City Circle
 

Revision

City Circle

Neither one, roles undefined,
said a word when it began to happen,
when our legs fell weary and light as dust
and we could only make fair progress
by twisting our hips and leaning
forward from lane edge to lane edge.
Soon the moving had our bones creaking
but we never questioned the pain that settled
like old armor on top of our hips.
We looked at one another only once,
could not bear to see what the other presented,
the flaming smile like wind-pressed excitement,
the wide-open eyes, with no plans to close.

City Circle

We took a short walk in the city woods,
ten minutes to travel the trail that cut
through the middle of the manicured oaks,
and then a looping return along half
of the full circle around the copse.
Neither one, roles undefined,
said a word when it began to happen,
when our legs fell weary and light as dust
and we could only make fair progress
by twisting our hips and leaning
forward from lane edge to lane edge.
Soon the moving had our bones creaking
but we never questioned the pain that settled
like old armor on top of our hips.
We looked at one another only once,
could not bear to see what the other presented,
the flaming smile like wind-pressed excitement,
the wide-open eyes, with no plans to close.

When my own legs fall weary, they get heavier and more burdensome. I'm not sure what to make of "our legs grew weary and light as dust."

I'm also not sure why the sight of the other's flaming smile and open eyes "with no plans to close" would be something that "we could not bear to see" that "the other presented." If I saw those things, they would make me more, not less, hopeful about my husband's and my own ability to keep on going for some time yet. But that contradiction of my expectations might be what makes the poem.

Just my $.02.

I had exactly the same problem as Julie with "our legs grew weary and light as dust." Additionally, I don't understand "by twisting our hips and leaning
forward from lane edge to lane edge." (On a more positive note, I love - and can sympathize with - "the pain that settled like old armor on top of our hips."

Interestingly, I think the poem presently works better for me if you simply eliminated lines 8 through 11. What remains is clear - but also duller. A rethink/rewrite of 8-11, as opposed to just cutting them, would really help the poem.

Hi John,

I agree with Michael that, generally, there is a lack of clarity in the poem that ultimately amounts to just that. It might not hurt to define relationship, if not roles, of narrator and partner--if indeed they are not the same person.

I also agree with Julie. That line and the one about the weight of armor are a distracting contrast, despite one's ability to see its purpose.

I like the effect of turning back, nel mezzo Camm di nostra vita?, whereupon things happen or are noticed.

Rick

Thanks for the help. If I don’t revise now it isn’t because I’m ignoring the input. I’ve learned to let suggestions linger before revising.

John, I found myself at first a bit nonplussed by the utilitarian language of the opening, but then drawn in as it began to assume a voice reminiscent of Frost’s blank verse. I soon started getting a sense that I was going somewhere—an adventure, a learning experience--though I didn’t know where. Then came “neither one,” which I found a bit obliquely generic in tone; my heart inclined instead toward something at least as specific and personal as “neither one of us.” “Roles undefined” also seems undefined in itself—like Rick, I want to know what kind of roles you’re talking about; I can guess, but I shouldn’t feel like I’m needing to write this part of the poem in my head. Ditto on others’ points about the legs “weary and light as dust” and “twisting our hips and leaning forward from lane edge to lane edge.” But I, too, love the “old armor” image. Also ditto on the confusion about “could not bear” and the descriptions that follows. At the end of the poem, I found myself not knowing what it was trying to be about, although I wanted to. The opening’s sense of promise regarding a compelling destination seemed unfulfilled.

Hi John,

I’m going to join the others in saying that I love the “old armor on top of our hips.” My favorite line, once I processed it, was “the wide-open eyes, with no plans to close.” Such a sense of lightness and forward motion at the end.

The legs feeling light didn’t bother me because I imagined it as the type of tiredness where you’ve been walking for so long that you just try to go up in your head and forget your legs exist. Like you don’t even feel them, that kind of tired. Although my attention did snag on “ten minutes.” I’m guessing it was longer than ten minutes because of the return journey, but some readers may get stuck on that detail and perceive it as short.

I would prefer “neither of us” over “neither one,” as I got confused on who or what the narrator was referring to during the first read. I wasn’t sure how to visualize the “twisting our hips” part.

Thanks for your comment on waiting to revise; I do the same thing and find it helpful to let it simmer.

Gorgeous poem! I’m not much of a met poet either, but I enjoyed the feel of it.

Ella

when our legs fell weary and light as dust

That's an interesting, counter-intuitive formulation, John, one that works against conventional idea of weariness as heaviness to formulate a kind of weariness that so lightens and numbs the muscles that they can only exert an effort light as dust, a ghost of movement. I think you need to lean into the idea of lost strength more to make it work for most readers.

Nemo

On the seeming contradiction that has been noted when pushed to one’s physical limits there comes a point of lightening not in the weight of being but in the connection to being. It is well past the point of physical markers.

It is the line that really struck me in this.

Thanks for the comments. As I said above I'll have to come back to this after letting it sit. My plan, and it failed, was that the trip was so short that distance wasn't the cause of the change. But it's a bit of a mess at this point. As Nemo said I need to lean into the different and don't yet know how to do that successfully. If someone has ideas I listen, but I don't want it to become more rational.

John,

The opening of the poem suggests a metaphor for a much longer circuit. I'm not sure you've failed here, but, again, it's clarity you need to concentrate on in revising.

RM

Hi John,

I do find a lot to like here. I like the unexpectedness of the legs becoming light as they become weary. And also the unexpectedness of the pain and the creaking leading to smiles and excitement. And I connect the two. Something is happening here for these two people (I imagine two anyway, it could be more, of course). Something transcendent perhaps. Something unusual certainly, and it captures my interest.

It's interesting to read your intentions for the opening. I'd wondered if the fact that it was such a short distance, a 20 minute or so of walking, implied that maybe they maybe very old or infirm.

In the opening, I found this : " a looping return along half of the full circle around the copse" maybe a bit over-detailed / over-functional. I wonder if I need this much detail. I wonder if you need L4-5 at all?

Then I wondered if you needed the first five lines at all, and could start the poem with "Neither one ...", and I quite like the poem that way. There's no context. No suggestion of a short walk or a long one. Just this "happening" of the legs falling weary and light as dust and the pain and the smiles. I think I prefer the mystery of that.

But perhaps you want the move from city to woods to be the cause of their experience?

best,


Matt

Thank you, Matt. Your suggestion to cut the top was spot on and I posted a revision.

John,

Twice Interesting.

Having read only the revision, my first impression was of a fly-clutching dark-night lights-off drag-racing experience beloved of adolescents in my neck of the Michigan woods, our pedals to the metal, with never a thought of mortality or maiming. Either a surprise.

In a reading that depresses me, it adumbrates a couple going for broke in a relationship in which going for broke is the only impetus for staying together. Pain intentional?

In both instances it's a cycle, a vicious circle.

.
Hi John, What astounds me about this poem is that it puts into psychic phrasing the complicated act of aging. But I also think the revision plunges it into obscureness. You had already done a good job of telling the scenario slantly but I miss the anchor of the opening four lines of the original that tethered me. They served as a harness to the more dream-like rest of the poem that so surreally defines the body’s failing.

What makes this poem transcendent for me is the lightness of being that is sustained in spite of the heaviness of living, of aging, and the smile in the face of it all. It is a humble transcendence that laughs lightly at our slow demise. Our bodies never stood a chance at outlasting our non-material self… There now: look what I’ve done! I’ve taken a perfectly pleasant poem and turned it into gloomy thoughts. Good thing there’s coffee to keep me company — ha!

Someday in the future, if all goes well, we will have the capability of becoming bionic, limb by limb, organ by organ. Like starfish. But it won’t be the fountain of youth. We will still yearn for something beyond our reach. My two cents.
I’ve had my walks curtailed by hip pain and recent surgeries to replace both hips and a torn rotator cuff. My back aches. Marilyn, too, has had her turn. Now we ache in other places —ha!

The title escapes me or underwhelms me.

.

Hi John,

Yes, seeing it with first 5 lines cut I do think it works better. Now I wonder if the title still works with the first 5 lines are gone. Maybe "City Woods" with it's almost oxymoronic feel might work better? There's also something transcendent about woods -- and the idea of finding woods in the city, an oasis of beauty amid the grey concrete -- that maybe seems to fit what's going on. Or maybe it doesn't for you. Still, like Jim, I think another title might be worth thinking about.

-Matt

Jim, thanks. I think the original opening added nothing but location. There wasn’t enough beneath that informing the poem. Maybe a new opening will happen. I’m pleased you connected to the theme. The title will be changed.

Matt, thanks for coming back. I agree about the title. Perhaps I should have changed it to “Circle.” I’ll have to think about it.

Maybe "wobbly" in place of "weary"?

Thanks, Roger. I think you’re right.

Hi John. Matt's suggested excision of the first five lines works really well. There we are, very strikingly, in media res - but what is this thing we're in?

I think - again, like Matt - that something transcendent is going on here. I like the fact that you leave it unclear, but it strikes me as some sort of metamorphosis. Something magical, but whether it's for better or for worse is unclear - to me, at least. But the ending does seem hopeful. Maybe that's just me.

It is an intriguing thing, all told.

Cheers

David

As usual John I question the cadences of prose that stroll through here. As so to the content. I like it I identify.

A journey on the train into the do loop of the City Circle the final destination. As I said I like it and identify

Hi, John—
I imagined that this poem was about a couple accustomed to taking a brisk walk through a wooded park who find themselves growing older. Neither one wants to call attention to their increasing infirmities and the growing difficulty they experience in making the short walk, nor do they want to admit the visual evidence of their own aging. It’s a moving vignette about their willingness to suffer pain rather than surrender to impending death—their own and their partner’s.
My only question is why do you begin in third person (“neither one”) in lines 1-2, then switch to first person (“our”) in line 3? How about beginning “Neither of us. . .” ?
I enjoyed the poem very much.
Glenn

Thanks. This one was way down the queue. I’ll take another look at the poem. It’s probably best to communicate directly to the poet when a poem has fallen so far to not interfere with the more recent poems. Just a tip.