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Left Outside
The shopping cart, precisely ordered now
while searching for those perfect little lines
of lights for decorations—anyhow,
I’m sure there must be something that combines
with lights around the centerpiece to show
a little flair, if not a little art.
I shift my stuff and somehow, yes I know,
there isn’t much inside the shopping cart.
But everything is here. I’ve planned it out:
the ornaments, display, conventions—all
with perfect form. And breathlessly devout.
If I can just escape the shopping mall.
But wait! I’ve got the weirdest doubt inside,
that all this time, the baby’s been outside.
.
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The Three Hundred
They have the numbers, but
__we have the heights.
We’re few, yet strong, and what
__we lack for fights
we do not need; nor do
__we want to be
enshrined in tributes to
__Thermopylae.
We happy few shall break
__our pitchers, raise
a trumpet high and shake
__a torch with praise:
The sword of The Lord and Gideon!
They have the numbers, but
__we have the heights.
.
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An Existential Plum
A plum, aplomb, upon a ponderous path,
but split in half—I guess I’m drunk again:
I’ve seized and squeezed the plum, but trip and then,
so marble-mouthed that I can’t speak, I laugh.
The sunlight showers down upon a bath
of maple leaves I’ve fallen backwards in
while stretching out my arm with best intentions
towards the light to spare the plum the crash.
Poignant, pure, unique: the plum. I taste it,
muse that though I have my hunger bated,
lusciously, and juice begins to stain me;
where’s its stone? Its orchard? What a waste it
lasts a moment only. Isolated
plums along the path cannot sustain me.
.
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Daniel Kemper is a systems engineer living in California.
“Left Outside” portrays a situation that likely occurs more often than we realize. I worry about the heat in California where you live. “The Three Hundred” with the Lord and Gideon reminds me of the value of the Golan Heights. Pardon me for this take on the “Existential Plum:” I believe I am ready for the existential cherry.
No pardon necessary for the take on “Existential Plum.” I love it. I wrote it to be sensual enough to admit a certain range of things symbolized by the plum. You allude to moments that are among the sweetest, both when had and when remembered…
I often hear of the existential moment referred to as “the eternal moment.” That paradox seems to lose some savor some over time. The moment isn’t eternal, of course. It’s only that the intensity of the moment overwhelmed the ability to detect the passage of time; indeed, the moment was so intense that even the memory of it disables the ability to detect the passage of time. Time, of course, is not impacted at all.
All three are pleasingly elliptical. Sometimes that approach is better than plain statement. The last is a nice Petrarchan with some cool slanted rhymes.
Thank you for the read and kind comments, C.B. “Left Outside,” functions something like a self-chastisement. Occasionally, I get too caught up in the form of a poem and look back over it and think: “What did I actually *say* here?” Fairly often on these occasions, there’s nothing much inside my shopping cart. I’ve left the living heart of the matter out of it. This is true, for my tastes, about most “composition by field” poems, too.
“The Three Hundred” — Bloom’s use of this quote is what triggered my thoughts: “They have the numbers, but we have the heights.” He’s referring to the traditional canon vs. modernism. To my eye, although there are modernist poets that I enjoy, they lack a certain spirit (a Spirit mentioned in other poems I’ve read this morning) which keeps them from being a truly living presence. The manliness of the Greeks is loved by many men I know, but I always offer “my” three hundred — who won. And lived. 🙂
“An Existential Plum,” was something of an experiment. The iambic, drunken first half (enhanced by messy rhymes, I hope), is set off against the trochaic moment of clarity as it were, after the volta. There’s so much to play with regarding changing the meter at the volta — seems to me to add a certain punch.
Daniel, I love them all, but I might not have fully understood “Left Outside” without your explanation. This happens to me as well, and I think we’re suffering from the nature of poetry as transcendent communication. We can’t prosaically say what we hope a reader may discover, because that isn’t capable of being conveyed in words. Oxymoron? No. We use words to convey a feeling or an experience, as much as an idea. You achieved this twice in “Left Outside,” where the feeling of satisfaction at preparation comes through, and the more important idea of something remaining to be conveyed is there in the baby. As you see, I the critic don’t really help matters by adding more words. Your critical words helped because I already know the experience, if that makes sense.
The Gideon poem is nearly perfect as a pitcher-and-trumpet shape-and-sound work of great brevity. The repetend enclosing the thought and light is a marvelous concept. This is my favorite of three superb pieces.
“The Existential Plum” speaks out to me as another fond of the concept. I see what you mean by existential rather than eternal. Your “Barista” is another of the kind, and though you didn’t care for my comparing it to Thomas Ford, I hope you did take a look at his poem, which verges more expansively toward eternity, as Renaissance poets were inclined to do. Baudelaire writes at least two of this type, shorter and more modern, like yours, and mine in “Windjam” (which you may have missed in the “Paisley” post). Sad to say, I do not recall the French titles or first lines. Your “Plum” explores the brief experience almost as much as possible while keeping it brief and modern in style. Most enjoyable work and thought.
Yo Dr. C. !
First things first. I did miss “Windjam.” Always behind again. I’ll be circling back to comment there I hope, but for now, YES, I see exactly what you mean. A great way to illustrate your point. Also, on the Thomas Ford comparison – No! I was thrilled by the comparison. And twice thrilled that you preferred mine over his at the time. I’ve rarely had such a compliment.
Re: prosaics and conveyance by words. You know, to me, it’s like pointing at something. Literally, you’re just presenting a finger. But that’s not what you mean. Eventually something has to “click” to make the leap, right?
I get you, I think: the more important idea of something remaining to be conveyed is there in the baby. Sometimes critics “prosaify” something in a useful way, which is what I was hoping to do. I like that you pull out the larger applicability of what “the baby” is.
Thank you for your compliment on the Gideon poem! I love “great brevity.” It’s my favorite of the three as well. I wasn’t sure how I was going to end it and re-starting it one morning, just going over and over it, the repetend idea just popped into mind.
For Left Outside, my associations: Hotel “California,” Hotel “Overlook,” and how I was left aged 6 in a tent camp when my parents went fishing in the morning while I was still asleep. Also, as in a Dire Straights’ “Iron Hand,” it is “with all the clarity of dream.” Very anxiogenic. Great.
Hi Michael !
This is a unique praise, “Very anxiogenic. Great.” Thank you. Being left is traumatic; leaving the most important thing is harsh. Thank you for sharing your experience and for your praise.
Daniel, I like poems that challenge me. For me, “Left Outside” and “The Existential Plum” (my favorite) have much to say about the absence of significance from lives swept up in the instant-gratification culture of our age. I like the sensual feel of “The Existential Plum” and how those immediate, hedonistic highs fade into the philosophical musings of a deeper more enduring pleasure, overlooked in those rash and fleshly moments.
Howdy, Susan,
Lot’s more challenge where that came from 🙂 Oh yeah, those two, as you correctly intuit are intended as a pair. In addition to some of what I’ve mentioned earlier, one is form without content; the plum is more obliquely content without form. There’s no supporting structure to provide the continuity. Both are, as you say, the cardinal sins of the times.
As for the pleasure and the mellowing; there is indeed a pleasure in savoring those past moments. It’s just a world better to have moments continuing. Background was remembering good times with a person to whom I was twice engaged, but broke up with a year ago. For the sensuality, I played with a neologism of “gusheously” but a last minute editorial decision to use lusciously — gusheously seemed unlikely to be understood/go over well.
Thank you for your reads and commentary; they’re always engaging and I always learn something.