[R. Nemo Hill]

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Know Where


A toothache, slight. A dog. These seem
my sole companions here this year.
Constant, they loiter through sleep, through dream,
and I wake to find them both still near:
the dog still outside in my chair,
the toothache still inside my mouth.

My tongue explores—there’s nothing there,
no crack, no cave. A shrewder scout,
my ear detects the chair frame creak
beneath the stray dog’s shifting weight
as dawn’s light just begins to sneak
in through the garden’s ragged gate.

I had a bad day yesterday,
and so I pulled the final stake.
Orphaned now, a castaway,
just one more stray, an ache
unanchored—I could be pleased, I guess.
Such days will be. And this one’s done,

its vagrant wave of loneliness
already come, already gone.
I didn’t eat (too busy wallowing)
till dusk, past hunger, I had some bread,
went through some motions, chewing, swallowing,
then slid straight down the chute to bed.

I wake this morning, a grateful outcast,
in the haven of this alien heaven
far from all the maudlin bombast
commodifying ‘nine-eleven’
on that Isle of Media I call home.
This being an election year,

they’ll cue the anguished metronome,
re-animate the pamphleteer.
Let them—! I’m here, beyond their law,
with this dog in my bamboo chair,
with this faithful toothache haunting my jaw,
in the garden of this other worldly know where—.


(11 September, 2006—Petulu, Bali)
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[Jan Iwaszkiewicz]

I am with you on this Nemo, in more ways than one you struck a nerve. As a matter of interest what time dog do you have? He/she certainly seems to have a degree of substance.

I will need to ponder a wee bit more before I can offer anything concrete.

I will return.

[Jim Ramsey]

Hi Nemo,

You've posted other good poems that I would lump together as having a similar theme of the poets, the artists, the outcasts among us, reflecting back on the path chosen, and though not regretting their fates, finding melancholy, loneliness and a bit of martyrdom there. I don't mean that in any way to be a nit. This piece may surpass your other good ones. It has a form, and rhymes, and content that I much admire, and offers the kind of art that makes life more tolerable. If I were to guess at what may be a nit to some, it's the hint of politics in the N's angst and yet I also see that as a strength in the poem in the way the N feels isolated from the crazy tumult of the times.

All the best,
Jim

[Jan Iwaszkiewicz]

Thick as two short planks I just got the pun. Cha-grin on my face.

Second read is even better.

[Jim Moonan]

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Edit: I've come back to trim off the euphoria in my initial comments and keep my enthusiasm at bay. After reading others' more cogent comments that are more aligned with the language of critiquing, mine seemed awkwardly out of place. There is obviously an autobiographical aspect to the poem that I was aware of but chose to put aside in order to immerse myself in what I find to be ultra poetic expressions of universal conditions. (there I go again.)

I know, too, that I sound like a disciple — Hardly! I am a "disciple" of certain poems, I am naturally "fervent" about certain things. But I gave up long ago looking to be led by anything or anyone more than that.

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I am ignited by both the resignation and the gratitude that binds this poem. I am emboldened by it. I find grace in it. So it will come as no surprise that I find the poem’s ombré-like melancholy that retreats to know where to be exactly where I am at this moment. So I find it nearly impossible to read with a critical eye. It is beyond that, to my ear. Instead, I began to isolate words and phrases that fuel it forward, such as these:

Ache unanchored
The repetitiveness in the first stanza: still… still… still; ache… ache… ache…
The dull, hope-deprived word “loiter”
garden's ragged gate
Vagrant wave
Let them—!

—But then I stop because there are so many, and to single out one is to deprive the others from working in concert with it. It evokes a kind of word-harmonizing quality that, both elevates and deepens the poem. The sonics and accompanying imagery throughout are darkly scintillating. For example, “garden’s ragged gate” is full of sound and jagged, worn, broken imagery. And then there's the metaphoric gate...

The way you use punctuation in this poem (Let them—!) elevates the elocution to be pitch perfect. When read aloud, the punctuation becomes the a map for how it should be read: like a beautiful soliloquy that ends not with a period but with an em dash. Brilliant.

In S3, I wonder about the meaning of “yesterday”, especially as it pertains to pulling “the final stake”. I don’t know for certain yet how expansive/metaphorical it is meant to be but I will need to read/dwell on it more.

The rhyming throughout is multifaceted, almost profusely fluid. It’s everywhere.

So I won’t say this is my favorite of yours I’ve read. I’ll just say it came at the perfect time.


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[John Riley]

I like the completeness here. The rhythm of the process of coming to be where the feet are. I don't know for certain, of course, but I think many people have this experience. When only one thing, and so often a painful thing, attaches you to a place. When a pain becomes the closest thing to you.

(Side Note: This is often a symptom of deep depression. As horrible as it is I've seen many people resist doing anything to make it go away. I don't think it's conscious, very little is when you're catatonic, but it's something that has to be acknowledged. I just went through pushing a man to get treatment.)

Sorry to be distracted but perhaps it isn't much of a distraction. The nowness of the place, the dog, always a dog, and a chair that is old and creaks are companions leading you into being a "grateful outcast." I like that lots.

My one question is the ending. I'm not 100% convinced you need the last stanza. I know you need a last line for the penultimate stanza but I'm not sure about entering the election stuff. I thought about ending the stanza like this:

"on that Isle of Media I (once? call(ed) home.
My faithful toothache haunting my jaw."

It's a mere suggestion. To dive into NYC politics threw me a bit.

Outside of that, I think taking a little time off writing poems served you well.

[Jan Iwaszkiewicz]

Do I get everything? No. Do I need to get everything? I don’t think so.

Third time reading now and what hit me on the first has struck me twice more and that is the solid feel of authenticity and its apparent transparency. The tet gives the speed that brings the reader along quite comfortably.

I am still mulling, enjoyably.

[Max Goodman]

FWIW, "wallowing" in a line in which eating is mentioned tells me "swallowing" is coming, a distraction.

Lots to like here.

[David Callin]

It does seem very much like a portrait of the artist at rest, albeit in some discomfort - a place of hard-earned stasis.

Thinking partly along the same sort of lines as John, I could almost be tempted to say that it could finish at S3 - that would be very attractive - but then I would miss the final stanza, which would be a shame. Clearly SS 4-5 are of importance to you, but this reader would be happy to see you move from 3 to 6 (now 4), perhaps with this piece of legerdemain ...

Such days will be. And this one’s done.

So cue the anguished metronome,

Just a thought.

Cheers

David

[Roger Slater]

I love the first two stanzas. The next two stanzas, however, strike me as vague and unnecessary. What is a "bad day"? It can mean so many things, from "my best friend died" to "I didn't manage to get much writing done." Perhaps in a book, as part of a sequence, I might have a better idea. But even still, it's quite repetitive: orphan, stray, castaway, unanchored. Pick a metaphor. Or better yet, show don't tell (the way you do in the rest of the poem). We go from the appealing specificity of the toothache, with its gentle hint of a metaphorical meaning, to belabored yet vague whining in S3. All of which is unnecessary, since the tone of S1 and S2, along with the portrait of someone who views a toothache as a constant and loyal companion, tell us all we need to know. And then S4 takes fairly long time to tell us that the speaker lost his appetite, which I don't regard as necessary (and which is perhaps an overfamiliar symptom of depression and loneliness, not nearly as original as enjoying the companionship of a mild toothache).