deepundergroundpoetry.com
Nine
Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
“Ash Wednesday” -T.S. Eliot; after “The Hollow Men” T.S. Eliot
Not with a bang but a whimper we discover on
the eve of our fourth anniversary, following years
of a conception improbability. We surrender
our dreams of having a family for Icelandic tours, and
weekly Manhattan martinis. What gives you away
is three weeks of nausea and an incessant craving for lime.
We pee on a stick and start scrapbooking promptly.
We cottage with parents, still keep you a secret for
weeks tenderly observing your growth; I find it sublime
and precious because I know that time is always time.
Trimester two, there is so much to do.
The furniture rearranges, necessities ordered:
a carrier, a car seat, a chemical-free bassinet.
Fireworks expel into tiny pink stars, revealing
your gender at our family picnic. I miss them while
throwing up near a brush of the mean Herb-of-Grace.
Your Nannas start knitting warm blankets, and
sweaters in pastel palettes of pre-softened cotton. We
want the best for you, buy more for our space though
we know place is always and only place.
Auntie Jane hosts a baby shower, by now I’m quite
tired. We scrub adulthood from our apartment and call
that child-proofing; our home fills with locks and stable gates.
Check our car brakes, pack carriers for the day, we can’t wait.
Dad gains fifteen pounds with me, for sympathy, he says
though admittedly I’m jealous of him still drinking wine.
Others tell me I’m ready to birth, very heavy, swelled
ankles, poor strength, waddling, carelessly succumbing
to hunger for sex and sweet treats on a dime;
aware that what is actual is actual only for one time.
Afternoons liquifying before your arrival.
Some blood and an accompanied ride to the hospital,
one overnight bag, and the sorrow-filled faces of
nurses and doctors and dad and your grandparents
and I couldn’t remember for even one moment you’ve
stopped breathing in your space.
Birthing a corpse like we have no connection, maternal
me dies with your little blue body; I fail you, I fail us. If
only we rewind time, change outcome for this one case.
Just for this one time. And only for one place.
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
“Ash Wednesday” -T.S. Eliot; after “The Hollow Men” T.S. Eliot
Not with a bang but a whimper we discover on
the eve of our fourth anniversary, following years
of a conception improbability. We surrender
our dreams of having a family for Icelandic tours, and
weekly Manhattan martinis. What gives you away
is three weeks of nausea and an incessant craving for lime.
We pee on a stick and start scrapbooking promptly.
We cottage with parents, still keep you a secret for
weeks tenderly observing your growth; I find it sublime
and precious because I know that time is always time.
Trimester two, there is so much to do.
The furniture rearranges, necessities ordered:
a carrier, a car seat, a chemical-free bassinet.
Fireworks expel into tiny pink stars, revealing
your gender at our family picnic. I miss them while
throwing up near a brush of the mean Herb-of-Grace.
Your Nannas start knitting warm blankets, and
sweaters in pastel palettes of pre-softened cotton. We
want the best for you, buy more for our space though
we know place is always and only place.
Auntie Jane hosts a baby shower, by now I’m quite
tired. We scrub adulthood from our apartment and call
that child-proofing; our home fills with locks and stable gates.
Check our car brakes, pack carriers for the day, we can’t wait.
Dad gains fifteen pounds with me, for sympathy, he says
though admittedly I’m jealous of him still drinking wine.
Others tell me I’m ready to birth, very heavy, swelled
ankles, poor strength, waddling, carelessly succumbing
to hunger for sex and sweet treats on a dime;
aware that what is actual is actual only for one time.
Afternoons liquifying before your arrival.
Some blood and an accompanied ride to the hospital,
one overnight bag, and the sorrow-filled faces of
nurses and doctors and dad and your grandparents
and I couldn’t remember for even one moment you’ve
stopped breathing in your space.
Birthing a corpse like we have no connection, maternal
me dies with your little blue body; I fail you, I fail us. If
only we rewind time, change outcome for this one case.
Just for this one time. And only for one place.
Published 30th Oct 2021
Author's Note
this form is a glosa. First one I have ever written and really like the form. It may be a little more structure than it looks.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 9
reading list entries 6
comments 13
reads 569
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
30th Oct 2021 8:04pm
I have never heard of this particular form before and I feel like you highly excelled in introducing it to me,Ursa... Well done you and thank you for teaching me. The depth of sorrow and heartbreak you convey within the structure leaves one stoic and utterly speechless.... at a loss for words....
I will leave you with the knowledge that I have read this a few times and my thoughts are various levels of tremendous ache. Which is wholly appropriate, I believe. The positive being, that writing it out, may be of a certain amount of catharsis..... I can hope and wish...
I wholeheartedly appreciate you being brave and sharing your write with us. You're very talented, there, my friend.
Much love and appreciation,
🌹 - B
I will leave you with the knowledge that I have read this a few times and my thoughts are various levels of tremendous ache. Which is wholly appropriate, I believe. The positive being, that writing it out, may be of a certain amount of catharsis..... I can hope and wish...
I wholeheartedly appreciate you being brave and sharing your write with us. You're very talented, there, my friend.
Much love and appreciation,
🌹 - B
31st Oct 2021 2:49pm
thank you, B, for stopping by, for your comment, for your kindness.
warmly, ursa 💜
warmly, ursa 💜
30th Oct 2021 11:03pm
31st Oct 2021 2:50pm
thank you SweetOblivion for stopping by and sharing you comment. much appreciated, ursa 💜
31st Oct 2021 2:38am
Dear U,
It shouldn’t surprise anyone I’ve never heard of glosa before. I always appreciate learning something new. This style is quite interesting. The subject of this poem is too difficult to make and leave a meaningful comment. It’s a beautiful, sad, yet beautiful poem. It’s story line is amazing. You’ve done a brilliant job. H🌷
It shouldn’t surprise anyone I’ve never heard of glosa before. I always appreciate learning something new. This style is quite interesting. The subject of this poem is too difficult to make and leave a meaningful comment. It’s a beautiful, sad, yet beautiful poem. It’s story line is amazing. You’ve done a brilliant job. H🌷
31st Oct 2021 2:51pm
Dear H,
Thank you so much for stopping by, and for your comment.
I appreciate you.
warmly,
ursa 💜
Thank you so much for stopping by, and for your comment.
I appreciate you.
warmly,
ursa 💜
19th May 2024 3:26am
Ursa,
This is one of the most inspiring and remarkable pieces I've read on this site since joining. The fact that it is 'formal' poetry only amplifies its magnificence and the magnitude of my feelings. In my humble opinion, this is hands down the winner of the contest you recently entered, and there are many good offerings.
Like essentially everyone who read it, I was not familiar with glosa poetry. Looking this up under Poetry Foundation, it describes four ten-line stanzas with ten syllables per line, each stanza exhibiting an ABBAACCDDC rhyme scheme. The borrowed quatrain, 'cabeza', is particularly curious in how it's presented and used. I'm hugely impressed with how you handled this.
By my reading, the syllable count in your piece as well as the rhyme scheme may be loosely followed, but for all practical purposed the piece is impeccable in its thematic development. beautifully decorated with alliteration and imagery while profoundly poignant at the end. Breathtaking.
Meg
This is one of the most inspiring and remarkable pieces I've read on this site since joining. The fact that it is 'formal' poetry only amplifies its magnificence and the magnitude of my feelings. In my humble opinion, this is hands down the winner of the contest you recently entered, and there are many good offerings.
Like essentially everyone who read it, I was not familiar with glosa poetry. Looking this up under Poetry Foundation, it describes four ten-line stanzas with ten syllables per line, each stanza exhibiting an ABBAACCDDC rhyme scheme. The borrowed quatrain, 'cabeza', is particularly curious in how it's presented and used. I'm hugely impressed with how you handled this.
By my reading, the syllable count in your piece as well as the rhyme scheme may be loosely followed, but for all practical purposed the piece is impeccable in its thematic development. beautifully decorated with alliteration and imagery while profoundly poignant at the end. Breathtaking.
Meg
Hello Meg,
Absolutely speechless, and humbled by your comment.
To add to your knowledge, there are some different variations of what rhyme scheme must be used in a Glosa, one which you have suggested, while others believe a Glosa must be 4 x 10 line stanzas each one ending each line of the borrowed quatrain, and in order, with only lines 6, 9 and 10 rhyming, (so lines 6 and 9 are rhymed with the borrowed line, or line 10 in each stanza) and this is what I chose to follow for this one in particular.
I hope this adds to your knowledge, and am honoured that you have explored this type of writing.
Thank you for taking your time here, and with my poem.
I appreciate you.
warmly,
ursa 💜
Absolutely speechless, and humbled by your comment.
To add to your knowledge, there are some different variations of what rhyme scheme must be used in a Glosa, one which you have suggested, while others believe a Glosa must be 4 x 10 line stanzas each one ending each line of the borrowed quatrain, and in order, with only lines 6, 9 and 10 rhyming, (so lines 6 and 9 are rhymed with the borrowed line, or line 10 in each stanza) and this is what I chose to follow for this one in particular.
I hope this adds to your knowledge, and am honoured that you have explored this type of writing.
Thank you for taking your time here, and with my poem.
I appreciate you.
warmly,
ursa 💜
19th May 2024 6:38pm
Oh wow, fascinating stuff. I'll add that you have a compelling way of making a formal piece feel less formal. It sneaks up on you by virtue of your conversational tone, which is an added intrigue to your piece.
This made my eyes well up a little bit. It dwarfs my poem and I feel unworthy next to this competition entry. Good luck on the competition.
19th May 2024 8:07pm
Verdonna, thank you for your humbling comment. I read your exceptional entry, and am so aware I am in unbelievable company in this comp. and on DU in general.
Lj has the hardest job ever!
good luck in the comp, I appreciate you.
warmly,
ursa 💜
Lj has the hardest job ever!
good luck in the comp, I appreciate you.
warmly,
ursa 💜
19th May 2024 9:15pm
This write deserves a category of its own. Called "Exceptional".
Are you ever out late, and returning to your car in a dimly lit parking garage, most vehicles are gone. And your car is towards the back. Your shoes echoing just how empty the place is...
That sense of just how alone your feel. Even if there's a random person perhaps. Still, it's your walk to reach your car, alone.
Your write is that. No matter who is there, the absolute despair of how singular you feel.
Ursa, this is an incredible write. I don't know much about form, nor am i one for contests. I just know what is an outstanding read. Something that overwhelms me, and even through the ache of it, I know I'm reading a one in a million writes.
I hope the cyber hugs you're receiving help a bit.
Just know this is indeed a gift of a write. It also led me to read more of your writings. You have a great talent for writing effectively and intelligently. My reward today.
Are you ever out late, and returning to your car in a dimly lit parking garage, most vehicles are gone. And your car is towards the back. Your shoes echoing just how empty the place is...
That sense of just how alone your feel. Even if there's a random person perhaps. Still, it's your walk to reach your car, alone.
Your write is that. No matter who is there, the absolute despair of how singular you feel.
Ursa, this is an incredible write. I don't know much about form, nor am i one for contests. I just know what is an outstanding read. Something that overwhelms me, and even through the ache of it, I know I'm reading a one in a million writes.
I hope the cyber hugs you're receiving help a bit.
Just know this is indeed a gift of a write. It also led me to read more of your writings. You have a great talent for writing effectively and intelligently. My reward today.
19th May 2024 11:27pm
Hello Styxian,
I have no words kind and grateful enough to serve as a response to this comment... Thank you for stopping by, for reading, and for taking your time to write.
I sincerely appreciate you.
warmly,
ursa 💜
I have no words kind and grateful enough to serve as a response to this comment... Thank you for stopping by, for reading, and for taking your time to write.
I sincerely appreciate you.
warmly,
ursa 💜
