deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Stuff of a Faulkner Novel
The children were given guns —
pellet guns to kill
rats in the house;
fifteen year-old candy
in fifty year-old fridge
moth-eaten clothes
mildewed pages of books
forming stacked tunnels —
receipts from stores
closed decades before
tarnished silver
rotting wicker chair
coke cans and furs
no one could wear
dusty perfume
and locks of baby hair;
Family pictures
watermarks
curling edges
from humidity
and Florida sun —
She collected Faulkner
(our distant kin)
I know now
what Faulkner knew then
Warped doors
impossible to open
Civil War diary
Revolutionary money
war trophies
from when Bud fought
in the South Pacific
I'd rather not tell you
what those boxes
contained —
Bluegrass banjo
sheet music, coffee-stained
twenties player piano
with three missing keys;
you could smell
rat feces
if you didn't
turn the fan on
There were letters
Grandpa wrote Grandma
in the mental hospital;
underneath all the filth
lies something worthy
though most of the family
thought it futile to salvage.
To escape the insanity
Grandpa built another house
on the ten acre land
with his father's carpenter hands . . .
Sand on the floor
from generations of little feet
returning from the beach
seashells strung up on string
Grandma loved shelling
with me.
Projects unfinished
on sewing machine:
dance costume
patchwork quilt
prom gown
Grandma always told me
the treasure was in the barn;
genuine gold
and some genuine fakes.
She didn't like anyone
in the old house.
That is what we called it:
the old house.
The new house was what Grandpa
built when the burdens became
too much to bear.
When we came to visit
we had to stay in the new house
and were banned from the old.
I sometimes snuck over there
when I thought Grandma
wasn't watching.
Thinking maybe she would tell
or show me a secret.
I once found her
in the old house
crawling on hands and knees
like a rat
in a sewage tunnel—
she was maybe seventy-five then.
Later when she died
my aunt locked herself
in that rotting old house
for days —
Her only consolation:
anti-psychotics.
Few coherent words
she made clear:
an adamant refusal
to attend her mother's funeral . . .
We buried grandma
in the orange groves
I recalled
by her graveside
her last request of me:
find a gold watch
with interior engraving
give it to your mother
she will know why —
[i]she will know why.[/i]
Thus began the expedition
of scouring the old house:
we put on masks
and latex gloves
ordered dumpsters
trucks hauled away
four tons
of treasure —
not even a quarter
gone
I found the watch
(miracle of miracles
I found the watch)
given to my grandmother
by her mother
I set it into Mama's hands . . .
in all this mess
of Death, my quest
for the holy grail:
was but a —WATCH —
an eternal reminder
(as Chaucer once said)
time and tide
wait for no man
pellet guns to kill
rats in the house;
fifteen year-old candy
in fifty year-old fridge
moth-eaten clothes
mildewed pages of books
forming stacked tunnels —
receipts from stores
closed decades before
tarnished silver
rotting wicker chair
coke cans and furs
no one could wear
dusty perfume
and locks of baby hair;
Family pictures
watermarks
curling edges
from humidity
and Florida sun —
She collected Faulkner
(our distant kin)
I know now
what Faulkner knew then
Warped doors
impossible to open
Civil War diary
Revolutionary money
war trophies
from when Bud fought
in the South Pacific
I'd rather not tell you
what those boxes
contained —
Bluegrass banjo
sheet music, coffee-stained
twenties player piano
with three missing keys;
you could smell
rat feces
if you didn't
turn the fan on
There were letters
Grandpa wrote Grandma
in the mental hospital;
underneath all the filth
lies something worthy
though most of the family
thought it futile to salvage.
To escape the insanity
Grandpa built another house
on the ten acre land
with his father's carpenter hands . . .
Sand on the floor
from generations of little feet
returning from the beach
seashells strung up on string
Grandma loved shelling
with me.
Projects unfinished
on sewing machine:
dance costume
patchwork quilt
prom gown
Grandma always told me
the treasure was in the barn;
genuine gold
and some genuine fakes.
She didn't like anyone
in the old house.
That is what we called it:
the old house.
The new house was what Grandpa
built when the burdens became
too much to bear.
When we came to visit
we had to stay in the new house
and were banned from the old.
I sometimes snuck over there
when I thought Grandma
wasn't watching.
Thinking maybe she would tell
or show me a secret.
I once found her
in the old house
crawling on hands and knees
like a rat
in a sewage tunnel—
she was maybe seventy-five then.
Later when she died
my aunt locked herself
in that rotting old house
for days —
Her only consolation:
anti-psychotics.
Few coherent words
she made clear:
an adamant refusal
to attend her mother's funeral . . .
We buried grandma
in the orange groves
I recalled
by her graveside
her last request of me:
find a gold watch
with interior engraving
give it to your mother
she will know why —
[i]she will know why.[/i]
Thus began the expedition
of scouring the old house:
we put on masks
and latex gloves
ordered dumpsters
trucks hauled away
four tons
of treasure —
not even a quarter
gone
I found the watch
(miracle of miracles
I found the watch)
given to my grandmother
by her mother
I set it into Mama's hands . . .
in all this mess
of Death, my quest
for the holy grail:
was but a —WATCH —
an eternal reminder
(as Chaucer once said)
time and tide
wait for no man
Published 20th Jan 2019
| Edited 12th Feb 2019
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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20th Jan 2019 11:47pm
This is a beautiful narration of loss and its accompaniment, Muses.
While reading, I wanted to suggest a bit of space between thoughts so that I could relax and enjoy the read. However, having reached the end, I realize that the format is most likely what you were intending - there are no pauses in time; we grab what we can as long as we are able.
There are a few spots I have suggestions for. I'll type them up asap.
While reading, I wanted to suggest a bit of space between thoughts so that I could relax and enjoy the read. However, having reached the end, I realize that the format is most likely what you were intending - there are no pauses in time; we grab what we can as long as we are able.
There are a few spots I have suggestions for. I'll type them up asap.
21st Jan 2019 00:05am
Yes, I think since the subject matter involved hoarding, my strategy was to overwhelm the reader by having 1) a very long poem and 2) almost a disjointed narrative. It still needs work, but I realized I never wrote any poetry about my mother's family so this one seemed the place to start
21st Jan 2019 00:17am
22nd Jan 2019 11:00pm
been working diligently on this one .... improved? tried to cut some parts out which I think didn't relate to theme and worked on punctuation
21st Jan 2019 1:07am
Okay, I've made some minor adjustments ( compared to the relative size of this); however, I do think we should consider proper capitalization as well as punctuation. While there will be no spaces to breath, the reader will at least be able to absorb the moments as they happen.
The Stuff of a Faulkner Novel
the children were given guns;
pellet guns to kill
rats in the house – ← lost the extra the and combined L3 & 4
twenty year old candy
residing in fifty year-old fridge ← hyphenated year-old
moth-eaten clothes
mildew(ed) pages of books ← altered the tense of mildew
forming stacked tunnels ← altered the tense of form and rearranged the syntax a bit
receipts from stores
closed decades before
tarnished silver
rotting wicker chair
old ( twenties ) player piano < – relocated twenties/removed
well in tune
despite three missing keys < rearranged the syntax a bit
family pictures
water marks
curling the edges ← removed with and up on
from humidity ← removed the
and Florida sun – removed the
warped doors
impossible to open
empty perfume bottles
coke cans, furs
no one could wear ← arranged this section a bit
and gold
some real
some fake
war trophies too
when Bud fought ← removed from
in ‘the’ South Pacific ← inserted the
I'd rather not tell you
what those boxes contained:
Civil War diary
and Revolutionary money
you could smell animal feces
if you didn't turn the fan on ← excellent use of italics
there were letters ← removed and
Grandpa wrote Grandma
in the mental hospital
underneath all the filth
might be something worthy
though most of the family
thought it futile to salvage < – replaced try with salvage
Grandpa built that cedar house
with his hands
always sand on the floor
from generations of little feet
returning from the beach
seashells strung up on string
Grandma loved shelling
with me
always a project unfinished
on ( her ) sewing machine ← inserted her
hand stitched quilt
baby blanket
dance costume
she collected a lot Faulkner;
he was our distant kin
I know now
what Faulkner knew then ← excellent use of italics
growing up
grandma told me
the treasure was in the barn
diamond rings
buried under oak tree
she didn't like anyone
in the old house
so packed
I once saw her
crawling on hands and knees
like a rat
in a sewage tunnel
she was maybe seventy-five then
later when ( she ) died ← you’re already referring to her, so use she
my aunt locked herself in the old house
no food or water
for five days
she didn't even attend
her mother's funeral
instead she took a lot of prescription
pills and anti-psychotics
to manage her bipolar
my mother
lost forty pounds
she is obese
so probably most people
didn't notice ← you’ve got the italics down pat
we buried grandma
in the orange groves
and began the expedition
of looking through the old house
we put on masks
and latex gloves
ordered dumpsters ← removed and
trucks hauled away four tons
of treasure--
not even a quarter
of what needed to be done
before grandma died
she told me to find this watch
she wanted mom to have
based on everything you know
you can imagine what kind of request this was
she just lost her son
his tractor flipped
over into his private lake
Florida State Champion
swimmer who drowned
isn't that ironic
Grandma took my hand ← removed and
told me to find this watch ← removed and
for my mother
after she died
a few months later
I suspect from the loss of her son
I found the gold watch
miracle of miracles
I found the watch
inscribed from my great-grandmother
to my grandmother
I set it into mother's hands
Grandma told me specifically
to give this to you Mama
in all this mess of Death
my quest
for the holy grail
was a gold watch
an eternal reminder
as Chaucer once said
Time and Tide
wait for no man
The Stuff of a Faulkner Novel
the children were given guns;
pellet guns to kill
rats in the house – ← lost the extra the and combined L3 & 4
twenty year old candy
residing in fifty year-old fridge ← hyphenated year-old
moth-eaten clothes
mildew(ed) pages of books ← altered the tense of mildew
forming stacked tunnels ← altered the tense of form and rearranged the syntax a bit
receipts from stores
closed decades before
tarnished silver
rotting wicker chair
old ( twenties ) player piano < – relocated twenties/removed
well in tune
despite three missing keys < rearranged the syntax a bit
family pictures
water marks
curling the edges ← removed with and up on
from humidity ← removed the
and Florida sun – removed the
warped doors
impossible to open
empty perfume bottles
coke cans, furs
no one could wear ← arranged this section a bit
and gold
some real
some fake
war trophies too
when Bud fought ← removed from
in ‘the’ South Pacific ← inserted the
I'd rather not tell you
what those boxes contained:
Civil War diary
and Revolutionary money
you could smell animal feces
if you didn't turn the fan on ← excellent use of italics
there were letters ← removed and
Grandpa wrote Grandma
in the mental hospital
underneath all the filth
might be something worthy
though most of the family
thought it futile to salvage < – replaced try with salvage
Grandpa built that cedar house
with his hands
always sand on the floor
from generations of little feet
returning from the beach
seashells strung up on string
Grandma loved shelling
with me
always a project unfinished
on ( her ) sewing machine ← inserted her
hand stitched quilt
baby blanket
dance costume
she collected a lot Faulkner;
he was our distant kin
I know now
what Faulkner knew then ← excellent use of italics
growing up
grandma told me
the treasure was in the barn
diamond rings
buried under oak tree
she didn't like anyone
in the old house
so packed
I once saw her
crawling on hands and knees
like a rat
in a sewage tunnel
she was maybe seventy-five then
later when ( she ) died ← you’re already referring to her, so use she
my aunt locked herself in the old house
no food or water
for five days
she didn't even attend
her mother's funeral
instead she took a lot of prescription
pills and anti-psychotics
to manage her bipolar
my mother
lost forty pounds
she is obese
so probably most people
didn't notice ← you’ve got the italics down pat
we buried grandma
in the orange groves
and began the expedition
of looking through the old house
we put on masks
and latex gloves
ordered dumpsters ← removed and
trucks hauled away four tons
of treasure--
not even a quarter
of what needed to be done
before grandma died
she told me to find this watch
she wanted mom to have
based on everything you know
you can imagine what kind of request this was
she just lost her son
his tractor flipped
over into his private lake
Florida State Champion
swimmer who drowned
isn't that ironic
Grandma took my hand ← removed and
told me to find this watch ← removed and
for my mother
after she died
a few months later
I suspect from the loss of her son
I found the gold watch
miracle of miracles
I found the watch
inscribed from my great-grandmother
to my grandmother
I set it into mother's hands
Grandma told me specifically
to give this to you Mama
in all this mess of Death
my quest
for the holy grail
was a gold watch
an eternal reminder
as Chaucer once said
Time and Tide
wait for no man
Do you think we should consider spaces, at least one or two places? What about last couplet? All your suggestions were perfect, thank you for forcing me to remove articles, it is my bad habit ;-)
21st Jan 2019 1:50am
Ha! Critiquing and cooking don't mix sometimes.
No - I'm not sure I would space. Let's work on the caps and punctuation - see what we have.
No - I'm not sure I would space. Let's work on the caps and punctuation - see what we have.
23rd Jan 2019 00:13am
children were given guns; < -- removed the
pellet guns to kill
rats in the house
[ space ] < -- feel there should be some sort of transition here - something you could colon to signal a healthy list coming up.
fifteen year-old candy
( sat ) in ( a ) fifty year-old fridge
moth-eaten clothes
mildewed pages of books
forming stacked tunnels —
receipts from stores
closed decades before
tarnished silver
rotting wicker chair
coke cans and furs
no one could wear
dusty perfume
and locks of baby hair; <-- nice addition
family pictures
watermarks <-- one word
curling edges
from humidity
and Florida sun —
she collected Faulkner
(our distant kin)
I know now
what Faulkner knew then[ : ] <-- Great transition/signifies another list
warped doors
impossible to open
Civil War diary
Revolutionary money
war trophies
from when Bud fought
in the South Pacific
I'd rather not tell you
what those boxes
contained —
bluegrass banjo < -- corrected spelling ( nice addition )
sheet music, coffee-stained <-- coffee-stained sheet music would sound better alliteratively
twenties player piano
with three missing keys;
you could smell
animal feces
if you didn't
turn the fan on
[T]here were letters <-- capped There
Grandpa wrote Grandma
in the mental hospital
[U]nderneath all the filth <-- capped Underneath - new thought
lies something worthy
though most of the family
thought it futile to salvage
Grandpa built that cedar house
with his hands . . .
sand on the floor
from generations of little feet
returning from the beach
[S]eashells strung up on string[;] <-- capped / new thought - semi'd to connect the next line
Grandma loved shelling
with me.
[P]rojects unfinished <-- capped Projects / new thought
on sewing machine:
dance costume
patchwork quilt
prom gown
Grandma always told me
the treasure was in the barn;
genuine gold
and some genuine fakes
[S]he didn't like anyone <-- capped She / new thought
in the old house
so packed <-- would consider relocating this to the former line 'in the old, packed house
I once saw her
crawling on hands and knees
like a rat
in a sewage tunnel—
she was maybe seventy-five then.
[L]ater when she died <-- capped later / new thought
my aunt locked herself
in the old house
no food or water
for five days . . .
even her mother's funeral
she refused to attend <-- this couplet needs reworking / perhaps refusing to attend/ her own mother's funeral
[P]sychiatric pills <-- capped Psychiatric / new thought
her one companion <-- removed semicolon / next line is a new thought unconnected
I recalled < -- here you need to clarify it's your Grandmother you're referring to on the heels of your aunt.
by her graveside
her last request of me:
find a gold watch
with personal engraving
give it to your mother
[W]e buried grandma <-- capped We / new thought
in the orange groves
and began the expedition
of looking through the old house:
we put on masks
and latex gloves
ordered dumpsters
trucks hauled away four tons
of treasure —
not even a quarter
gone
I found the watch
(miracle of miracles
I found the watch)
given to my grandmother
by her mother
I set it into Mama's hands . . .
in all this mess
of Death, my quest
for the holy grail:
a watch — < -- too little here - added an a
an eternal reminder
(as Chaucer once said)
time and tide
wait for no man
Tag, you're it! :D
pellet guns to kill
rats in the house
[ space ] < -- feel there should be some sort of transition here - something you could colon to signal a healthy list coming up.
fifteen year-old candy
( sat ) in ( a ) fifty year-old fridge
moth-eaten clothes
mildewed pages of books
forming stacked tunnels —
receipts from stores
closed decades before
tarnished silver
rotting wicker chair
coke cans and furs
no one could wear
dusty perfume
and locks of baby hair; <-- nice addition
family pictures
watermarks <-- one word
curling edges
from humidity
and Florida sun —
she collected Faulkner
(our distant kin)
I know now
what Faulkner knew then[ : ] <-- Great transition/signifies another list
warped doors
impossible to open
Civil War diary
Revolutionary money
war trophies
from when Bud fought
in the South Pacific
I'd rather not tell you
what those boxes
contained —
bluegrass banjo < -- corrected spelling ( nice addition )
sheet music, coffee-stained <-- coffee-stained sheet music would sound better alliteratively
twenties player piano
with three missing keys;
you could smell
animal feces
if you didn't
turn the fan on
[T]here were letters <-- capped There
Grandpa wrote Grandma
in the mental hospital
[U]nderneath all the filth <-- capped Underneath - new thought
lies something worthy
though most of the family
thought it futile to salvage
Grandpa built that cedar house
with his hands . . .
sand on the floor
from generations of little feet
returning from the beach
[S]eashells strung up on string[;] <-- capped / new thought - semi'd to connect the next line
Grandma loved shelling
with me.
[P]rojects unfinished <-- capped Projects / new thought
on sewing machine:
dance costume
patchwork quilt
prom gown
Grandma always told me
the treasure was in the barn;
genuine gold
and some genuine fakes
[S]he didn't like anyone <-- capped She / new thought
in the old house
so packed <-- would consider relocating this to the former line 'in the old, packed house
I once saw her
crawling on hands and knees
like a rat
in a sewage tunnel—
she was maybe seventy-five then.
[L]ater when she died <-- capped later / new thought
my aunt locked herself
in the old house
no food or water
for five days . . .
even her mother's funeral
she refused to attend <-- this couplet needs reworking / perhaps refusing to attend/ her own mother's funeral
[P]sychiatric pills <-- capped Psychiatric / new thought
her one companion <-- removed semicolon / next line is a new thought unconnected
I recalled < -- here you need to clarify it's your Grandmother you're referring to on the heels of your aunt.
by her graveside
her last request of me:
find a gold watch
with personal engraving
give it to your mother
[W]e buried grandma <-- capped We / new thought
in the orange groves
and began the expedition
of looking through the old house:
we put on masks
and latex gloves
ordered dumpsters
trucks hauled away four tons
of treasure —
not even a quarter
gone
I found the watch
(miracle of miracles
I found the watch)
given to my grandmother
by her mother
I set it into Mama's hands . . .
in all this mess
of Death, my quest
for the holy grail:
a watch — < -- too little here - added an a
an eternal reminder
(as Chaucer once said)
time and tide
wait for no man
Tag, you're it! :D
31st Jan 2019 5:24am
Incredibly descriptive and beautifully written... you did a wonderful job!
1st Feb 2019 6:38am
