John Robinson - Late Roommate
He would moan sad blues
late into the night
the words welling up
from deep in his throat
from deep in his gut
out of tune, out of phase
with reality, that too-distant drummer.
Loyal romantic, neurotic
frantic about the relentless current
of years that swept him downstream -
psychotic, ever further
from that island of clarity in ’65 -
Gina
whose fine chestnut hair
he mentioned incessantly
his first love - his only -
in that Yugoslav summer
when he should have done more
should have stayed
should have spent, he lamented
in that jewelry store
his air fare home
for a present -
those tortoiseshell combs perhaps -
to capture her love
to capture that now-lost present
to cast him up calmly on livable land.
Swept over the falls in ’72
groaning gut blues into black
plunging many stories in a vision
of tortoiseshell combs come home
to the hair of his loved one.
-
Author:
Will Hiltz (
Offline) - Published: February 26th, 2017 01:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments2
Good write and tribute.
Thanks, Goldfinch60. I also like the writing in this one, the musical flow of words and the storyline.
But the idea of this being a tribute is inaccurate: the poem is mostly fiction. However - as in most fiction - the spark that started it, the "nugget of truth," the "seed-crystal" was based in reality. Around that crystal - which was actually rather mundane, tawdry, and far from nobel or sympathetic - I sat to write, and constructed this poem - almost 100% pure fiction. I just liked the sound of the words and the facile emotions of the fiction they created, and I'm glad you did too.
I had posted a true tribute poem a few days earlier - Mama Hall. The storyline there - the quiet poignancy of the moment - and the realism and cadence of the more straightforward everyday language used in that setting - all these are much more authentic than the John Robinson construct. But what is interesting to me is that this true tribute (far superior in it's overall poetic virtues as well, IMHO) is also a stark outlier in my brief time here at MPS in terms of peoples' responses so far when compared to the other five poems I've entered: Mama Hall, sadly, got only one view, and no replies. I'm not here for the hits and "likes" and such, but this puzzled me.
I knew both these people well: Yet here at MPS, a poem sparked by a silly suicide attempt by an immature goofball I'd known a few years earlier who played uninspired flute and ended up paralyzed from the waist down over some romantic failure gets far more attention than a quiet, subtle poem about a mother who humbly and warmly sacrificed her youth and health for her family, the last of whom were now leaving. Both are good poems in their own ways, but only Mama Hall is a true tribute, and a deeply heartfelt one, and, I think, a more quietly elegant, more finely rendered poem as well.
Anyway, Goldfinch60, I apologize for the rant if you think it's unwarranted, and it probably is since you had no way of knowing this was a mere poem, not a tribute.
No need for the apology Will, ignorance is bliss sometimes and being very new to this site I have not yet worked out its ways yet and I obviously have not read the previous poems on here, it is hard enough to keep up with current ones. It is a pleasure to read them.
I agree entirely Goldfinch60! Lots going on here, and rather quirky/cryptic navigation and access to all it holds, I find. At any rate, thanks for all your comments.
Will
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