When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
everyone teased me, called me gay.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I
had to get mad,
so that my favorite past time switched from kissing boys,
girls, even the dirty unknowns
that lay black-out drunk on the streets,
to biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed.
That is, until my peers stopped the abuse.
I remember they almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they dug for me
and the scars I left them.
Every night, to both celebrate
and atone,
I would give myself a wedgie
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would stroke my extra digit on the cloth
while staring straight in the eye my reflection
on the window.
Through that act, I found God in his most popular form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to that little red-haired girl,
Botticelli's vision,
lying all naked on the old chaise longue
by the fireplace -- to the virgin that roasted
like a Christmas pig
as the rising sun cast burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face.
And the masculine word tore through me
like a priest's knife,
NO, like a madman's razor,
so that when my grandmother died of a stroke that day,
I could not kiss her as she lay
all bald, all dark, all swollen,
only recall those last five words of hers:
"My bedroom smells of bacon".
What have I sacrificed
to receive this rainbow? At thirteen,
from a boy whose heart in my presence
always went like mad
came my first kiss, given wet with eros,
received dry with philautia. I pushed him away,
NO, punched him to the ground -- with forty kisses more,
crying out, "Surely now I should run out the closet!
Surely now I should run out the closet!"
And here, God's true image,
Justice, shot out of the sky
like a particolored bolt of lightning
onto my foreskin, so that I knew
my pierced eyes already were fate,
my peers' lies already looked straight.
Version 2.1:
The Birth of a Straight Man
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
everyone teased me, called me gay.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I
had to get mad,
so that my favorite past time switched from kissing boys,
girls, even the dirty unknowns
that lay black-out drunk on the streets,
to biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed.
That is, until my peers stopped the abuse.
I remember they almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they dug for me
and the scars I left them.
Every night, to both celebrate
and atone,
I would give myself a wedgie
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would stroke my extra digit on the cloth
while staring straight in the eye my reflection
on the window.
Through that act, I found God in his most popular form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to that little red-haired girl,
Botticelli's vision,
lying all naked on the old chaise longue
by the fireplace -- to the virgin that roasted
like a Christmas pig
as the rising sun cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face.
And the masculine word tore through me
like a priest's knife,
NO, like a madman's razor,
so that when my grandmother died of a stroke that day,
I could not kiss her as she lay
all bald, all dark, all dreamless,
only recall those last five words of hers:
"My bedroom smells of bacon".
What have I sacrificed
to receive this rainbow? At thirteen,
from a boy whose heart in my presence
always went like mad
came my first kiss, given wet with eros,
received dry with philautia. I pushed him away,
NO, punched him to the ground -- with forty kisses more,
crying out, "Surely now I should run out the closet!
Surely now I should run out the closet!"
And here, God's true image,
Justice, shot out of the sky
like a particolored bolt of lightning
onto my foreskin, so that I knew
my pierced eyes already were fate,
my peers' lies already looked straight.
Version 2.0:
A STRAIGHT MAN
1
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
everyone teased me, called me gay.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I
had to get mad,
2
so that my favorite past time switched
from kissing boys,
girls, even the dirty unknowns
that lay black-out drunk on the streets,
to biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed.
3
That is, until my peers stopped the abuse.
I remember they almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they dug for me
and the scars I left them.
Every night, to both celebrate
and atone,
I would give myself a wedgie
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would stroke my extra digit on the cloth
while staring straight in the eye my reflection
on the window.
4
Through that act, I found God in his most popular form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to that little red-haired girl,
Botticelli's vision,
lying all naked on the old chaise longue
by the fireplace -- to the virgin that roasted
like a Christmas pig
as the rising sun cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face.
And the masculine word tore through me
like a priest's knife,
NO, like a madman's razor,
5
so that when my grandmother died of a stroke that day,
I could not kiss her as she lay
all bald, all dark, all dreamless,
only recall those last five words of hers:
"My bedroom smells of bacon".
6
What have I sacrificed
to receive this rainbow? At thirteen,
from a boy whose heart in my presence
always went like mad
came my first kiss, given wet with eros,
received dry with philautia -- only philautia.
And yet I pushed him away,
NO, punched him to the ground
with forty kisses more, crying out
"Surely now I should run out the closet!
Surely now I should run out the closet!"
And here, God's true image,
Justice, shot out of the sky
like a particolored bolt of lightning
onto my foreskin, so that I knew
my pierced eyes already were fate,
my peers' lies already looked straight.
version 1.1:
A STRAIGHT MAN, version 1.1
1
When I was younger, maybe five or six,
everyone teased me, called me gay.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I
had to get mad.
2
When I was younger, maybe seven or eight,
my favorite past time was kissing boys,
girls, anyone I could get my lips on,
even the dirty unknown that lay motionless
outside our school. My second favorite
was biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed.
3
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
my peers stopped the abuse.
They almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they dug for me
and the scars I left them.
Every night, to both celebrate
and atone,
I would give myself a wedgie
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would rub my extra digit on the cloth
while staring my reflection on the window
straight in the eye.
4
When I was younger, maybe eleven or twelve,
I found God in his most popular form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl,
Botticelli's vision,
that lied all Roman on the wooden seat
by the fireplace -- to the virgin that roasted
like a Christmas pig
as the rising sun cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face.
And the masculine word tore through me
like a priest's knife,
no, like a madman's razor.
5
When I was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen,
God revealed the rainbow. First,
from a boy whose heart in my presence
always went like mad
came my first kiss, given wet with eros,
received dry with philautia. I pushed him away,
no, punched him to the ground. Second,
my ailing mother died, her last words:
"My bedroom smells of bacon."
I did not kiss her as she lay
all bald, all dark, all swollen.
6
Only in my evening room did I weep
when I was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen,
figuring: "Surely now I should run out the closet!"
But then God's true image,
Justice, shot out of the sky
and onto my prepuce, so that I knew
my pierced eyes already were fate,
my peers' lies already looked straight.
version 1.00:
A STRAIGHT MAN, version 1
1
When I was younger, maybe five or six,
everyone teased me, called me gay.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I
had to get mad.
2
When I was younger, maybe seven or eight,
my favorite past time was kissing boys,
girls, anyone I could get my lips on,
even the dirty unknown that lay motionless
outside our school. My second favorite
was biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed.
3
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
my peers stopped with the teasing.
They almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they made for me
and the scars I left them.
Every night, I would give myself a wedgie
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would rub my extra digit to and fro
on the tearing cloth
while staring straight in the eye my reflection
on the window.
4
When I was younger, maybe eleven or twelve,
I found God in his most popular form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl
lying all Roman on the wooden seat
by the fireplace -- to the virgin that roasted
as the rising sun cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face.
And the masculine word tore through me
like a priest's knife,
no, like a medium's razor.
5
When I was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen,
God revealed the rainbow. First,
from a boy who in my presence
always went like mad
came my first kiss, given wet with eros,
received dry with philautia. I pushed him away,
no, punched him to the ground. Second,
my ailing mother died, her last words:
"My bedroom smells of bacon."
I did not kiss her as she lay
all bald, all dark, all swollen.
6
Only in my evening room did I weep
when I was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen,
figuring: "Surely now I should run out the closet!"
But then God's true image,
Justice, shot out of the sky
and onto my prepuce, so that I knew
my pierced eyes already were fate,
my peers' lies already looked straight.
version 0.667:
1
When I was younger, maybe five or six,
everyone teased me, called me gay.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I
had to get mad.
2
When I was younger, maybe seven or eight,
my favorite past time was kissing boys,
girls, anyone I could get my lips on,
even the dirty unknown that lay motionless
outside our school. My second favorite
was biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed.
3
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
my peers stopped with the teasing.
They almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they made for me
and the scars I left them.
Every night, I would give myself a wedgie
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would rub my extra digit to and fro
on the tearing cloth
while staring straight in the eye my reflection
on the window.
4
When I was younger, maybe eleven or twelve,
I found God in his most populat form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl
lying all Roman on the wooden seat
by the fireplace -- to the virgin that roasted
as the rising sun cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face.
And from then on, I'd be obsessed.
5
When I was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen,
my grandmother died. Her last words:
"I smell bacon". And from then on,
I'd be obsessed.
6
When I was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen,
I figured it was time to come
out of the closet
and into the evening room.
"What am I afraid of?" I thought. "Have I not
already stared death straight in the eye?"
But then I found God's true image,
Justice, carved into the ridges and furrows
of my prepuce, and I knew
that to lie to myself was to admit defeat.
Version 0:
1
When I was younger, maybe five or six,
everyone teased me, called me gay.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I
had to get mad.
2
When I was younger, maybe seven or eight,
my favorite past time was kissing boys,
girls, anyone I could get my hands on,
even the dirty unknown that lied motionless
outside our school. My second favorite
was biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed.
3
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
my peers stopped with the teasing.
They almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they made for me
and the scars I left them.
Every night, to both celebrate my victory
and atone,
I would give myself a wedgie
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would rub my thirteenth digit to and fro
on the tearing cloth
while staring straight in the eye my reflection
on the window.
4
When I was younger, maybe eleven or twelve,
I found God in his most popular form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl
I saw lying all Roman on the wooden seat
by the fireplace. The dream
ended like this: as the rising sun
cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face,
she roasted like a suckling pig.
And from then on, I'd be obsessed.
5
When I was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen,
my grandmother died. Her last words:
"I smell bacon". And from then on,
I'd be obsessed.
6
When I was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen,
I figured it was time to come
out of the closet
and into the evening room.
"What am I afraid of?" I thought. "Have I not
already stared death straight in the eye?"
But then I found God's true image,
Justice, carved into the ridges and furrows
of my prepuce, and I knew
that to lie to myself was to admit defeat.
I like how the poem captures the ignorance (and innocence) of sexual preference as a child to experimentation and maturing sexuality. you're right to point out the title and ending as they don't work to my reading as well as the beginning and middle. the straight man never was created, in the literal sense. maybe 'straighten a man' would work? something that preserves the hidden sexuality.
(07-20-2016, 01:01 AM)RiverNotch Wrote: (A very rough draft that might have a change in title and ending.)
THE CREATION OF A STRAIGHT MAN
1
When I was younger, maybe five or six, i like the repetition and layering of this lane in later stanzas
everyone teased me, called me gay. stronger images than tease and call?
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis good lines
as if it were just another finger. how can you connect the imagery of finger the 'playing' of the above line? fiddling? how do you play with fingers and how can this connect to the penis?
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I
had to get mad. again, good capturing the reactive ignorance of a child
2
When I was younger, maybe seven or eight,
my favorite past time was kissing boys,
girls, anyone I could get my hands on,
even the dirty unknown that lied motionless *lay is this a homeless person? i'm a bit confused here a pedophile? a passed out drunk?
outside our school. My second favorite
was biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed. feisty little fellow
3
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
my peers stopped with the teasing.
They almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they made for me i'm not sure you've establish a clear hell above. just teasing
and the scars I left them.
Every night, to both celebrate my victory what victory?
and atone,
I would give myself a wedgie
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would rub my thirteenth digit to and fro wouldn't it be the 21st?
on the tearing cloth
while staring straight in the eye my reflection
on the window. reminds me short ginsberg poem where he masterbates in the mirror, kissing himself jarring image. it's hilarious too
4
When I was younger, maybe eleven or twelve,
I found God in his most popular form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa: maybe i'm missing some allusions but god is love comes late in the old testament, then 20th century jesus, than a greek reference, than a roman girl. what am i missing here?
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl
I saw lying all Roman on the wooden seat
by the fireplace. The dream the narrative of suppressed homosexuality is lost to me here; now it's a dream?
ended like this: as the rising sun
cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face,
she roasted like a suckling pig. do suckling pigs roast?
And from then on, I'd be obsessed. with what?
5
When I was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen,
my grandmother died. Her last words:
"I smell bacon". And from then on,
I'd be obsessed. repeating these lines but i'm still not sure what you mean; i see a connection to pigs which is interesting, but to being gay?
6
When I was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen,
I figured it was time to come
out of the closet
and into the evening room. I like the metaphor but 'evening' is throwing me off
"What am I afraid of?" I thought. "Have I not
already stared death straight in the eye?"
But then I found God's true image, image or covenant?
Justice, carved into the ridges and furrows
of my prepuce, and I knew
that to lie to myself was to admit defeat. the last line is weak to my reading. how does examining what i infer to be a circumcised penis discourage you from coming out? is it an allusion to the sexual control god exerts over jew males by demanding the foreskin? is it that society does a kind of double circumcision of homosexuals? if so, bring this out more.
again, i like what the poems after overall. just make sure every line and section is playing with the theme of the coming out dilemma as a start for revising.
(07-20-2016, 01:01 AM)RiverNotch Wrote: as if it were just another finger. how can you connect the imagery of finger the 'playing' of the above line? fiddling? how do you play with fingers and how can this connect to the penis? I mean, don't you play with your fingers sometimes?
even the dirty unknown that lied motionless *lay is this a homeless person? i'm a bit confused here a pedophile? a passed out drunk? I didn't and still don't think it matters.
the hell they made for me i'm not sure you've establish a clear hell above. just teasing perhaps, although I think the poem's clear that the speaker is exaggerating somewhat, with the jumping to and fro of the earlier language (ie, the tease and call you called out on the first stanza, the mock of the second, now the tease here responded to with hell) and his violent reactions in general
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa: maybe i'm missing some allusions but god is love comes late in the old testament, then 20th century jesus, than a greek reference, than a roman girl. what am i missing here? God is Love I think was first properly mentioned in the new testament, 1 John -- The Sallman Head and the Image of Edessa are both icons of Christ, the earlier new and kinda wimpy, the latter old and kinda stiff (or at least the version I really like, the 12th century Novgorodian piece) -- and the girl reclining like a Roman (or being a Roman, I think the ambiguity works) is what the speaker supposedly falls in love with, thus becomes if not the actual image of God then the surface upon which the image is drawn, a la the window/reflection thing of the earlier stanza
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl
I saw lying all Roman on the wooden seat
...
And from then on, I'd be obsessed. with what? starting here perhaps is the revision. i might keep this line, though; rather like the ambiguity.
Still working on them last two stanzas, still thinking of a new title; don't really want "straightening a man", since it sort of hides the connection to "straight in the eye". For now, I've posted the edited first four, plus the original last two. Massive thanks!
I don't think I'll be straying much from the sections 5 and 6 of this new draft, at least in terms of themes and scene selection. Thus, out of the beta, and into version 1!
I'm not sure what the hesitation is with commenting on this one, but I'll give it another go, so it's not a lonely post. ><
[quote='RiverNotch' pid='213775' dateline='1468944119']
A STRAIGHT MAN, version 1
1
When I was younger, maybe five or six,
everyone teased me, called me gay.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I it would change the meaning of the line, but if you changed word order, you'd have iamb: "I knew that only I" you might not want to change the meaning though
was insulted, that I I like how these lines end with 'that I' as if you are talking about that pesky I!
had to get mad. 'insulted' and 'mad' are abstract
2
When I was younger, maybe seven or eight,
my favorite past time was kissing boys,
girls, anyone I could get my lips on, good revision for lips
even the dirty unknown that lay motionless
outside our school. My second favorite
was biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed. good images
3
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
my peers stopped with the teasing. drop 'with'?
They almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they made for me
and the scars I left them.
Every night, I would give myself a wedgie the arrangement of these sections in the stanza is jarring. is one the consequence of the other?
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would rub my extra digit to and fro
on the tearing cloth
while staring straight in the eye my reflection 'of my reflection'?
on the window.
4
When I was younger, maybe eleven or twelve,
I found God in his most popular form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl
lying all Roman on the wooden seat
by the fireplace -- to the virgin that roasted
as the rising sun cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face.
And the masculine word tore through me
like a priest's knife, good play on priest scandals and the abuses of heteronormativity
no, like a medium's razor.
5
When I was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen,
God revealed the rainbow. First, good word play
from a boy who in my presence
always went like mad
came my first kiss, given wet with eros,
received dry with philautia. I pushed him away,
no, punched him to the ground. Second, good contrast of images
my ailing mother died, her last words:
"My bedroom smells of bacon."
I did not kiss her as she lay
all bald, all dark, all swollen.
6
Only in my evening room did I weep
when I was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen,
figuring: "Surely now I should run out the closet!"
But then God's true image,
Justice, shot out of the sky good contrast with the love image, but is hiding sexuality justice? maybe to some definitions. might choose a different word? or work on the incredulity of some forms of justice a bit more?
and onto my prepuce, so that I knew
my pierced eyes already were fate,
my peers' lies already looked straight. I like the couplet ending
definitely a strong revision and a good read; i know you explained the christ to roman connection, but that stanza is still pretty obscure to me. thanks or revising!
(07-20-2016, 01:01 AM)RiverNotch Wrote: A STRAIGHT MAN, version 1
1
When I was younger, maybe five or six, -- I like the conversational tone. Pulls me in like a trusted confidant.
everyone teased me, called me gay. -- I hate how this could ever be an insult.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I
had to get mad.
2
When I was younger, maybe seven or eight, -- I like the time repetition and how that builds continuity throughout.
my favorite past time was kissing boys,
girls, anyone I could get my lips on,
even the dirty unknown that lay motionless --
outside our school. My second favorite
was biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed.
3
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
my peers stopped with the teasing. -- I'd lose "with." It doesn't add anything and is, perhaps, a bit too casual.
They almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they made for me -- I think you could use a stronger word than "made." Feels weak.
and the scars I left them.
Every night, I would give myself a wedgie -- this makes me feel that you're connecting the teasing with the wedgie.
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would rub my extra digit to and fro -- "to and fro" feels a little cliche. I don't even think you need it.
on the tearing cloth
while staring straight in the eye my reflection
on the window. -- this ending is very memorable. Makes me cringe.
4
When I was younger, maybe eleven or twelve,
I found God in his most popular form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl -- I want to get this reference, but I don't and I don't feel like I've been given a handle to figure it out. Cultural image?
lying all Roman on the wooden seat
by the fireplace -- to the virgin that roasted
as the rising sun cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face. -- shut feels bland
And the masculine word tore through me -- are you referring to the Bible when you say "word"? If so, I'd capitalize it to make the reference clearer.
like a priest's knife,
no, like a medium's razor. -- feels connected to the ending of the previous segment. Jarring. Evocative.
5
When I was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen,
God revealed the rainbow. First,
from a boy who in my presence
always went like mad -- I'm not clear on what "went like mad" means, but it might be a colloquialism I'm not familiar with.
came my first kiss, given wet with eros,
received dry with philautia. I pushed him away, -- when I looked up philautia (which is a great word, btw), it was that it was outdated and archaic. However, it is absolutely perfect here, so I'd risk the obscurity, especially since the modern tone of the poem will keep this from overtaking everything and will, perhaps, modernize it a bit.
no, punched him to the ground. Second,
my ailing mother died, her last words:
"My bedroom smells of bacon." -- I think you need the suckling pig reference back in for this to tie in.
I did not kiss her as she lay
all bald, all dark, all swollen.
6
Only in my evening room did I weep
when I was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen,
figuring: "Surely now I should run out the closet!" -- I like run instead of come. Avoids cliche and give more energy.
But then God's true image,
Justice, shot out of the sky
and onto my prepuce, so that I knew
my pierced eyes already were fate, -- I'm not understanding the significance of pierced eyes, unless this is a phallic reference.
my peers' lies already looked straight.
version 0.667:
1
When I was younger, maybe five or six,
everyone teased me, called me gay.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I
had to get mad.
2
When I was younger, maybe seven or eight,
my favorite past time was kissing boys,
girls, anyone I could get my lips on,
even the dirty unknown that lay motionless
outside our school. My second favorite
was biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed.
3
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
my peers stopped with the teasing.
They almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they made for me
and the scars I left them.
Every night, I would give myself a wedgie
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would rub my extra digit to and fro
on the tearing cloth
while staring straight in the eye my reflection
on the window.
4
When I was younger, maybe eleven or twelve,
I found God in his most populat form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl
lying all Roman on the wooden seat
by the fireplace -- to the virgin that roasted
as the rising sun cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face.
And from then on, I'd be obsessed.
5
When I was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen,
my grandmother died. Her last words:
"I smell bacon". And from then on,
I'd be obsessed.
6
When I was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen,
I figured it was time to come
out of the closet
and into the evening room.
"What am I afraid of?" I thought. "Have I not
already stared death straight in the eye?"
But then I found God's true image,
Justice, carved into the ridges and furrows
of my prepuce, and I knew
that to lie to myself was to admit defeat.
Version 0:
1
When I was younger, maybe five or six,
everyone teased me, called me gay.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I
had to get mad.
2
When I was younger, maybe seven or eight,
my favorite past time was kissing boys,
girls, anyone I could get my hands on,
even the dirty unknown that lied motionless
outside our school. My second favorite
was biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed.
3
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
my peers stopped with the teasing.
They almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they made for me
and the scars I left them.
Every night, to both celebrate my victory
and atone,
I would give myself a wedgie
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would rub my thirteenth digit to and fro
on the tearing cloth
while staring straight in the eye my reflection
on the window.
4
When I was younger, maybe eleven or twelve,
I found God in his most popular form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl
I saw lying all Roman on the wooden seat
by the fireplace. The dream
ended like this: as the rising sun
cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face,
she roasted like a suckling pig.
And from then on, I'd be obsessed.
5
When I was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen,
my grandmother died. Her last words:
"I smell bacon". And from then on,
I'd be obsessed.
6
When I was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen,
I figured it was time to come
out of the closet
and into the evening room.
"What am I afraid of?" I thought. "Have I not
already stared death straight in the eye?"
But then I found God's true image,
Justice, carved into the ridges and furrows
of my prepuce, and I knew
that to lie to myself was to admit defeat.
I feel like there was a lot in here that I didn't get, so please bear with my ignorance. Just calling things as I see them, or don't. I am wanting another bit at the end that includes some self acceptance and moving past the lies. And, sorry to be contrary, I liked the original title.
1
I'd like to think that the kids who insulted the speaker didn't know what it meant, too -- they just heard especially callous older folks use it as an insult, and decided, in their viciousness, to play with it. Just a wee note, liz.
I think it would change the meaning too match, kole. But it seems a consistent demand that I should use stronger words, so I'll pore over a thesaurus.
3
I'll drop with, kole, liz. I think I took the tone too far, there.
liz: dug?
The earlier edition sort of tried to make that clearer with an additional clause, but the clause failed, so I just removed it -- maybe I need to return a modified version? The wedgie is supposed to be a weird mixture of atonement (and not just the sort of atonement certain abused people feel like they should do -- I think the character of the teasing is inconsistent enough to make the fault of the peers unclear, while the speaker literally pulled their hair and bit their arms) and genital play.
perhaps "staring my reflection on the window / straight in the eye", kole?
4
Yeah liz, your piece sort of influenced that, although I really did mean to put the meaning of the stanza in.
Although the whole stanza may need a bit of redoing. As noted in an earlier stanza, "God is Love", with the Sallman Head and the Image of Edessa being representations of him, yet the character finds the most compelling sort of love in that "little red haired girl", either, I now realize, by falling in love with her, or by subtly echoing Botticelli. Hmm -- perhaps pursuing the Botticelli angle would be a good corrective measure? Making it so that instead of lying on a couch, she was bursting out of a shell -- the couch detail was there only because of a personal experience.
Shut kinda does, but it also plays with the next s sound, so I dunno.
I didn't really consider the Son of God there, but that could be a valid, if in my reading slight, consideration. When I wrote that, I was sort of thinking of James Joyce, and how he thought "Yes" was a very feminine word -- a thought that sort of comes to play later. I could emphasize the point a bit more by adding more "no"s, though. What do you think?
And as for your point, kole, I also wasn't considering all them church scandals (I was thinking more of the old temple than the new), but a very interesting point!
5
So, with "went like mad" comes the James Joyce -- "....yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes." A bit, perhaps, on open sexuality being once more torn down. But a correction, I guess, would be to make it: "from a boy whose heart in my presence / always went like mad". I'll return "suckling pig". 6
I think the fact that the speaker considers muddying his sexuality "Justice" makes the point a little more confusing, but in a compelling manner. It implies many things, I think, some ~negative~ (repression), some ~positive~ (following the Law), and some truly positive, at least from stranger angles (accepting who he really is regardless of sexuality, following God's Law regardless of sexuality, even rejecting the sexuality question altogether -- I think, bar the fifth stanza, although I do think not all homophobes are closet homosexuals, just as not all anti-semites are closet Jews, or not all white supremacists are closet black, I didn't actually reveal the speaker's sexuality), so that the poem could effectively inhabit different meanings to different readers. But perhaps, to your read, it wasn't at all effective -- care to share in more detail, kole?
Well, besides being a phallic reference (I think I wanted to go with a whole school dance angle here, so that there'd be a lot of talk veiled with pins and boutonnieres, but then I realized that would bloat the piece), "piercing the veil", "piercing eyes", blindness, and the return of the "I"s in the first stanza and "straight in the eye" in the third.
Again, so many thanks! Really helpful stuff -- hopefully, the next edition would come tonight.
(07-30-2016, 02:02 PM)RiverNotch Wrote: Many thanks!
1
I'd like to think that the kids who insulted the speaker didn't know what it meant, too -- they just heard especially callous older folks use it as an insult, and decided, in their viciousness, to play with it. Just a wee note, liz. -- I'm sure that you're correct, kids mimic what they see others doing. I was just saying that I hate that our culture has turned something like this into an insult. That's all. Not attacking the kids, but society.
I think it would change the meaning too match, kole. But it seems a consistent demand that I should use stronger words, so I'll pore over a thesaurus.
3
I'll drop with, kole, liz. I think I took the tone too far, there.
liz: dug? -- Instead of made? Yeah, that would be better.
The earlier edition sort of tried to make that clearer with an additional clause, but the clause failed, so I just removed it -- maybe I need to return a modified version? The wedgie is supposed to be a weird mixture of atonement (and not just the sort of atonement certain abused people feel like they should do -- I think the character of the teasing is inconsistent enough to make the fault of the peers unclear (Mmmmm, I dunno. Just sounded like the speaker was standing up to them, but I can see how the guilt would creep in. Although, it's unclear where the guilt is coming from -- from the retaliation against the teasing or from the content of the teasing.), while the speaker literally pulled their hair and bit their arms) and genital play.
perhaps "staring my reflection on the window / straight in the eye", kole?
4
Yeah liz, your piece sort of influenced that, although I really did mean to put the meaning of the stanza in. I smiled inside at this
Although the whole stanza may need a bit of redoing. As noted in an earlier stanza, "God is Love", with the Sallman Head and the Image of Edessa being representations of him, yet the character finds the most compelling sort of love in that "little red haired girl", either, I now realize, by falling in love with her, or by subtly echoing Botticelli. Hmm -- perhaps pursuing the Botticelli angle would be a good corrective measure? Making it so that instead of lying on a couch, she was bursting out of a shell -- the couch detail was there only because of a personal experience. I think all you need to do is provide something concrete like maybe a certain Botticelli painting.
Shut kinda does, but it also plays with the next s sound, so I dunno.
I didn't really consider the Son of God there, but that could be a valid, if in my reading slight, consideration. When I wrote that, I was sort of thinking of James Joyce, and how he thought "Yes" was a very feminine word -- a thought that sort of comes to play later. I could emphasize the point a bit more by adding more "no"s, though. What do you think? Well, it sounds a little patriarchal, if I'm being totally honest. I have no idea what kind of context he was speaking of this is, but women are often told to say yes to men, to sexual advances, to meeting others' needs first, etc. It makes me think that he viewed male/female relationships as dominant/submissive, respectively. There are certainly a fair share of beautiful relationships where the male is more dominant but an equal number where the female is in more of a leadership role. As for 'no' being male, anecdotally, I use the word no a lot in my life -- probably because I have kids But, this does run the serious risk of reinforcing the idea of unhealthy gender roles and how it's a woman's job to say 'yes' and not 'no' to men.
And as for your point, kole, I also wasn't considering all them church scandals (I was thinking more of the old temple than the new), but a very interesting point!
5
So, with "went like mad" comes the James Joyce -- "....yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes." A bit, perhaps, on open sexuality being once more torn down. But a correction, I guess, would be to make it: "from a boy whose heart in my presence / always went like mad". Yeah, I like that phrasing. And, no I didn't get the Joyce reference (again), but I'm sure that it's obvious by now that your cultural literacy does exceed my own. I'll return "suckling pig". 6
I think the fact that the speaker considers muddying his sexuality "Justice" makes the point a little more confusing, but in a compelling manner. It implies many things, I think, some ~negative~ (repression), some ~positive~ (following the Law), and some truly positive, at least from stranger angles (accepting who he really is regardless of sexuality, following God's Law regardless of sexuality, even rejecting the sexuality question altogether -- I think, bar the fifth stanza, although I do think not all homophobes are closet homosexuals, just as not all anti-semites are closet Jews, or not all white supremacists are closet black, I didn't actually reveal the speaker's sexuality), so that the poem could effectively inhabit different meanings to different readers. But perhaps, to your read, it wasn't at all effective -- care to share in more detail, kole?
Well, besides being a phallic reference (I think I wanted to go with a whole school dance angle here, so that there'd be a lot of talk veiled with pins and boutonnieres, but then I realized that would bloat the piece), "piercing the veil", "piercing eyes", blindness, and the return of the "I"s in the first stanza and "straight in the eye" in the third. Yeah, I didn't make the connection with "straight in the eye" -- I see it now. Straight in the eye, is a great line, btw.
Again, so many thanks! Really helpful stuff -- hopefully, the next edition would come tonight.
V 1.1 posted. Changes to v 1.1 generally followed the responses above, with a few deviations:
3.1 Only one word was changed following the thesaurus note -- aside from removing "with", "teasing" was changed to "abuse". I decided to stick with a proper progression.
3.2 Removed "tearing", to make the line a little more, er, what's the term, parallel-like?
4.1 Changed "medium" to "madman". When I wrote that bit, I was sort of remembering that Tarkovsky poem I posted in the favorites, so I hope the change makes the reference clearer. And the reference is a little related -- "Behind us our fate was groping, / Like an insane man with a razor in his hand."
I also would have capitalized the "no"s following "masculine word", but ultimately I felt that would have been too in-your-face. Or maybe not? And I'm a bit on the fence with the revision for "while staring straight in the eye", and the addition of "to both celebrate and atone", but I added them in anyway to see what it'd all look like.
@lizziep:
Yep.
That guilt is a little unclear. Not sure if I should pursue clarifying that, though.
It does run the risk, but that risk plays well into the poem's point anyway, I think.
Nah, I'm sure it's all just in pieces, this literacy.
(07-20-2016, 01:01 AM)RiverNotch Wrote: A STRAIGHT MAN, version 1.1
1
When I was younger, maybe five or six,
everyone teased me, called me gay.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I I don't particularly like these two "that I" line breaks, but it's no big deal.
had to get mad.
2
When I was younger, maybe seven or eight, These younger repetitions made me think "seven or 8 isn't younger than five or six" "nine or ten isn't younger than seven or eight". You might want to change to "When I was young", or something else.
my favorite past time was kissing boys,
girls, anyone I could get my lips on,
even the dirty unknown that lay motionless
outside our school. My second favorite I'm not sure what you mean by the dirt unknown that lay motionless. You could try to clarify.
was biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed.
3
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
my peers stopped the abuse.
They almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they dug for me I like this line.
and the scars I left them.
Every night, to both celebrate
and atone,
I would give myself a wedgie
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would rub my extra digit on the cloth "would rub" is a little awkward.
while staring my reflection on the window
straight in the eye.
4
When I was younger, maybe eleven or twelve,
I found God in his most popular form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl,
Botticelli's vision,
that lied all Roman on the wooden seat
by the fireplace -- to the virgin that roasted
like a Christmas pig
as the rising sun cast its burning rays You could cut "its" if you wanted.
on my shut eyes and smiling face.
And the masculine word tore through me
like a priest's knife,
no, like a madman's razor.
5
When I was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen,
God revealed the rainbow. First,
from a boy whose heart in my presence
always went like mad how do you know that his heart went mad in your presence? I suppose he told (or showed) you when he kissed you, but on first read it is strange. It is also in a strange order, more conventionally: "First, from a boy whose heart always went like mad in my presence".
came my first kiss, given wet with eros,
received dry with philautia. I pushed him away,
no, punched him to the ground. Second,
my ailing mother died, her last words:
"My bedroom smells of bacon."
I did not kiss her as she lay
all bald, all dark, all swollen.
6
Only in my evening room did I weep
when I was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen,
figuring: "Surely now I should run out the closet!"
But then God's true image,
Justice, shot out of the sky is justice an image? I'm unfamiliar with most of the Bible etc, so this may be something I'm missing.
and onto my prepuce, so that I knew
my pierced eyes already were fate,
my peers' lies already looked straight.
Thanks for the feedback, Wjames! Sorry if it took more than a fortnight -- start of sem.
2
Agree with the "younger" -- the unstressed syllable is definitely unnecessary.
I'm not sure how -- with the talk of genders right before, I sort of assume that it easily refers to some homeless, possibly knock-out drunk person whose gender is unknown.
3
stroke? ooh, and that would make those last three lines alliterative....
5
It could be the kiss, it could be body language, it could be spells of gossip -- or, since the poem always starts with "When I was young", it could just be the benefit of hindsight. Which is a bit of defense on "When I was younger", although not a very good one -- each section is sort of told at a different time. And on that second note, good point, though I'm not sure how I'll divide that into lines. I wanna end one line with "mad" since it establishes a connection to the first stanza, but "in my presence", necessary to clarify what "like mad" is supposed to mean, is, I think, too short to be its own line, just as "from a boy whose heart always went like mad" is too long. I'll experiment.
6
Could be, could be not? I honestly don't know, although God seems to have a bunch of other images that are equally abstract (like, say, Love) -- plus, it ties to the whole "image, eye, reflection, form" theme I'm going for.
Again, thanks! I think I'm getting much closer to the end, now.
There's a number of lovely lines in the poem, reproduced below. It's the stuff in between that doesn't appeal to me. Examples: i) the refrain 'when I was...' what's wrong with just 'three or four / five or six' or just 'three:' / 'four:' etc.? ii) confusing detail...what's a little girl lying all Roman got to do with your being gay? iii) 'my bedroom smells of bacon' - it's been days and I don't get the connection.
Sorry, I can't give you anything more detailed at this stage - a bit crunched for time.
Lines I liked shown below:
(1)
...playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
(2)
...the little red-haired girl,
Botticelli's vision,
that lied all Roman on the wooden seat (what's "lied", though?)
(3)
And the masculine word tore through me
like a priest's knife,
(4)
God revealed the rainbow.
(5)
...from a boy whose heart in my presence
always went like mad
came my first kiss, given wet with eros,
received dry with philautia.
Thanks for the feedback, Achebe!
i) I'm starting to reconsider the first line refrain. With the shift in the last stanza and with the aura of discrete recollections the piece is supposed to have, it feels important, but then again maybe not. I'll have to keep experimenting. ii) I think the rest of the stanza informs the full meaning of that image: somehow, the woman, either as his mother or his lover, represents love, a love that, in later lines, he sacrifices. iii) Which leads to the whole "bedroom smells of bacon" thing: besides being a slight reference to the cause of death, it also shows how said sacrifice fully came to be.
The goal of the poem isn't actually to show a coming out story -- as I mentioned earlier, it's supposed to be somewhat ambiguous when it comes to that aspect of the speaker. I suppose it's more involved with the speaker simply coming to terms with his sexuality with regards to how it's treated or perceived, whatever said sexuality should be.
Again, thanks!
Hey River! I think that with this last revision you're almost there. I have a couple more tiny things that I saw, but, overall, I think it's very well done and a compelling narrative. I have always felt very drawn into the speaker's world -- it's honest and intense.
(07-20-2016, 01:01 AM)RiverNotch Wrote: 4
When I was younger, maybe eleven or twelve,
I found God in his most popular form, -- I'd consider ending this line with 'Love.' I feel like it's gotten tucked away too much at the beginning of the next line, and it's rather easy to miss, actually. My eye keeps going right down to Sallman Head. But, maybe that's just me
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl,
Botticelli's vision,
that lied all Roman on the wooden seat -- did you mean 'lay' instead of 'lied'? Putting in Botticelli here really cleared up my previous confusion with the scene.
by the fireplace -- to the virgin that roasted
like a Christmas pig
as the rising sun cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face.
And the masculine word tore through me
like a priest's knife,
no, like a madman's razor. -- I understand what you mean with the masculine word now, and so I think you should make it stand out a little bit more. I would write it as "like a priest's knife -- no -- like a madman's razor." As it is here, I always thought that the 'no' was like the speaker saying it wasn't a priest's knife if was a madman's razor. Or, you could put it in quotes to combat that confusion, "like a priest's knife, "NO," like a madman's razor." And then I would use the same formatting down below with the 'no' to bring that bit some clarity and oomph.
5
When I was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen,
God revealed the rainbow. First,
from a boy whose heart in my presence
always went like mad
came my first kiss, given wet with eros,
received dry with philautia. I pushed him away,
no, punched him to the ground. Second, -- here is where I would do the same thing, "I pushed him away, "NO," punched him to the ground. Basically I would just make those stand out more as declarations, that's all.
my ailing mother died, her last words:
"My bedroom smells of bacon."
I did not kiss her as she lay
all bald, all dark, all swollen.
6
Only in my evening room did I weep
when I was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen,
figuring: "Surely now I should run out the closet!"
But then God's true image,
Justice, shot out of the sky -- I'd like some kind of image here for Justice coming out of the sky.
and onto my prepuce, so that I knew
my pierced eyes already were fate,
my peers' lies already looked straight. -- I really like the ending rhyme and the content. It provides a satisfying close.
Wow as a gay man who remembers these awkward years of torment, this resonated with me.
I loved how you traversed the progression of years, how insults were hurtful but did not make sense.
What I got from this is that you often crashed into people, the relationships were surface level. It seems you spent a lot of time hiding your true self, being on the defense and even being angry with one self. I loved the first kiss, how it was not perfect like most of ours never were.
I could sense the struggle in this, this truly bled.
When you speak of grand things like GOD and JUSTICE, i would appreciate more direct imagery. Ways to describe those things without saying those things.
I've removed the refrain! It's a bit of an experiment, though, since the repetitious nature of the earlier is still kinda stuck in my head, so I can't guarantee if it'll stick.
I've switched up some lines in stanza 2! but only for the sake of the removed refrain.
I've switched from "rub" to "stroke"! @Wjames
I've emphasized the masculine word! @lizziep
Another big change: I've rearranged the last two stanzas! Made it so that the connection between the grandmother's death and the whole love thing is made clearer, and the whole first kiss thing draws directly into the conclusion. That last stanza is definitely another experiment, especially with that switch from sweet sorrow to fast madness. Still feels kinda unsatisfying, though. But many thanks to y'all!
The Birth of a Straight Man, v 2.1. Super close to the final edit. Basically, changed the title (it also doubles down on that Botticelli reference!), removed the numbers, tightened some structures. My biggest -- so big, I'd perhaps consider it only -- qualm right now is your perception of the last stanza, whose meaning I somewhat changed. I feel like I'm communicating my point better now ----- but then, I'm not sure if my current point is as sensitive to communicate as the earlier one.
< 
But, this does run the serious risk of reinforcing the idea of unhealthy gender roles and how it's a woman's job to say 'yes' and not 'no' to men. 
