Love's Longhand
 

Revision

Resonance

I walk back to you on fingertips, carefully
turning each grainy page, peeling them from

each other, from their folded selves in dust
that unsettles quickly from my deep closet

shelves—that rush up to light like all of a sudden
doubt, or an old song in the mind that silence

brings out. In the must that will gather where
time stands still, I found them bound by a hair-

band, notes and letters beneath frills. I look
hard, but can’t understand the grandness

of my flourish, the tapering landscapes of hills,
my own hand. One by one I pull them apart,

squint to hear the lyrics of the younger heart—
maybe the spacious acoustics of forever

and ever, of brighter rooms. I pluck at the
corners, try to grip what I meant, to find

a clear note, what string’s out of tune.




*Notes:

yellowed letters --> notes and letters



Resonance

I walk back to you
on fingertips, carefully

turning each grainy
page, peeling them from

each other, from their
folded selves in dust

that unsettles quickly
from my deep closet

shelves—that rush up to
light like all of a sudden

doubt, or an old song
in the mind that silence

brings out. In the must
that will gather where

time stands still, I found
them bound by a hair-

band, yellowed letters
beneath frills. I try,

but can’t understand
the grandness of my

flourish, the tapering
landscapes of hills,

my own hand. One by
one I pull them apart,

squint to hear the lyrics
of the younger heart—

maybe the spacious
acoustics of forever

and ever, of brighter
rooms. I pluck at the

corners, try to grip
what I meant, to find

a clear note, what
string’s out of tune.




*Notes:

Changed the close from:

........I pluck at the

corners, try to grip
what I meant—as if

I’ll find a clear note,
the string out of tune.

Hi, James—

This is a very touching poem. At first reading I thought the “you” in L1 referred to a wife or loved one, perhaps having passed away years earlier, to whom the N had written the letters and poems. The reference to the hairband seemed to support this. Upon re-reading, though, I decided that the N is addressing his younger self as “you.” He is most interested in his youthful handwriting and use of language. Knowing that your voice has been silenced, the reference to silence in L12 and the N’s search for “a clear note” are very powerful.

I was a bit confused by the reference to dust. I wouldn’t expect dust to unsettle if the closet where the documents are kept is damp.

Thanks for sharing this beautiful piece.

Glenn

Hi James.
I enjoyed this, but got lost trying to navigate the ending: the 'pluck' within the em dashes can't relate to the 'string' which must tie back to the younger heart. Or so it seems to me. Might you remove the second dash (after 'meant') and switch the comma after 'note' to a period?

RG.

My first reaction was similar to Richard’s. As a master of misreading, I first got:

as if I’ll find a clear note [and find] the string out of tune

It shouldn’t have taken me several readings to get something more plausible:

as if I’ll find a clear note [even though] the string [is now] out of tune

Like a string instrument that’s been lying around for years, the letters don’t ring true anymore.

Speaking of letters, I was so sure at the beginning that you were peeling apart pages of a diary or notebook that when you later find letters, I thought they were longhand characters. Yellowed and bound? I told you I was a master.

BTW, “carefully flip” is nearly an oxymoron, like “slowly scamper.”

I agree with Glenn that the poem is beautiful and touching (in every sense of the word). A treat to read.

Hey Glenn—thanks for the quick response and I’m very pleased that you liked this. I’m still thinking about the damp pages vs the dust. It is possible that both could be present? You have me wondering…

Thank you very much for your thoughts, Richard. I admit that I’m not quite sure what you mean regarding the ending—not your suggested adjustments, but what confused you. When I stopped working on this last night, I added a note to myself: “Don’t get too cute with the close.” So, hmmm. I don’t know if this would clear things up, but here’s what I had:

maybe the spacious
acoustics of forever

and ever, of brighter
rooms. I pluck at the

corners as if I’ll find
a clear note, what

string’s out of tune.




*Just saw that you posted, Carl. I'll come back. (Perhaps I'll go back to "turn" instead of "flip.")

Hi James,

what confused you
The comma, mainly. What follows note, felt like a new thought, a discovery. That and the switch from plural (page(s), letters, one by one etc) to the singular (string.)
As a noted misreader, please take all this with (at least one) pinch of salt.

Elsewhere, would hate to see the 'unsettled dust' disappear, much taken with that.

(Perhaps I'll go back to "turn" instead of "flip.")
Tease ?


RG.

I was reading the ending something like this: "as if I'll find a clear note or identify the string that's out of tune," but now Richard and Carl have me confused.

I also had the same thought as Glenn regarding the dampness and dust. But I like the dust unsettling and wouldn't want to lose that. Is the dampness necessary?

It's a lovely poem.

Hi Carl—I, too, am a master of that, believe me. I’m frankly embarrassed by some of my past interpretations. But your initial reading is correct, and your other interpretation isn’t wrong. How’s that? I rather like the idea of the string instrument lying around for years… Anyway, I’m relieved. Yes, they are love letters, love notes, etc. You were of course also correct about “flip” and have changed that. Thank you for your comments and the kind words.

Yes, Hilary, that’s what I intended re the close. I fear that both you and Glenn are right about the dampness. I’d like something more tactile there, so I’m trying “grainy.” There are other things I like about it, so I’m really hoping this does the trick. Thanks much for your input and the push.

Thanks for coming back, Richard. Ok, now I’m clear, I think, about what confused you. I guess I see enough of a connection between “note” and what follows to use the comma—though I do see how it abruptly changes gears there, hinges on the meanings of “note.” It’s kind of in the same vein as “squint to hear,” I guess. Or that’s how I see it anyway. I’d be interested to know if others have the same or similar issues with it. Very much appreciate your detailed attention to this.

No, James, I’m too good a misreader to have gotten it right on first reading. I heard you saying: “I pluck at the corners … as if I’ll find a clear note and also find that the string I’m plucking is out of tune.” Now I suppose you must be hoping to find a clear note as well as find the one string that’s out of tune, so you can tune it. That was Hilary’s reading, I think.

Hahaha-- you don't give yourself nearly enough credit, Carl. I certainly don't mind some open-endedness. A majority of the time, it's preferable to me. But, if I really want to get down to it, neither will be found because I can't read what I wrote (as if I'll find a clear note, as if I'll find the string
out of tune). But I'm more than happy with what you and others got from it. Which, to me, isn't that different.


*Added: I didn't mean to come off as dismissive. If I did, I apologize. It wasn't my intention. I do of course very much appreciate the depth and detail of your comments. To know exactly, specifically what you're thinking. It's very helpful. Thanks again for that.

Not necessary

Hi James,

I like this too, but I found the line breaks were coming around too quickly for me to settle into what felt the right mood for the poem. So I eliminated half of them, with the following result (which I think I prefer). I somehow feel sure I'm looking at this wrong, and that your instinct must be better, but this is where I am at the moment ...

I walk back to you on fingertips, carefully
turning each grainy page, peeling them from

each other, from their folded selves in dust
that unsettles quickly from my deep closet

shelves—that rush up to light like all of a sudden
doubt, or an old song in the mind that silence

brings out. In the must that will gather where
time stands still, I found them bound by a hair-

band, yellowed letters beneath frills. I try,
but can’t understand the grandness of my

flourish, the tapering landscapes of hills,
my own hand. One by one I pull them apart,

squint to hear the lyrics of the younger heart—
maybe the spacious acoustics of forever

and ever, of brighter rooms. I pluck at the
corners, try to grip what I meant, to find

a clear note, what string’s out of tune.

Apologetic cheers

David

Whoa David-- you knocked me out of my chair. (And it managed to keep the line breaks that I like the most as well.) I want to let it simmer, just a bit, but right now I'm thinking that I'll post that as a revision. Thank you.

.
Yes, David's tweaks render this in an even more tender way, imo.

I read this pretty much right after you posted it, before I saw/read any crits. I made this note as a marker in hopes of coming back to finish my thoughts:

James, you know you’ve made an impression on me when 1.) I can spell your last name without looking it up, and 2.) when I am moved to dedicate a poem to you. If you’d ask around, you’d see what I mean : )

Without even fully immersing myself into this pool of couplets (you’ve been writing in couplets of late, I think), I could feel a tenderness that hit me in the gut (my gut has been in overdrive lately). The overwhelming feeling I get as I step from couplet to couplet is a slowing of time, which then allows me to drink up the potent emotion that is latent in almost every couplet.

Here are the spots that found my gut:

Love's Longhand (I think that's the title)

In the must that will gather where
time stands still, (olfactory poetry)

the tapering landscapes of hills,
my own hand.(There's a Seamus Heaney poem Railway Children that has loomed large in my psyche ever since I first read it that is awakened by a few of your gorgeous phrasings)

I pluck at the
corners, try to grip what I meant, to find

a clear note, what string’s out of tune. (Such a light touch to end such a tender, emotion-filled poem.)

Beautiful poem.


.

Thanks so much, Jim. You’re now officially invited to speak at my Celebration of Life. Really though, your words gave me quite a lift. (And I’m fine... knock wood.) If I have competing titles, I tend to make one the thread title and the other the “actual” title. So liking the Longhand title is helpful. For the longest time I had it titled My Own Hand, which, given the general subject, became, um, problematic. (Or I could just turn the whole thing into a limerick.) And, yes yes, I owe David big for that. It hit me immediately.

I’m fond of Heaney, but didn’t know that poem—it's gorgeous. Thank you. I used to make my students read Punishment (and play Seamus reading it). Thanks again for your very generous words.

Ah that's great, James - and very gratifying. We aim to please.

I really like the poem.

Cheers

David

There is some very sweet and melodic phrases, but, Jim, it feels too long at the moment, too heap-like. I'm not quite seeing how the music-riff and the hand-riff come together: and at times there seems an almost intentional vagueness which allows the poem to arrow in its chains of metaphor, but not quite for the metaphors to come together. If you only had 12, 10, 14 lines: what would you keep, what would you twine?

Hope this helps.

I hear you on the sweetness, Cameron. I had to sit it down and have a nice long talk with it. In the end, I was like, you know, it’s your life, good luck. What concerns me much more is that some things I intended apparently weren’t coming through for you. Particularly the close. As far as the cutting, in a poem like this, my feeling is that just because you can cut, doesn’t mean that you should. You may well be correct, or on to something here, but I’m way too close to this now for such an overhaul. After the dust has settled, I’ll put in the drawer for a significant amount of time, like I usually do, and come back to it with new eyes. I really appreciate your honest take, and will keep your response in mind. Always good to get your opinion, Cam. Thank you.

Thanks for coming back, David. Your longer lines had such a positive impact on the poem. Thank you again. And again.

Hi James,

I read this when it was first posted, and like David, thought doubling up the lines would be better. And seeing it done, I do think it is.

I'm a little confused by the premiss of the poem. At first I thought the N was reading letters from his (possibly former, possibly estranged, possibly dead) beloved, with the aim of reconnecting to them. Yet later in the poem, it seems like he's reading his own hand(writing), his own flourishes.

So, then I was thinking these were instead letters he had written to his beloved. In which case, I wondered, why does he still have them? Did he not send them, perhaps? I guess unsent letters are a possibility. Or did he get them back somehow, maybe he was given them in the break up? Maybe he now lives with his beloved (or they were living together before the beloved died, if the beloved did) and the beloved keeps/kept the letters in their shared closet? Incidentally, as someone who sometimes uses their hairbands as elastic bands, the use of one here doesn't clue me in as to who's kept the letters.

Whatever the case, I wonder why reading his own letters brings the beloved back more than reading the beloved's letter would? The beloved is at a remove in this case. But maybe that's part of the tiptoeing back, and he's not ready to read the beloved's. Or maybe he didn't keep the beloved's letters? So the N is trying to reconnect more with himself, with his previous feelings and that way "bring back" the beloved, bring back his connection to the love he once felt, or still feels, for the beloved?

Hmm, or given "lyric" and "notes" and the implication of a musical instrument, maybe they are songs, or poems, that he wrote about the beloved -- but then why fold them, which is more suggestive of letters that have been sent or at least placed in envelopes to be sent?

I guess that "you" could be his former self and not a beloved -- his former, "folded selves". In which case he's rereading to recapture himself -- the true and the false notes. But still, them being folded suggests letters more than a diary or notebook.

The close shows him trying to reconnect with what it was he'd written: what he meant, what he felt. But it's distant from him, he's not at the centre of it: he's picking at the edges (the corners). He considers finds elements that strike him as clear and true -- resonant, as per the title, and maybe also as genuine, authentic -- and those he considers false notes, that don't resonate, and are perhaps inauthentic. This could be his assessment of what he wrote back then -- that some was fake, inauthentic. But it could also be that everything he wrote back then was true to him back then, but given how he feels now, it feels false, it doesn't resonate anymore, because he's no longer in that space.

So, my best guess is that he wants to rekindle or remember his love for the beloved. He wants to "tiptoe" back, which suggests he wants to do this gently, without causing alarm, perhaps. He does this by reading love letters that he'd written long ago, since those were declarations of that love -- or the expressions it -- and might reconnect him to that love. He thinks this will remind him how he felt, but finds he can't (fully) connect to these. And with this, there's perhaps also an implication that his love back then wasn't as strong / clear / true as he remembers it. Even if that's correct, I still think I'd like to be just a little clearer on the scenario. Something small to push it one direction of the other. Maybe, if the hairband is intended to denote a woman, "her hairband" would be enough: would make it clear who'd kept the letters and that they'd had been sent/given rather than unsent and kept by the N (assuming, of course, he didn't keep her hairband and bind his unsent letters in them!).

With the caveat that everyone has their own approach to enjambments, there were a few that I felt could maybe be stronger. I thought "from" was quite a weak word to have a stanza break on in S1, and I couldn't see what it was meant to achieve. In S5/6 and I don't see advantage of the hard break on "my", separating "my" from "flourish" -- is there an intention to emphasise "my"? That aside, I wondered if you might do something to to avoid the "my"/"try" end-rhyme which gives you a rhyming couplet, which seems odd in a free verse poem. And in S7 I'm not seeing the benefit of breaking on "the". Breaking on "pluck" might be worth trying, to emphasise the connection with "clear note" and how this implies a stringed instrument. For balance, I do like the break on "careful" in S1, and how it works differently either side of the line-break. And I like the S4's stanza break on "hair-" a lot, and the double-read this gives.

best,

Matt

Thank you, Matt, for your detailed crit on what was confusing you and other matters. Yes, his own letters, love notes, etc. which I do think is clear enough later in the poem. And it wouldn't bother me if it comes as a bit of a surprise that the speaker is trying to read himself. However, what is making me pause is the lyrics part that you point out. Hmmm. I see how that might cause some confusion. I suppose it would translate into something like “squint to hear them as if they were the lyrics of the younger heart.” So you’re making me think that that was too big of a leap. I feel that I need to keep that gesture though, so I’ll keep thinking about how to work it out... I’ll also keep considering your thoughts re the enjambments, though probably I’ll keep the corners one. It’s a risk, I know, but sometimes you have stick your neck out. I’m glad you liked the hairband moment—I was actually a little worried about that one (but really, really wanted to keep it). And he can’t understand his own writing (or much of it): “I try, but can’t understand…my own hand.” I don’t view it as absolutely essential, but, ideally, I would like at least a tinge of regret to come through. I really appreciate your thoughts, Matt, and will return to them.

.
I see James beat me to responding to this. I get a distinct sense of pain emanating from what you call "very sweet and melodic phrases". In terms of brevity, James's take that "just because you can cut, doesn’t mean that you should. You may well be correct, or on to something here, but I’m way too close to this now for such an overhaul" is my take. In this case, I'd think twice about cutting parts out of what is a fragile, vulnerable and beautiful whole. (Although the hypothetical question you ask is one I should ask myself every time before I post a poem here.)
It may very well become stronger through attrition. The art of compressing a poem to its essence can be a treacherous task, especially with a delicately imagined poem such as this.

When it comes to critiquing a poem, I tend to be a counterpuncher. For example, in response. to Matt's completely logical crit that:

"...given "lyric" and "notes" and the implication of a musical instrument, maybe they are songs, or poems, that he wrote about the beloved -- but then why fold them, which is more suggestive of letters that have been sent or at least placed in envelopes to be sent?"

—I must say I absolutely love the merging sense that I get embodied in the letters-being-lyrics-being-songs-being-folded-being-sung-being-discovered-being read again. It just makes sense to me. I want my poetry to play with logic. I want it to be led by emotion and harnessed in authenticity. I feel the confusion you feel, Matt, but contend that any confusion in the reader's mind stems from the N's confusion that is the heart of the poem. It, too, is confused. I just go with it.

Matt: "I wonder why reading his own letters brings the beloved back more than reading the beloved's letter would?"
I would give a million dollars to have back the letters I wrote over a two-year period to a woman I was in love with long ago. As it is, I don't even have her letters! So this poem reminds me of how I ache for that literary correspondence/evidence of love that is irretrievable. (Actually, I'd have to beg, borrow and steal a million dollars — Ha!)


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