost it and find inside your identity card and the paycheck untouched and you remember the shistorm that you faced because you couldn’t pay any bills, it’s shit like that that fulfill you always not when you expect it but when you need it not anymore.
the destination is a vanishing point that magically brings you back where you set off. you must avoid misery in the same way you are not after happiness — not because of anything but with same intention. ommmm
I saw your prose piece about Ludo and assumed he was a dog. Then I started reading this, realised he was a cat, and perhaps absurdly, cried all the way through it. I’ve always had a soft spot for cats. Much more so than dogs. Some cats actually seem human to me in various ways, and it sounds like Ludo did for you.
I don’t know if you believe in paranormal things or an afterlife at all. I do, and there is a tendency towards Spiritualism in my family. Here is a section of a letter written to me four years ago by my Aunt Wendy:
“We have always taken in odd stray cats, they become part of the family, we loved them all dearly, they die at old age and we bury them in the garden. One day I was in our bedroom and I saw a cat walk across the top hall and go down the stairs. I couldn’t tell who it was. It looked like the negative of a photo, or in shadow. So I went downstairs immediately to open the kitchen door for it, as they tended to scratch up the carpet, but there was no cat in the hall and all the doors were shut. I went in to tell your Uncle Phil, but he stopped me in mid-sentence. He said that he had seen a cat that was dark in colour or black (we had never had a black cat). He saw it three times and it just faded away each time. And once, it rubbed up against his leg. He looked down, saw it and it faded away.”
Thank you so very much for your comments, Gammon, it is very kind of you.
I think I’m pretty much an ‘open book’ when it comes to having a belief of a divine aspect to existence – albeit not exactly a ‘conventional’ one. I think your Aunt Wendy and Uncle Phil have been privileged to have those experiences.
Not the time to go into it in detail, but I too have had a ‘special’ experience in my life that brought me to believe in the existence of life beyond the body.
You may now realise that my title says more than might otherwise have been interpreted.
*Appreciatively*
Griffonner
PS: Not absurd to shed a tear.
I’m glad you’re open to the prospect of life after death. Many people have reported unexplainable things to me over the years, and I have no reason to think they are liars. I certainly wouldn’t consider my aunt and uncle to be liars.
Something happened to me when I was twelve, which I didn’t mention to anybody for many years. In our house we also had cats, and when they died, we also buried them in the back garden. Not long after one of them had gone, I was sunbathing in the back garden, when I felt a furry tail wrap around my leg. I looked up and saw it. But there was no cat. It was a tail without a cat. It scared the bejasus out of me, really freaked me out at the time, as I couldn’t explain or understand what it was.
Anyway, thanks for your response, and keep your chin up…
Welcome to the site! It desperately needs some young blood, so please do stay and invite as many of your creative writing friends as possible.
I only really write poetry, so I’m not massively qualified to comment on prose, though I’m sure somebody else will. Maybe just “waves crashing”… or “waves that crash”…
Hello, thank you for your comments! Unfortunately I am not with UEA, I wont be going to University until this coming September. I am only a college student at the moment.
I like this, it’s like a held breath.
I also liked your comment on your STOP IT! sign. I often feel like yelling that very thing to cover all the everyday mish mash of pointless words, and just plain noise filling the air. sue.
Thanks, people might think it’s about the virus – or maybe an expectant father waiting for a baby’s first cry – or a V1 rocket overhead. I think I like its ambiguity š
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