And away
 

They take me out, as if I were a bun
emerging from the oven, nicely done,
or one of Lord Carnarvon’s photographs.
“I feel like the Mummy!” No one laughs.
The nurse stands by, in case she needs to help
me back into my reassembled self.
My partner is still reading in her chair.
We move toward the unrestricted air,
not looking back, although the chances are
that this is not goodbye but au revoir.
(My eyes dazzle briefly, as they might
for blinking Lazarus surprised by light.)
After a coffee and a quick sit-down
we take a waiting taxi into town.

Nice little story! Is it a stand-alone for some generic clinic visit, or part of a longer story?

I have a tough time with the meter in the 4th and 11th lines. Try a different mummy joke, and use "rebalance" instead of "dazzle"? Also, it could be regional, but to my ear, L3's photograph, L8 toward, and L13 after don't quite fit.

This set reminds me of my heart probe. The little wires ran up from the thigh into your heart? Maybe not but I’m aware of procedures and these deal with them well.

This series of related poems is a poignant pleasure, David. I smiled at the rhyme pair “are / au revoir.”

I’d consider putting a full stop at the end of line 2, since it seems odd that they are taking out the N from the contraption like a photograph, whereas the bun simile works great. If you agree, you could change the start of line 3 to “I think of.”

Also, since line 4 is missing a beat (“I FEEL like the MUM-my!”), I think it would sound better iambic-pentametered like the rest.

I hope this series is all published together at some point.

Thanks Marshall. This is the fourth of four. Seek and ye shall find. We probably have some regional differences between us, but I am also not, strictly speaking, a metrical zealot.

Good to get your imprimatur, John. This isn't quite the same procedure, but you know the sort of thing I'm talking about here.

Really pleased you've enjoyed them, Andrew. Let me look at those nits you've found. I'm sure I'll find you're right.

Cheers all

David

.
Even for those of us who haven't been intruded upon to this extent (just a quick probe here, a snake camera there), it still serves me well. In that regard the poem is instructive : )

The opening two lines made me smile. It has a slightly tongue-in-cheek macabre feeling in it.

I like the use of parens to convey the shield against the light.

As I said above, I'm not familiar with the exact procedure that was performed — did they put you under? I'm wondering because of the Lazarus reference.

I agree with Andrew about a full stop after L2.

If I'm being hyper-critical I'd say that there is an oddness to the final two lines that I don't know you intended. One would think that after a procedure such as this the two of you would head home, not into town — unless they are one and the same. Or maybe you intend to say exactly what it seems to imply: you both have a busy schedule and a minor detour like a medical procedure is not going to stop the joie de vivre that the two of you give each other. I like that.


.

Thanks Jim. I was not under. But I did emerge, blinking, into the light.

In my mind, each couplet is a step back towards the world, and the idea of the last two lines is just that we were finally stepping back into the world proper - "town", I thought, a nice little synecdoche for that. The detail you don't know, of course, is that we couldn't head home just then, having travelled to Liverpool for the procedure. We had a plane to catch, to go home, later. So we went to an art gallery, had lunch and then headed off to one of Liverpool's most famous pubs for a quick pint (for me, at least) before the taxi picked us up for the plane. There's joie de vivre for you.

And joie de vivre is a very resonant phrase in this context.

Cheers

David

Delightful.

As long as you're mentioning Lord C, why not the metrically felicitous "I feel like Tutankhamen"? Even if that's not strictly accurate reportage of what was said.

Thanks Julie. That's a nice idea. And metrically more correct! Although, in the moment, it was more The Mummy (in the horror film sense) that I felt like.

Cheers

David

Not so much a critique as an appreciation: I like this one. No quibbles. I enjoy the sequence, as well.

Hi, David—another nice one! I echo Jim’s sentiments about that wonderful bun line, and Marshall’s about the meter in Ls 4 and 11. (In 4, a simple “just” before “mummy” could cure the issue.)

This is also just wonderful:

help
me back into my reassembled self.

“My partner” struck me as a bit odd, since the relationship sounds like a married, opposite-sex one. Further, since you’ve had some metrical departures elsewhere that don’t serve any rhetorical purpose, the seemingly rhyme-driven nature of the “partner” choice feels all the more odd. Not that I’m suggesting switching it to “wife” with no other changes! I’d suggest switching it to “wife” and then adjusting elsewhere to maintain IP.

unrestricted air

is also nice—I can feel the release!

I love the brisk metrical variation of L13—it feels entirely appropriate to the change of pace and scene, and the last line ties things up with satisfying simplicity.

Maybe "I'm feeling like the Mummy!" No one laughs.

Hi David

This had your usual small jokes which made me smile. Others have mentioned several. I particularly liked the "quick sit down" at the end. Very English. The title "and away" brought to mind the Paul Whitehouse, Bob Mortimer "Gone Fishing" series. While "googbye" v "au revoir" takes me to Peter Cook and Jonathan Miller in Beyond the Fringe
. I do have a tangled nest of odd associations in my head.

I had no problem with the “I feel like the Mummy!” No one laughs." line. It reads straightforwardly as a headless IP, so the stress goes on "I" and "like". The line I had a slight difficulty with was "My eyes dazzle briefly, as they might", which you could read as another headless IP, but less convincingly I think. More importantly, it appears that your eyes are doing the dazzling. Perhaps it follows on from the previous poems and the MRI has worked some powerful magic on your loveliness (we already know about your handsome ankles) or perhaps you really were being attended to by aliens and are now one of them. You could of course rephrase the line as "My eyes are dazzled briefly, as they might" which would restore the humdrum interpretation and the standard IP. On the other hand, I feel a new scifi series coming on.

Cheers

Joe

Thanks Tony. I must get round to your latest! It's just that busy time of year, isn't it?

Thanks Alexandra. You're right, I chose "my partner" for metrical reasons, but I don't object to it anyway. I'm really pleased you're responded so positively to this short series.

Ah Julie, another good suggestion. Thanks for that.

Hi Joe. You have rumbled me on the title, which I thought might be perfect for people who have seen the TV programme (a lovely thing in itself), being (as you know) the catchphrase with which the fishermen tenderly release the caught fish back into the water. That's how I felt on my release. The Peter Cook and Dudley Moore connection didn't occur to me, but I saw what you mean as soon as I read it. An unintended (but not unwelcome) echo there.

Funny you should say that. That's true for me too, a fact which is germane to "My eyes dazzle briefly, as they might". "Mine eyes dazzle" is a famous line from "The Duchess of Malfi" (one of my set texts for English A-Level). I've always liked it, and thought I'd use it here. I'm just a magpie.

Anyway, cheers to all

David