This list style has endless possibilities, hasn’t it?
I’ve been obsessed all my life with the thought that somehow a space you’ve once occupied retains something of you and what’s happened there, long after you’re gone.
I think that's a lovely idea Dee and yes, I think the list structure is perfect for all the wondering you have in that bitter-sweet time between homes.
The poem made me feel wistful in its nostalgic gaze to the past and the itemising of all the memories between those walls. It's seems nigh on impossible, doesn't it, that so much of human life can take place without any tangible evidence of it? Surely some of that abstract joy must have seeped into the fibre of what is around us. For me that is the essence of your questions and your musings -
have they absorbed our children’s raucous laughter
the hugs and kisses and the bedtime routines
does pingu live in there
does harry potter
I love the idea of those childhood characters inhabiting the house as well as those scenes of bedtime mayhem and warmth.
Slowly and skillfully you take us through the happenings and experiences of family life with all its paraphernalia of play, drawings, writings, musical shenanigans.
I did puzzle over:
will the obligatory carpenters
continue to play on every christmas eve
when we’re no longer here
I wonder if there is some wonderful family tradition (obligatory) of playing some sort of musical box that perhaps plays a Christmas tune or other? something that resonates with memories of the festive season?
will the walking dead roam confined inside forever
do vampires lay there trapped behind the walls
will stuart lee ever find his sodding way out
do the walls feel eternally cursed
‘cause you know
“everybody heard about the bird”
This verse made me laugh even though I have no idea what it refers to - I am able to appreciate the reference to a programme of significance in your life! And then the appeal to the senses as we consider the wonderful smells and tastes of sharing food together and impromptu late night cooking;
will they crave the scent of our famous apple crumble
the fish curries and late night pancake parties
will those be missed
will the walls wonder where we are
Then in the final verses the poem becomes quieter as you consider the knowledge the walls have of the deepest and most vulnerable parts of you; the secrets and the tears; the spilling out of lives and love and loss.
The image of the walls seeing things on repeat brings to mind the nostalgia of old films (black and white in my head) that somehow seem captured in a time warp... something that's strangely comforting but of a time you can't get back.
I love the last verse in particular for the tenderness it brings through the image of your head laying (so gentle) against the wall - a gesture of reaching for times past; of listening across the years to all that wonderful family living held in time and space... of feeling for the echoes of who you were and have become...
What a delightful review, Kathy, getting every little nuance in my writing so beautifully, - except for some of the very personal family references, which I will reveal in a moment -, but of course they don't actually matter in their detail, it's their very existence that is important, and which you've understood perfectly.
So the details: Will insists on playing the Carpenters every Christmas Eve. And traditionally we go through the three of us moaning and protesting "oh god, not again", and Will stating it's gotta be done, it's Christmas. And of course Christmas would not be complete without it any more.
In the tv section a couple of my long time obsessions were included, as in The Walking Dead and The Vampire Diaries, and then Will's obsession with the standup comedian Stuart Lee and Family Guy. Included in here there are various connections with our children throughout said obsessions. The "everybody heard about the bird" is a direct quote from Family Guy, and the voice of Peter Griffin has become a classic jokey tone used when Will and Ben talk to each other, it's actually pretty hilarious. If you watch this clip, you'll get it, why the walls might feel cursed by enduring an overdose of this.
I'm humbled as always that you've given my poem so much thought and time to reflect on. Thank you so much, Cupcake.
OMG that video clip is hilarious!!!!
I'd love to see Will and Ben talking in that tone.
Yes I see everything in even greater clarity now.
I started writing this poem quite differently and then realised I had diverted completely - I know - it doesn't matter - but I decided to go back to the format as suggested and finish the other poem later. On my return to the instructions I felt compelled to try out sticking to the structure - for better or worse!!!
The Chair
A man full of dreams came
home and put his coat on his chair,
lay down his walking stick.
A Blackbird sang in the apple tree.
He placed the song in the chair.
He took a packet of seeds from his pocket
and put the garden he would grow on the chair.
Through the window he saw the sun set.
The man put time on the chair. Beginnings
and endings he placed there.
He added the sound of the kettle and his wife singing.
The wag of the dog.
On the wall was a picture of the sea.
The chair lapped it up.
The man smelt fresh bread.
He placed the sharing
of bread on the chair.
Twinkle twinkle little star how I wonder…
and Awe sat on the chair.
“Hush little baby don’t you cry.”
He lowered the lullaby onto the chair, next
To the knock of the postman and the fullness of smiles.
He lay down the fears for his son
next to the determination of Spring.
Wow -what a chair – such great ears!
Such big arms!
“All the better to hold me with.”
The man sank into his chair
and together
they slept.
It’s so funny to hear about your writing process, Mz MoonChime, and I’m really looking forward to reading the other Chair poem too! The naughty one that’s gone astray from the suggested structure!
It’s great though that you’ve returned to the original task and now we can enjoy two lovely poems growing out of the same seed!
So let’s look at this first one!
This is a most exciting and intriguing little creation. You’ve got a character here with a story, and you’ve broken it into little puzzle pieces and literally placed them on a chair for us so that we can have some fun trying to reconstruct.
It seems there’s a very important backstory regarding the son at the heart of the poem which we should try to unravel, because it has shaped this man so profoundly into who he is now.
There are many jigsaw pieces missing because we are left with a lot of questions and possible interpretations, but that seems very purposeful and is the beauty of the beast, as the reader can more freely find spaces where they can relate to the man in the chair.
The reader is also required to try and distinguish between what’s real (as in happening right now) and what’s only imagined or remembered. Depending on how we categorise certain items, we can build very different pictures.
So this is mine:
I see an old, lonely man, living alone, withdrawn into himself, tangled in daydreams and memories of his past life. He goes out for walks and has some plans to engage with the future: he has bought a packet of seeds to start a garden. We also are given clues that it’s springtime and he’s determined to sow these seeds. But whether he will actually do it or not, we can’t tell. He sits in the fading light after sunset, and the poem ends with him falling asleep, escaping into dreams again. So I’m a little doubtful. But he at least wants to try to move on, to engage with the present, look into the future wanting to create a garden, and that’s already something positive.
He remembers his son when he used to be a baby, how he filled him with wonder, with Awe. How he and his wife used to sing to him. And there was a happy dog in this scene as well. Lots of smiles all around. Postman bringing good news. And many comforting things: kettle on, fresh bread coming out of the oven, happy family meals. I think these are all memories. The wife is now gone, quite possibly dead, and his son is now a grownup, has left home and our dear man in the chair worries about him, and possibly doesn’t see him all that often. Perhaps he’s a soldier stationed abroad in a place of conflict? Or just living a hectic, unhappy life in the city?
There’s a picture of the sea: is it a photo taken on holiday? A painting? The sea for me represents endless possibilities. The chair laps it up. Our man acknowledges the possibilities but can he turn any of them into reality? He falls asleep in the chair and resorts yet again to dreaming.
The chair has great ears: he is the only one now who listens to the man’s musings about the past, his worries about his absent son, and his plans of starting a new garden. Tomorrow. And perhaps he actually will.
Now I’m really curious how far off is my picture of yours?
There are many lines that I love here. My favourites:
He took a packet of seeds from his pocket
and put the garden he would grow on the chair.
This is the essence of the poem for me and it is just a brilliant layered image, the abstract and the metaphorical over the concrete. Really fabulous.
On the wall was a picture of the sea.
The chair lapped it up.
I love how this is turned around. Normally the sea does the lapping and here the chair swallows up the sea. The endless possibilities. So that our man can dream about them. But not necessarily actually do anything about.
I thought you played the game of the task really well and produced a fab and rather enigmatic bit of writing, Kathy, and I’m really curious to find out more and how and why you’ve chosen your images.
I consider the below "poem" not a real poem just a poetic excerise for the SHE PUT project and a practise of writing. For me the concept that I came up with was more important than to carefully choose and detail the things that she put... So:
I find this exercise really interesting because we have all approached it differently and come to it from various perspectives. It is producing rich fruit indeed!!!
I very much enjoyed this piece Peggy and found myself smiling numerous times.
l love the idea of the monkey wrench because it's so down to earth and has a wonderful practical aspect to it - in contrast to the more aesthetic association of the violin clef that it is put in with. That got my mind whirring on different planes.
I agree with Dee that the last few lines of the first section are particularly powerful and the image of her tiredness as a grey monolith was particularly vivid in conjuring up a huge sense of weariness.
However one of my favourite lines as to be:
and finally she chucked his constantly beeping
smartphone in there too.
The fact that she "chucks" the phone in instantly gave me a sense of her frustration and annoyance with the phone's constant bid for "his" attention - excellent - I know that feeling so well.
Then the poem changes mood and takes on a floating lightness which so wonderfully banishes the irritations and tiredness so that she takes everything back again - even that grating upset with her friend; she is refreshed and able to cope once more.
I also liked the way she craftily packs in the colours of the rainbow and then takes them out later. She's certainly an opportunist.
A thoroughly entertaining piece Peggy. Thank you.
Dear Kathy, how kind of you to write about my "poem" and how uplifitng that though we've never met you still feel my resonance very sensitively! I especially refer to the "chuck" bit and the "monkey wrench". I tell you a secret that even Mz Dee doesn't know . "Monkey wrench" and "violin clef" are both "keys" in Hungarian. (Mz Dee of course knows the words, but not my original intention!) If I translate them, they are: "French key" and "violin key". I liked the idea of three different "keys". When I realized that they are not "keys" in English, I thought: "Bollocks, I leave them as the still might work only a bit "less". So thank you!!!
"She's certainly an opportunist" - very-very funny, I keep laughing
OMG that video clip is hilarious!!!!
I'd love to see Will and Ben talking in that tone.
Yes I see everything in even greater clarity now.
I started writing this poem quite differently and then realised I had diverted completely - I know - it doesn't matter - but I decided to go back to the format as suggested and finish the other poem later. On my return to the instructions I felt compelled to try out sticking to the structure - for better or worse!!!
The Chair
A man full of dreams came
home and put his coat on his chair,
lay down his walking stick.
A Blackbird sang in the apple tree.
He placed the song in the chair.
He took a packet of seeds from his pocket
and put the garden he would grow on the chair.
Through the window he saw the sun set.
The man put time on the chair. Beginnings
and endings he placed there.
He added the sound of the kettle and his wife singing.
The wag of the dog.
On the wall was a picture of the sea.
The chair lapped it up.
The man smelt fresh bread.
He placed the sharing
of bread on the chair.
Twinkle twinkle little star how I wonder…
and Awe sat on the chair.
“Hush little baby don’t you cry.”
He lowered the lullaby onto the chair, next
To the knock of the postman and the fullness of smiles.
He lay down the fears for his son
next to the determination of Spring.
Wow -what a chair – such great ears!
Such big arms!
“All the better to hold me with.”
The man sank into his chair
and together
they slept.
KK
Kathy, I absolutely love this poem but I will write about it later as this is my third note in a row and your poem deserves a lot more than what I am capable of writing right now. Good night!
OMG that video clip is hilarious!!!!
I'd love to see Will and Ben talking in that tone.
Yes I see everything in even greater clarity now.
I started writing this poem quite differently and then realised I had diverted completely - I know - it doesn't matter - but I decided to go back to the format as suggested and finish the other poem later. On my return to the instructions I felt compelled to try out sticking to the structure - for better or worse!!!
The Chair
A man full of dreams came
home and put his coat on his chair,
lay down his walking stick.
A Blackbird sang in the apple tree.
He placed the song in the chair.
He took a packet of seeds from his pocket
and put the garden he would grow on the chair.
Through the window he saw the sun set.
The man put time on the chair. Beginnings
and endings he placed there.
He added the sound of the kettle and his wife singing.
The wag of the dog.
On the wall was a picture of the sea.
The chair lapped it up.
The man smelt fresh bread.
He placed the sharing
of bread on the chair.
Twinkle twinkle little star how I wonder…
and Awe sat on the chair.
“Hush little baby don’t you cry.”
He lowered the lullaby onto the chair, next
To the knock of the postman and the fullness of smiles.
He lay down the fears for his son
next to the determination of Spring.
Wow -what a chair – such great ears!
Such big arms!
“All the better to hold me with.”
The man sank into his chair
and together
they slept.
KK
Kathy, I absolutely love this poem but I will write about it later as this is my third note in a row and your poem deserves a lot more than what I am capable of writing right now. Good night!
So here comes the chair again (Please, forgive my naughtiness!)
When I first read the poem I "just" like the wonderful images, like my absolute favourite:
"He took a packet of seeds from his pocket
and put the garden he would grow on the chair."
and
"He placed the sharing
of bread on the chair."
I adore the word "lowered" the lullaby - there is so much caring in the use of this word, similar as you put a little baby into its cot. The "determination of Spring" is a true Puzzle for me, there is struggle in it that contradicts with the lightness, the fresh air, the natural budding of Spring. Why is determination needed? What might have happened to this man?
When I re-read the poem the loneliness of this man has stricken me! He is alone, the seeds from his pocket are present but as he puts time in - what a brilliant idea!!- I have the feeling that all the other bits are memories from the past. "the sound of the kettle and his wife singing", the dog, the boy, loving images of a warm home that used to be. How did he lose all of this? Is this why determination is needed? To bear the loss?
The chair being personalized at the end is a fantastic idea! (The big ears and arms brought me the hint of the woof of the Litte Red Riding Hood that I find funny.) It is soothing that this lonely man can nest himself into it, being cuddled - like a little boy - he can go to sleep and dream even more dreams - and here we can notice a loop to the beginning
Thank you Dee and Peggy so much for the time and effort you have given into reviewing my poem; it really is a gift and I am so very grateful.
There is so much that has been captured by your observations and I love the fact that is some commonality as well as some difference; the reader bringing in their own experiences and interpretations to the table - or should I say to the "chair"
The reader is also required to try and distinguish between what’s real (as in happening right now) and what’s only imagined or remembered. Depending on how we categorise certain items, we can build very different pictures.
Indeed you can build very different pictures and I think that's part of the joy - although I must admit that I often want to know if my picture is the same as the author's - if I've got it "right" or not. It never used to occur to me that it might not be important whether my picture was the same as the one from which the poem came. That last futurelearn course made me question that response.
The picture you built Dee is very well constructed and much of it is accurate although I did not see him as so lonely and sad as you did, but perhaps putting in memories makes it inclined to that interpretation.
You are both right that he is getting on in years, has lived in his house for a long time and the chair in question has lived through those times with him. He has seen his family grow up and begin their own futures, and yes - much of what he puts in the chair is memory or wisdom he has learnt through the passing of time, however he is not bereft - he is enriched by what he has loved and still loves and his positivity is still very much with him.
He loves life and values each moment, continuing to make plans even if they don't all come to anything he will continue to strive and smile at possibilities. So yes, he's got plans for the garden and the birds that visit ( especially the blackbird he knows) - and he'll sit in his chair and read of great explorers and sea adventurers and feel the wind in his sails.
He'll read seed catalogues and write letters and look at photos and jump up to get the post or a cup of tea. He'll greet his neighbours with a smile and talk about allotments.
He will still gaze at the stars and feel in awe - the same way he felt when he gazed at them with his children and may gaze at them again, with a new generation of family - in fact his sense of wonder has, if anything, increased. He can watch the skies for hours - and the chair watches with him. He is not bound by the past - he is made more whole and content with the present because of it. He is a man enriched by small things. He is grateful.
The wife is now gone, quite possibly dead, and his son is now a grownup, has left home and our dear man in the chair worries about him, and possibly doesn’t see him all that often. Perhaps he’s a soldier stationed abroad in a place of conflict? Or just living a hectic, unhappy life in the city?
Yes he worries about his son - but his son is not unhappy - but he is under threat - I was not specific about that threat because it seems to me there are so many in the world - but I think Dee that your idea of being at risk in a dangerous place as a soldier or journalist is an apt one. We all worry about our children.
However he knows there is nothing he can do but hope and that brings me to the lines Peggy quotes:
Peggy wrote:
I adore the word "lowered" the lullaby - there is so much caring in the use of this word, similar as you put a little baby into its cot. The "determination of Spring" is a true Puzzle for me, there is struggle in it that contradicts with the lightness, the fresh air, the natural budding of Spring. Why is determination needed? What might have happened to this man?
[color]
You are spot on Peggy with my intentions in using the word "lowered" because when it came to the lullaby it had be treated very gently - just like a baby.
Now the reason for putting his worries next to the "determination of Spring" was to try and get across that despite his very real concerns for his son he knows there is nothing he can do but hope... and Spring represents that - it's beauty, it's freshness, it's newness, out of the bleakness of winter comes this life that cannot be stopped - that seems so delicate but is born out of the womb of death; it wins through - now that has to take some determination, some strength, some fight. It was this very contradiction that attracted me to it - eventually. The man (and his son) must not give in to the darkness of their fears but hold on to hope.
Agi wrote:
I thought you played the game of the task really well and produced a fab and rather enigmatic bit of writing, Kathy, and I’m really curious to find out more and how and why you’ve chosen your images.
Thank you Dee and I hope I've given you a broader picture of where I was coming from. I love your use of "enigmatic" here - it reminds me of "interesting" in report writing!!!!
I think you're right that it needs more editing - I feel your doubts.
Peggy wrote:
So here comes the chair again (Please, forgive my naughtiness!)
You are forgiven.
I did find it quite difficult not to repeat "the chair" in every line!
The chair being personalized at the end is a fantastic idea! (The big ears and arms brought me the hint of the woof of the Litte Red Riding Hood that I find funny.) It is soothing that this lonely man can nest himself into it, being cuddled - like a little boy - he can go to sleep and dream even more dreams - and here we can notice a loop to the beginning
Great - That's what I was hoping for with Red Riding Hood reference - it just seemed so natural!
And yes you're right - they both drift off at the end into the dreams we started with...
I just hope both of you haven't done the same!!!!
Indeed you can build very different pictures and I think that's part of the joy - although I must admit that I often want to know if my picture is the same as the author's - if I've got it "right" or not. It never used to occur to me that it might not be important whether my picture was the same as the one from which the poem came. That last futurelearn course made me question that response.
I'm totally with you here. I love trying to figure things out, but then I want to know whether I've succeeded! Of course often there is no chance to get clarification.
I really love these poetry workshops we are creating here for ourselves, because we can actually ask each other. It's really fascinating not only because we can get a clear answer, but because we get to appreciate how another writer's mind works. I'm learning so much.
The picture you built Dee is very well constructed and much of it is accurate although I did not see him as so lonely and sad as you did, but perhaps putting in memories makes it inclined to that interpretation.
So much for getting close to the intended meaning!
It's so interesting though that both Dorka and I felt that the man in the Chair was lonely and sad. In fact he is really happy and quite cheerful, and his wife has just baked some fresh bread, singing in the kitchen as she's making him a cup of tea, the dog is wagging its tail and snuggling in by his feet...well Ives reread it through this happy spectacles and it works brilliantly.
So why did we both think differently? Hm.
Perhaps because he goes to sleep at the end? Back to dreaming?
I tell you a secret that even Mz Dee doesn't know . "Monkey wrench" and "violin clef" are both "keys" in Hungarian. (Mz Dee of course knows the words, but not my original intention!) If I translate them, they are: "French key" and "violin key". I liked the idea of three different "keys". When I realized that they are not "keys" in English, I thought: "Bollocks, I leave them as the still might work only a bit "less".
Yep, I totally missed that.
But actually, I think they work even better in English because they're (seemingly) so randomly thrown together. I just love the appearance of the treble clef... and just realised that I didn't even notice you've written it as violin clef, as it made perfect Hungarian sense to me , but violin clef is not really used here, just like organ for lilac, but it's commonly referred to as treble clef. I actually really like "violin clef" here. )
And traditionally we go through the three of us moaning and protesting "oh god, not again", and Will stating it's gotta be done, it's Christmas. And of course Christmas would not be complete without it any more. 
. "Monkey wrench" and "violin clef" are both "keys" in Hungarian. (Mz Dee of course knows the words, but not my original intention!) If I translate them, they are: "French key" and "violin key". I liked the idea of three different "keys". When I realized that they are not "keys" in English, I thought: "Bollocks, I leave them as the still might work only a bit "less". So thank you!!! 
