Attuned

[Mark A Becker]

Attuned 

Coming up 
the escalator of
Metro this afternoon
I can hear the wail & moan
of a sullen saxophone within
its gears, and almost know the tune.
 

[Cousin Kil]

Mark,

Believe it or not, I think I know exactly the saxophone you're talking about. I came up out of Capital South with a friend of mine some months ago and the guy was there playing at the entrance. It was actually kind of a resonating experience in the moment, being at the bottom of the escalator and coming up into the light, all the while hearing this lonely horn. Just posted a poem too which is set in that same day, though I didn't include the saxophone at the end. Obviously, there's more than one sax player in DC, but it's a small world to see this up here.

Regarding the poem, I quite like it. This is mostly because it makes me think of that moment, coming up into the light and feeling really compelled to tip the guy. Your poem stands well on it own, and I can't say much against it. What I would say though is try to make us readers want to tip him too.

I can't say we had the same experience here, but what I'm kinda starved for in this poem is more emotion. The feeling you're going for is more nostalgia than anything else, but I don't feel connected to it past my experience. Since you're feeling nostalgic, take us there, make us feel like we almost know that tune too. That would take this from being a small, pleasing, well arranged, but kind of forgettable poem to something that puts us there and stays with us. It takes ME there, but I've been there before.

Otherwise, I really appreciate the read and hope I didn't go too hard for Misc.
This is a good poem, and honestly fine as is. I just find myself wanting to squeeze a lot more out of it.

Hope this makes sense/was at least a little helpful.

Best,
Cousin

[Mark A Becker]

Hello Cousin-

First off, do not ever worry about "going too hard" on me.  I've  been retired over a year now and I'm old enough to handle it.      

I used to get off at the Federal Center SW station for many years, and it is one stop more to the Cap South station.  Most stations, at one time or another had a musician at the top, and I almost always tipped.  Sometimes I even joined in (over 40 years a harmonica player, AKA Mississippi saxaophonist).

That said, there is no one to tip in this particular piece, because the saxophone I'm referring to is the escalator itself.  More than once, I've thought there was a player, but the sax on the escalator was literally "within its gears".  Next time you're in DC, on the Metro, listen for that ghost sax player.  If you can't resist the urge to tip, just throw a dime over your shoulder...

Seriously cool how our poems are within a DC Metro stop of each other.  I went over to read your poem "Sitting Shiva", and sure enough, it's placed at Cap South.

The sparseness of my poem is (hopefully) intended to give it more of a  "ghostly" feel than a "nostalgic" tone (sorry for the cheap pun).    

Thanks for reading/listening,
... Mark

Mark,

Believe it or not, I think I know exactly the saxophone you're talking about. I came up out of Capital South with a friend of mine some months ago and the guy was there playing at the entrance. It was actually kind of a resonating experience in the moment, being at the bottom of the escalator and coming up into the light, all the while hearing this lonely horn. Just posted a poem too which is set in that same day, though I didn't include the saxophone at the end. Obviously, there's more than one sax player in DC, but it's a small world to see this up here.

Regarding the poem, I quite like it. This is mostly because it makes me think of that moment, coming up into the light and feeling really compelled to tip the guy. Your poem stands well on it own, and I can't say much against it. What I would say though is try to make us readers want to tip him too.

I can't say we had the same experience here, but what I'm kinda starved for in this poem is more emotion. The feeling you're going for is more nostalgia than anything else, but I don't feel connected to it past my experience. Since you're feeling nostalgic, take us there, make us feel like we almost know that tune too. That would take this from being a small, pleasing, well arranged, but kind of forgettable poem to something that puts us there and stays with us. It takes ME there, but I've been there before.

Otherwise, I really appreciate the read and hope I didn't go too hard for Misc.
This is a good poem, and honestly fine as is. I just find myself wanting to squeeze a lot more out of it.

Hope this makes sense/was at least a little helpful.

Best,
Cousin

[Cousin Kil]

Hello Cousin-

First off, do not ever worry about "going too hard" on me.  I've  been retired over a year now and I'm old enough to handle it.      

I used to get off at the Federal Center SW station for many years, and it is one stop more to the Cap South station.  Most stations, at one time or another had a musician at the top, and I almost always tipped.  Sometimes I even joined in (over 40 years a harmonica player, AKA Mississippi saxaophonist).

That said, there is no one to tip in this particular piece, because the saxophone I'm referring to is the escalator itself.  More than once, I've thought there was a player, but the sax on the escalator was literally "within its gears".  Next time you're in DC, on the Metro, listen for that ghost sax player.  If you can't resist the urge to tip, just throw a dime over your shoulder...

Seriously cool how our poems are within a DC Metro stop of each other.  I went over to read your poem "Sitting Shiva", and sure enough, it's placed at Cap South.

The sparseness of my poem is (hopefully) intended to give it more of a  "ghostly" feel than a "nostalgic" tone (sorry for the cheap pun).    

Thanks for reading/listening,
... Mark

Mark,

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, now I get it.

It was probably that Cap South memory which tripped me up in reading your poem, hopefully it doesn't cause confusion with others.
I did truly enjoy this poem though. It makes me happy when work doesn't go to the point of overselling itself and says something small but compelling with so few words.

And this is ghostly, not only in its brevity, but also for me in its "deja-vu" effect. Very cool.

Mississippi saxophonist? Props, I'm a fellow musician (guitar, vocals).

Also, never apologize for puns when I'm involved.

Thanks for the read and I'll be sure to throw that dime,
Cousin

[John]

Attuned 

Coming up 
the escalator of
Metro this afternoon
I can hear the wail & moan
of a sullen saxophone within
its gears, and almost know the tune.
 

Hi, Mark,

This is visually appealing because of line length to represent an escalator (ampersand aside - but you my be thinking of getting rid of it.)

And the interspersed rhyme of noon/tune, moan/phone accords well with what would be humming/buzzing/vibrating/rumbling of gears in the mechanism.

At my level of experience, I can't suggest any improvement, apart from change the first word to Riding.

A enjoyably resonant piece. Thanks for the opportunity to read it.

Cheers.