Self-Portrait as a Moment in 1963
By Jake Adam York
Supper's late, and my mother sprawls
before the console,half-watching Gunsmoke,
Alabama History spread before her,
though school's almost out for summer
though school's almost out for summer
and the chicken's almost fried
to that perfect crisp. Then it's over,
credits stamped over final stills,
and the show gives way to news,
a minute of film from Birmingham,
not an hour south, where police
are turning dogs on kids as young
as she, spraying them with hoses
until they fall, the water she isn't watching
curling like smoke in the air.
My grandmother flicks the switch
and they're gone. They eat
in quiet, each cutting a breast
or thigh into steam, forking
beans or macaroni until
the plates' blank faces shine again.
This is years before
she'd meet my father, before
I'd come to that table,
that food, that room.
There's a silence here
I want to scratch away,
so I can see what's underneath,
what they don't recall.
I want to turn someone's head,
my grandfather's maybe, or my mother's,
back toward the TV, where
the tube's still fading,
the ghost of that scene
on the edge of that room.
I want someone there to see
and remember, so I can leave
and go back into the future,
not history. Not yet.
Self –Portrait as a Moment in 2011
By Brandy Adams
After 20 years of isolation, my father is to be married on Sunday.
I sit alone, on the back porch, and rake over the grass.
Its separating blades have become an intrusion
to the dirt. Crowded and mingling,
each level-head takes on the same perspective.
Harsh to the touch, it is as forgiving as the green plastic shreds that
filled the Easter basket of my youth.
On a perfect square of travertine, flat and brindle,
obscure as map of the monotonous Sahara,
the lizard finds its prey. Black-faced and striped
like the sun folding into the sky, it shakes
the dried dragon until the glass tears fall away
and dark specks impair my vision.
I wanted him to take a leap,
like a mullet fearless of flight.
When I was five, I was fearless.
I put floaties on my legs
and took the plunge.
My father told me not to,
But I did it anyway.
To start things off, I think the opening of the poem embodies a missed opportunity—the tension between the no longer lonely father and the solitudinous daughter could be heightened and/or explored a bit more, something as simple as depicting a part of the ceremony, or even the preparations for it, could strengthen the oppositional feelings of the speaker. Could even go so far as to include the son/daughter in the aforementioned ceremony, perhaps detailing their outward actions versus their inner turmoil.
ReplyDeleteSecondly, the middle of the piece, the second stanza, mainly, is a little vague. I think the main cause of this phenomenon is the speed with which the speaker moves through these descriptions. While much of the first and third stanzas employ enough specific language to proffer strong images, the second stanza leaps through, what I can only imagine, is a great deal more information than is currently given. Really, this tendency for, perhaps, a little too much concision is a problem that I run into quite often as well and, fortunately, it’s a fairly easy fix. Consider each line/sentence a bit more carefully, not necessarily utilizing a lot of hypotaxes, which you seem to have a slight aversion to, but just be wary of the implied action versus what you’ve actually got on the page.
In your first three lines, there is an intimation of resentment by the speaker, as reflected in the "intrusion" of the "blades of grass." I would like to know if it's toward the father or his bride-to-be. Also, the second stanza seems to represent the speaker's sadness. Word pairings like "dried dragon" and "sun folding" provide nice metaphors for a dying relationship; therefore, I expected the third stanza to address a metamorphosis of some kind, especially after the reference to Easter in the first stanza; but instead, it seems to recall the speaker's disappointment and rebellious pride. I would like to see the third stanza stretch further in order to transport the speaker (and the reader) to a new place.
ReplyDeleteI really like "glass tears" and "When I was five, I was fearless." You have some great language in this draft and "show" a lot of detail. Nice work, Ebef.
Sorry, Brandy. I wrote Ebef and meant Brandy. It's getting late in the evening for me!
ReplyDelete