Vignette Challenge: poems and discussion

[AlwaysHungry]

#12

Pa said I was named for a great statesman
across the pond, but I never came across
any other Winstons at our fishin' hole.
Perhaps he was away makin' laws
with no time to go fishin'
and I felt sorry for my namesake.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

#13 Cold

He watches her walk away
then the trees hide her progress.
Still he stands silently at the edge
of their lives together until
the distant “clunk” of closure
as the car door slams shut
and she’s gone. He returns
to the sunlit kitchen
and the two cups of cold coffee.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

#11 Chilled Party Favors

The pause to place a hand in the small
of the back where thoracic meets lumbar
speaks of muscles and skeleton left
sleeping too long before bestirred awake
out of procrastination's nap to push
and lift the detritus of angelic pillow fights.

The dog wallows in the fresh fall with ecstatic
rolls and tumbles through shoveled snow
showers provided for just this perfect treat.
Who knew the revels of a heavenly sleep over
could provide such an earthly delight
and eclipse the brief discomfort of heavy lifting?

I would not trade this labor for the damp
of west coast winters. Not when I can toss
the brilliant crystals into the air and cause
such joyous leaping and an expression
of such pure animal fun right outside
on my now not so pristine front lawn.
__________________

I'm confused about the relationship of the first stanza to the remaining two.

Upon the third reading, I see at the end of stanza two that the play with the dog is distracting the owner from a pulled muscle which is described in the first stanza. However, that doesn't seem like a very compelling story. I like the descriptive writing, though.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

#12

Pa said I was named for a great statesman
across the pond, but I never came across
any other Winstons at our fishin' hole.
Perhaps he was away makin' laws
with no time to go fishin'
and I felt sorry for my namesake.

I stumbled over the politics of this one, but it does land squarely in the vignette zone.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

#13 Cold

He watches her walk away
then the trees hide her progress.
Still he stands silently at the edge
of their lives together until
the distant “clunk” of closure
as the car door slams shut
and she’s gone. He returns
to the sunlit kitchen
and the two cups of cold coffee.

This one is grand. I love the way it provides you with clues and lets you work out the story for yourself.

he stands silently at the edge
of their lives together

...a very effective metaphor for this context, and the concluding line hearkens back nicely and ironically to the title.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

#14 In The Fiddler's House

Here in Kazimierz buildings sit close
to the cobbled streets, which teemed
with tourists earlier but now are empty
save these few old gentlemen

who come to meet in a courtyard,
shuffling toward one another similarly
white headed and bowed as if related
by more than culture and tradition.

Meeting is a blessing, a triumph--look
at their broad pink faces, how they smile
and clasp hands, greet in the mother
tongue. May you live one hundred years,

no small wish considering their histories:
the immigrant who fled into uncertainty
and helped build a nation; the survivor
who resisted, prevailed even as his family

perished and who says "There are 200
Jews living in Poland today."

A gaggle of ragged musicians arrive
with the old songs. Perhaps they play
now for only the greening stones
in the adjacent graveyard but the clarinet

giggles a waterfall of notes and fiddles,
an accordion join in as if to awaken
the cool, falling night.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

#14 In The Fiddler's House

Here in Kazimierz buildings sit close
to the cobbled streets, which teemed
with tourists earlier but now are empty
save these few old gentlemen

who come to meet in a courtyard,
shuffling toward one another similarly
white headed and bowed as if related
by more than culture and tradition.

Meeting is a blessing, a triumph--look
at their broad pink faces, how they smile
and clasp hands, greet in the mother
tongue. May you live one hundred years,

no small wish considering their histories:
the immigrant who fled into uncertainty
and helped build a nation; the survivor
who resisted, prevailed even as his family

perished and who says "There are 200
Jews living in Poland today."

A gaggle of ragged musicians arrive
with the old songs. Perhaps they play
now for only the greening stones
in the adjacent graveyard but the clarinet

giggles a waterfall of notes and fiddles,
an accordion join in as if to awaken
the cool, falling night.

I would like to see more metaphor, especially after being treated to "the clarinet giggles a waterfall of notes." Also, the syntax is bewildering in the final stanza, because I initially read "the clarinet giggles a waterfall of notes and fiddles."

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

#1

We set out for Madagascar where
Jimmy Fowey said we'd make our fortunes.
He was well read up on such things
from a book his Grandpa gave him for Christmas.

The boat had once belonged to his Pa,
but Ma Fowey stopped him using it when
he rolled home smelling of cheap perfume
and booze, just one weekend too many.

We never did make it, or our fortunes,
and I can still recall the look of horror
on my Ma's face when we were dragged
unceremoniously home by the Coastguard.

Neither me nor Jimmy could sit for a week
and the Hen house had never been so clean.
Years later we lost Jimmy to a landmine, and me?
Some stroke of irony fetched me to the Coastguard's chair.

I like the narrative voice of this poem, recalling fond memories. You can almost see the old salt he’s become all these years later. I think “Hen” must be a typo and I would have liked a stronger sounding name than the one chosen here.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

#1

I would have liked a stronger sounding name than the one chosen here.

How about "Gavin"?

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

#2 The Poem Is a Dirty Sock

Frustrated, you crumple and toss it
into the hamper but then retrieve it.
Who knows? Maybe one or two

more lines is all it needs to be clean,
something neatly folded
you'd gladly put in your drawer

by the one you wrote and liked last year
with three maybe four in the back
you hardly ever wear.

You've laundered it so many times,
and look! There's another new hole.
Christ! You just spelled "sole" as your soul!

Embarrassed, you are reminded
it's time again to trim your nails,
and then in disgust you toss it
because it really does smell,

but when you finally retrieve it,
you burn it instead in your stove
to get the stink out of your head
that's all the way down to your toes

before you grab some loose leaf paper
to start all over again. Who knows?
perhaps even the beginning of
an emperor who has new clothes.

Interesting metaphor, dirty sock=bad poem but, to me, the poem meanders in an unfocussed way and needs tightening. It’s a good idea that could be utilized in an even better poem.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

How about "Gavin"?

"Fowey" is such an "air sound" - Gavin's better but could be even stronger.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

#3

Soledad is a small woman,
but she's tough like El Árbol del Tule.
And if they let atomic volleys fly
I do believe that on the day that follows
we'll see her trudging doggedly
through fields of ash
bleating, bleating her bicycle horn,
propelling her ancient cart,
and with timbre borrowed
from now-extinct geese
crying "Tamales! Tamales!"

This is a real vignette, a snap-shot of a stoic tamale vendor. “bleating” is an odd sound for a bicycle horn.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

"Fowey" is such an "air sound" - Gavin's better but could be even stronger.

I'm sort of kidding. Part of GM's magic is the choosing of the right given names. I am suggesting "Gavin" for all the poems I comment on.

 

[champagne1982]

#1.

We set out for Madagascar where ...

More of a recollection and a narrative than what I would take as the scene painting of a short moment. A good poem and I'm sad to say, I have not been reading you all enough to take a stab at who has written what unless it's obvious to me. There's lots of meat to this piece.

Thanks for the words.

 

[champagne1982]

#2 The Poem Is a Dirty Sock
...

Enjoyed this metaphor, but I'm not sure I would call it a vignette, even as evocative of stinky shoes as this is. Good words but a painting? I don't know.

Thank you for the words

 

[champagne1982]

#3

Soledad is a small woman,
but she's tough like El Árbol del Tule.
And if they let atomic volleys fly
I do believe that on the day that follows
we'll see her trudging doggedly
through fields of ash
bleating, bleating her bicycle horn,
propelling her ancient cart,
and with timbre borrowed
from now-extinct geese
crying "Tamales! Tamales!"

This is a really good grab at that moment of Soledad the tamale vendor with the "honka-honka-honk" annoyance of the bike horn.

Really cool, and thanks for the poemsy

 

[champagne1982]

#4

Chinook​

It arises out over the Pacific, sweeping east across Vancouver Island, down the Strait and up over the Coast Range. Cooling now releasing moisture as it flows across the first summit; then warming as it descends, sucking moisture from the dry interior. Up again, repeating the cycle, first the Selkirks, then the Rockies. Pausing at the divide, poised for an instant before falling, laughing, tumbling to the continent below. Warming now, dry now, a fast warm sponge coursing through the foothills drawing precious water from the suddenly melting snowbanks.

never can forget
the warmth of her first smile nor
the blue of her eyes​

A brilliant turquoise sky arches across the western mountains behind somber gray clouds. Temperatures rise twenty degrees in under an hour; a foot of snow vanishes overnight and lake ice heaves. Life quickens; buds are tricked from dormancy; animals emerge blinking from secure dens. But all too soon, the ephemeral wind passes and winter returns.

for that brief moment
reconciliation was
perhaps possible​

This has Calgarian written all over it. Great word photo of an illustrated poem that captures that strong (often too short lived) burst of happy wind.

Thanks for the poem and the snapshot of a typical midwinter flip flop of weather.

 

[champagne1982]

#5

Today I thought of Maggie Lynn's wedding...

Like this poem but again not descriptive enough of one or a sequence of scenes to be called a vignette over naming it a narrative.

Thanks for the words

I'll be back tomorrow to read and comment on more. Love the works so far folks

 

[greenmountaineer]

#13 Cold

He watches her walk away
then the trees hide her progress.
Still he stands silently at the edge
of their lives together until
the distant “clunk” of closure
as the car door slams shut
and she’s gone. He returns
to the sunlit kitchen
and the two cups of cold coffee.

This one is grand. I love the way it provides you with clues and lets you work out the story for yourself.

he stands silently at the edge
of their lives together

...a very effective metaphor for this context, and the concluding line hearkens back nicely and ironically to the title.

I agree; sparse yet powerful, although I would have inverted "cold coffee." "Cold" I think makes for a more definiive conclusion and, while an adjective, is the more powerful image.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

#4 Chinook

This is a lovely piece of prose by some one very familiar with Alberta ( Champ?) but is it a vignette? I’m not sure.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

#5

Today I thought of Maggie Lynn's wedding
The time I almost caught her bouquet,
How my fingers brushed like watercolor
Over the stems when Louise

Elbowed me to the side and snatched
The bunch clean out of the air,
Shrieking like she'd slapped home a goal.
It must'a worked for her,

For just five months later, she and Stan,
Big handsome lug of a guy
Who was supposed to be sweet on me,
Walked down the aisle at Sacred Heart.

But Stan got a little rough when in his cups
And just eight years later, Lou
Was up at Muncy doing 18 years,
And her with those two little girls.

I'd found my Denny by then, a good man,
And though I never could conceive,
We lived a good and happy life
Until his car wrecked in ninety-three.

Now Lou at least has the comfort of grandkids
And all I know is an aging little hut
In Shadytown and a teller job I can't let go.
I guess God and the Virgin gave me the good

Up front while Lou had to pay for her sin.
It's funny how life works or don't
And the weird thing is neither me nor Lou
Know whatever happened to Maggie Lynn.


As in poem #1 the use of the vernacular serves this poem well. The second to last verse needed a second look for me, it confused me at first.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

#6 Lichening.

Lichen grows grey green upon your stone
and on my mind, obscures.
I remember as I visit with you.

I remember remember .....
your name?
so many years
so many, many ..... Joan!

And if young Joan remembers.
I'll come again
to see you, see the lichen grow,
so slow, so very very grey green slow


I don’t get this poem. The story, like the grave stone, is obscured. There isn’t even enough narrative for the reader to come to his or her conclusion. It’s pretty enough,h on its own but, a vignette? I have a feeling there is word-play between “lichen” and “liken” but too vague to be sure.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

#7 My Father’s House

Here’s that tree-lined street
of stunted, sorry sycamores,
struggling in this city setting.
Summer sees them dusty, drooping
and in winter simply in the way,
their stubborn trunks, sentinels
dodged by cell-phone stooges.

And looming above as if to
threaten, the brown stone
that was once my home,
disadvantaged, dysfunctional,
dishevelled. Past its due-by
but it always was.

Fourth floor walk-up sway-back
steps worn weary by feet
wanting to be elsewhere.
The door’s still shit brown
and flaking, I don’t knock
preferring to remain a stranger.


Too much alliteration distracts in this poem IMO and that’s all I got to say ‘bout that.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

# 8 Sun Danced Filmed Festivities

So anal he was
about performing rehearsals
Just one more pass, Robert!

that encore presentations of
pain in my ass sensations
were coming to a theatre near me

Though, I wasn't nearly as bad off
as the crew who insisted upon
drinking the water

WARNING! DANGER AHEAD
Explosive diarrhea everywhere!

But there were periods of respite
we were thankful for

like when Paul ceaselessly
argued with George over
incorporating the Bledsoe Scene
or was brainstorming recipes for
his new "man themed"
salad vinaigrettes

Sam, Katherine and I chilled
in our trailers chugging soda pops
between downing tequila shots
to beat the desert heat
and
The Great Dehydration of 1968


I really like this, it sets the scene (pun intended) and snips out – yes – a vignette, if a little anal-oriented but that’s life, sometimes.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

#9 The Flat Side of the Earth

On the prairie, .....<snip>.... And no one hears the wind.

This so evocative of any small dying or dead prairie town. It’s written with a nod to the past and makes me rethink my idea of a vignette because it’s broader, less personal yet written with true emotion.