"To the last, I grapple with thee; from hell's heart, I stab at thee; for hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee." - Herman Melville, Moby Dick

my nana thinks I'm too hateful.
over lunch at the baker's a fortnight ago,
as she sipped her coffee
and I my orange cola,
conversation turned to the British underclass.

(outside on the street and between the tables
life continued. An endless revue of prams
and wheelchairs, petty arguments, true love.)

rising from the chintz bedspread
of my feminine restraint, I unleashed hell,
hushed and bitter, demons with fingers
on their lips poking pitchforks through windows.

in the world of my words the neighbour woman,
who I hear of a morning swearing at her kids,
beating up her new boyfriend
or else being beaten by him, is shackled in a carriage
on a ride through the gates of Dachau.

we finished our drinks
then walked the high street,
I trying to salvage some humanity.

trapped inside the braziers of my foundling hate,
I saw her face through blackened grates,
rippling like stoned puddles.

***

EDIT: Last verse changed after comments below were posted. Originial:

I think she realised though
that this was all just passive rage, like car thieves
cursing their jailers, a tenant sticking pins into
a voodoo doll of his landlord.

I enjoyed this one jack... the way you've given self-awareness, context and atmosphere to what could easily have been written as a rant poem made for a really interesting read. There were a few points that imo needed to be hammered out a little, but this is quite good and I love its idea

(07-04-2011, 05:30 AM)Heslopian Wrote:  "To the last, I grapple with thee; from hell's heart, I stab at thee; for hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee." - Herman Melville, Moby Dick

my nana thinks I'm too hateful.
over lunch at the baker's a fortnight ago,
as she sipped her coffee
and I my orange cola, I love these two lines. It's so subtle but speaks so much about the personalities and the relationship
conversation turned to the British underclass.

(outside on the street and between the tables
life continued. An endless revue of prams
and wheelchairs, petty arguments, true love.) I'm conflicted... I really do love this bit by itself, but perhaps it's too much of an aside, especially the last line. From an objective POV, it delays the poem from getting to the heart of its content which ought to snag the reader early on.

rising from the chintz bedspread
of my feminine restraint, I unleashed hell,
hushed and bitter, demons with fingers
on their lips poking pitchforks through windows. I do like the vibe from "demons...", but maybe you mixed images a little too much, I had trouble picturing it and was momentarily confused

in the world of my words the neighbour woman,
who I hear of a morning swearing at her kids,
beating up her new boyfriend
or else being beaten by him, is shackled in a carriage
on a ride through the gates of Dachau.

we finished our drinks
then walked the high street,
I trying to salvage some humanity. I really do like the contrast between the civility of the scenario and the brewing discontent that fuels the emotional landscape

I think she realised though
that this was all just passive rage, like car thieves
cursing their jailers, a tenant sticking pins into
a voodoo doll of his landlord. The last analogy is sound, but it seems a rather tepid way to end your poem, not quite cliche but something that can be expounded on or pushed further. Just imo.

""To the last, I grapple with thee; from hell's heart, I stab at thee; for hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee." - Herman Melville, Moby Dick

my nana thinks I'm too hateful.
over lunch at the baker's a fortnight ago,
as she sipped her coffee
and I my orange cola,
conversation turned to the British underclass." I enjoyed the easy stream of consciousness here. The Melville quote mixed with your hateful nana made sense in my own backlog of experiences.

"(outside on the street and between the tables
life continued. An endless revue of prams
and wheelchairs, petty arguments, true love.)" This strophe caught me off guard. I read back through, but it feels erroneous.


"is shackled in a carriage
on a ride through the gates of Dachau." This is quite an image of torment. I had to stop here, go back, and read again. Same effect. It lead me on an introspective path, meandering a bit, wondering about the ease with which gypsies, Jews, and homosexuals were herded into Dachau and whether or not being a bitch wold necessitate such cruelty.

Overall I enjoyed the experience your words afforded me as a bystander.

Thank you both for your great feedback The object of the lines in brackets was to set the scene and put my nana and I in context. I'll have a think about how I can improve that and the ending later.

will do a crit of of it later or tomorrow jack

(07-04-2011, 05:30 AM)Heslopian Wrote:  "To the last, I grapple with thee; from hell's heart, I stab at thee; for hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee." - Herman Melville, Moby Dick
i remember the quote well, for me it seems the underclass is the poets white whale?

my nana thinks I'm too hateful. my feels redundant,
over lunch at the baker's a fortnight ago,
as she sipped her coffee
and I my orange cola,
conversation turned to the British underclass.

(outside on the street and between the tables
life continued. An endless revue of prams
and wheelchairs, petty arguments, true love.) are parenthesis needed?

rising from the chintz bedspread
of my feminine restraint, I unleashed hell,
hushed and bitter, demons with fingers
on their lips poking pitchforks through windows. this is my fave verse, i love the image you created here.

in the world of my words the neighbour woman,
who I hear of a morning swearing at her kids,
beating up her new boyfriend
or else being beaten by him, is shackled in a carriage
on a ride through the gates of Dachau.

we finished our drinks
then walked the high street,
I trying to salvage some humanity.

trapped inside the braziers of my foundling hate,
I saw her face through blackened grates,
rippling like stoned puddles.

***

EDIT: Last verse changed after comments below were posted. Originial:

I think she realised though
that this was all just passive rage, like car thieves
cursing their jailers, a tenant sticking pins into
a voodoo doll of his landlord.

as usual your narrative carries some good imagery within it. i enjoy the glimpse of what/who we are, you bring to your poetry.
personally i liked the last verse (of the original poem) but that's just me.
the two images in it feel real.

just the odd nit pick on a poem i enjoyed.
thanks for the read jack. wish i could have been more helpfull.

You were very helpful I think I may delete the brackets from the second verse.
We've talked about my use of the word "my" before a relation or friend in the past; to me not having it sounds too upper class, like saying "mummy" and "daddy" (or "nana" ).
Do you think the poem could work with both those last stanzas?
Thanks for your feedback and kind words And yes, the underclass are the white whale.

i think they could, if it were me i'd make the original last verse the penultimate and put it in italics jmo though

(07-05-2011, 10:43 AM)Heslopian Wrote:  And yes, the underclass are the white whale.

I blame McDonalds for that

To be perfectly frank, the class definitions are well out of my experience and I find it very difficult to comment on the subject matter. I'm fairly sure I've never wished Dachau on anyone, passively or otherwise, but it's a powerful image. That's some nasty schadenfreude...

I'm with Billy on the "my nana" thing. Just "nana" seems a little more innocent, and gives more of a contrast against the hate thing. Otherwise, it's pretty close to done I'd say.

I wouldn't really wish Dachau on her! Maybe just a savage beating... But seriously I swear I'm not a monster Leanne Is "scahdenfreude" a German term for laughing at the less fortunate? Thanks for the feedback

Google would explain it better than I :p