Monday, January 2, 2017

Magdalena Ball - City Child - 1

I’m going to start with the Memoir section provisionally titled City Child as this is causing me the most difficulty.  Will likely keep editing the same piece all week until I’m happy with it.

Second full revision

Forgot I Was Lost

I rarely went outside my skin
was milk white
blue veined shadowed
beneath the eyes
a city child

sound travelled upward 
into the apartment reading
under cover till morning

dad bought secondhand bikes
for my brother and me
Central Park
monthly access visits

my little brother rode perfectly first go
smooth wheels, easy ride
I fell, again and again
not catching up

when I finally got it I took
off, hair blowing back
zooming ahead

others could catch up with me
for a change

finally I stopped suddenly
alone, falling onto the tarmac
skinning my knee
I wouldn’t cry, I was nearly eight

the ice cream man
like the peddler from Caps for Sale
offered a vanilla cone
as medicine

soothed by creaminess
I sorted the messy cart
flavour and type

my face cooled as I leaned in
handing out popsicles, sundae cups
crunch bars
between customers he told me how he
once also got lost in the park
found his way out
using lamp-post labels

a whole other park at foot level
black and yellow garden spiders
lady beetles, vibrant grasshoppers
a Chinese mantis peering up
like a vexed alien

by the time my dad arrived
with two policemen I had

forgotten I was lost. 


Original:

Lost

I rarely went outside my skin
was milk white
blue veined shadowed
beneath the eyes
a city child

I didn’t sleep much at night
sound travelled upward 
into the apartment I read
under cover till morning
lost in story

Dad bought secondhand bikes
took my brother and me
to Central Park
on bi-weekly access visits

my brother rode perfectly first go
but I was always falling over
trying to catch up

when I finally got it I took
off drunk on freedom
zooming ahead

the others could catch up with me
for a change

finally I stopped
realising I was alone
in a panic, I fell off
skinning my knee
I wouldn’t cry, I was nearly eight

a man who looked like the peddler
from Caps for Sale
was selling ice creams
he saw me fall and
offered a vanilla cone
as medicine

soothed by creaminess
I offered to help him
sorted his messy cart
by flavour and type

my face was cool as I leaned into the cart
handing out popsicles, sundae cups
crunch bars
between customers he told me how he
once also got lost in the park
and found his way out
using lamp-post labels

he showed me a whole other park
black and yellow garden spiders
lady beetles, vibrant grasshoppers
a Chinese mantis peering up
like a vexed alien

by the time my dad came
running towards me
with two policemen I had
forgotten I was lost. 

6 comments:

  1. great ending
    -- in fact that would make a really interesting title

    ...
    but I particularly like

    I rarely went outside my skin


    not sure how intended that double reading was... but I think (as a lover of ambiguity) that would be something interesting to work with

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. This is very helpful, Kit, especially since the bit that is really confounding me about the verse memoir is that I feel it needs more ambiguity - more of the openness that I like in poetry. I think I will take your suggestion for the title and play with enhancing the ambiguity through line breaks as per Béatrice’s suggestion below. Thank you.

      Delete
  2. When reading out loud the poem I felt like changing some line breaks ... I might be completly wrong and too much impregnanted with something "French" in the music I like to hear .... anyway here is my suggestion:


    I rarely went outside my skin
    was milk white
    blue veined shadowed
    beneath the eyes
    a city child

    I didn’t sleep much at night
    sound travelled upward
    into the apartment I read
    till morning torch
    under cover
    lost in story

    Dad bought secondhand bikes
    took my brother and me
    to Central Park for sunshine
    on bi-weekly access visits


    my brother rode perfectly
    first go but I was
    always falling over
    trying to catch up

    when I finally got it I took
    off drunk on freedom
    zooming ahead

    the others could catch up with me
    for a change

    finally I stopped
    realising I was alone
    in a panic, I fell off
    skinning my knee
    I wouldn’t cry, I was nearly eight

    a man who looked like the peddler
    from Caps for Sale
    was selling ice creams
    he saw me fall and
    offered a vanilla cone
    as medicine

    soothed by creaminess
    I offered to help him
    sorted his messy cart
    by flavour and type

    my face was cool as I leaned into the cart
    handing out popsicles, sundae cups
    crunch bars
    between customers he told me how he
    once also got lost in the park
    and found his way out
    using lamp-posts labels

    at foot level then
    he showed me a whole other park
    black and yellow garden spiders
    lady beetles, vibrant grasshoppers
    a Chinese mantis peering up
    like a vexed alien

    by the time my dad came
    running towards me
    with two policemen I had
    forgotten I was lost.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Béatrice, your suggestions are spot on! Thank you so much for this - I think you really got to the heart of what was bugging me here - not just the constriction which Kit pointed out (and picked out what worked best), but the rhythm of the thing. Changing the structure/line breaks really helps I think with opening out the meaning. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your insightfulness - I’ve updated with most of your suggestions (and cleaned it up a bit more too).

    ReplyDelete
  4. Magdalena, I really like the poem, especially the first line (as Kit mentioned) and the last stanza, which is quite powerful. My only problem with the poem is that there is a bit much telling and not enough showing - I have written a lot of autobiographical past-tense poems and have struggled with the issue myself. I think showing v. telling is always a problem with autobiographical/memoir works. Perhaps you could try it in present tense, which would make it more immediate, and also try showing the emotion (e.g. "in a panic") rather than naming it.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Great advice - thanks Nathanael. I’ve been struggling with the whole memoir thing for a while now in prose and now in poetry and I think you’re right - it’s easy to slip into recount narrative (eg “did I ever tell you about the time”). I’m going to try your idea and recast in present tense with more showing and will put a new version above the old. So glad this is actually working like a workshop rather than just encouragement (the cheerleading was really nice in 366 but I like the idea of using this platform for working on things that are trickier but that we don’t want to give up on rather than our best showcase work.

      Delete