[Alex Pepple]

Escaping the School of Yawns
                 (revised text in blue)


That child staring through slits in his rattan window
with a yawn wide as the mouth of a deflated soccer ball,
draws all he sees in a coloring book.

He plays darts, missing again the roach on the ceiling.
He’s learned to snap shut before the roommate housefly
darts by. His crayons are the hues of fevered skin and bruising.

He connects lines from Mama’s stories to whispers leaking
in through fissures in the baked clay walls—. Papa learned slow—
while speedy friends flashed gold-capped teeth, chanting, New Order!

Those minds, closed as a barred window, are relegated to one.
He can see some on a patrolled dirt court—the pole men
hobbling like cartoons of caricatures, the spindly legs.

They attempt dunks of stone balls into makeshift loops, dragging
their ancestral shadows. By the baobab tree, scarred
by holes, the guardians lean, shine bayonets, make rounds;

their smoke plume up its majestic trunk fading at the limbs.
He’s seen them up close—the arms oil-polished, the starched
and creased fatigues, good order-takers, dirt show fomenters.

Jolted by the walls clattering as a tank approaches,
he bounds downstairs like a stair-tumbling calabash,
he twitters as it grumbles past over pits on the pathway.

Then, heaven hums like the dogged drone of tsetse fly—he’s caught
in a scatter of falling thoughts, aflutter in the harmattan winds,
falling, waving like a mechanical swarm of goodbyes.

He races—fingers grasping at any descending truth concealed—
just one message to guide his sketches, shade Papa's absence
into the final blank page of his worn coloring book.

L1: kid -> child
L2: big -> wide
S2L3: the shades of body fluids -> the hues of fevered skin and bruising
S5L2: lineage of -> ancestral; bruised -> scarred
S8L1: a darting tsetse fly -> the dogged drone of tsetse fly
S8L2: a flock of dropped thoughts -> a scatter of falling thoughts
S9L1: straining to reach just one for one message -> fingers grasping at any descending truth concealed
S9L2: shape -> shade

------------------------------------------------------

~~~First revision ~~~

Escaping the School of Yawns


That kid staring through slits in his rattan window
with a yawn big as the mouth of a deflated soccer ball,
draws all he sees on a coloring book.

He plays darts, missing again the roach on the ceiling.
He’s learned to snap shut before the roommate housefly
darts by. His crayons are in the shades of body fluids.

He connects lines from Mama’s stories to whispers leaking
in through fissures in the baked clay walls—. Papa learned slow—
speedy friends’ new gold-capped teeth already flashing, New Order!

Those minds, closed as a barred window, are regaled to one.
He can see some on a patrolled dirt court—the pole men
hobbling like cartoons of caricatures, the spindly legs.

They retry dunks of stone balls into contrivances, dragging
their lineage of shadows. By the baobab tree, bruised
with holes, the guardians lean, shine bayonets, make rounds;

their smoke plume up its majestic trunk fading at the limbs.
He’s seen them up close—the arms oil-polished, the starched
and creased fatigues, good order-takers, dirt show fomenters.

Jolted as the walls clatter from an approaching tank,
he’s downstairs in bounds like a stair-dropped calabash,
he twitters as it grumbles past over pits on the pathway.

Then, heaven hums like a cloud of tsetse flies—he’s caught
in a flock of dropped thoughts, aflutter in the harmattan winds,
falling, waving like a mechanical swarm of goodbyes.

He races, straining to reach just one for one message,
a hint to guide his sketches—fit thoughts into shapes—maybe,
of relevance to Papa: where, whys—to conclude his coloring book.

[James Brancheau]

I’m still absorbing this, but I think it’s excellent, rich with gorgeously written moments, including the emotionally charged ending. I’m thinking that this is a child observing his surroundings during a time of conflict—perhaps a civil war (?) in an African country. In the end, his father is going off to fight and I envision the child chasing after him behind a tank that is whipping up dust from the road. I thought that the image of the tsetse flies very fitting as they are known for the transmission of diseases. I thought of the passing down of war, the roots of war, from one generation to the next (being infected), especially as the child is depicted as drawing what he observes—how he is impressionable, as children are. Not to mention the cloud of ideas of what to draw swirling around in his head. It’s terrific.

Though God knows I may be wrong about something above, I’m significantly less confident about how I see the coloring book. But what I love about it, intended or not, is that it seems to me that he is drawing over images that are supposed to be colored in. Blurred/changing borders, reality vs the ideal/the neat, etc., all of this comes to mind. Again, I don’t know if this was intended, but boy do I love this idea for this situation. To the point of extreme jealousy, haha.

I’m very fond of “big as the mouth of a deflated soccer ball,” “dragging their lineage of shadows,” “pole men” (wow, brutally haunting), “dirt show fomenters,” “heaven hums” and that cloud of tsetse flies, among other moments.

It’s probably just me, but I’m a little confused about “snap shut.” And I’m wondering if something like “The crayons he chooses are the shades of body fluids” (or something less rhymey) might make a bit more sense, as certainly not all of the crayons are those colors. Finally, “mechanized” for “mechanical” ?? (Or maybe not…) Beautiful, intricate poem, Alex.

[Joe Crocker]

Hello Alex

Like James I found many enjoyable and intriguing phrases in here. But it was all a bit difficult for me. I kept getting lost in what was happening to whom. But that may be me not trying hard enough.

On a pedantic entomological matter, I ‘m pretty sure tsetse flies are mostly solitary. They don’t form clouds or swarms. You might try another species.

Joe

[Alex Pepple]

Thank you all for your thoughtful comments on my poem. I appreciate the time you took to engage with it. I’ve now posted a new revision that should make it easier to follow the poem, hopefully!

James, your reading is very close to my intention! You've captured many of the elements I was aiming for - the African setting, a child processing conflict through drawing, and the emotional weight of the ending. The one aspect that might not have come through clearly concerns Papa's situation—rather than going off to fight, he's actually a victim of the "New Order." Hopefully, that’s clearer in the revision!

Joe, thank you for your careful reading and for the entomological correction about tsetse flies. You're absolutely right that they don't typically swarm, and I've adjusted this in my revision.

I’m looking forward to your impressions on the revision!

Cheers,
…Alex

[James Brancheau]

Hi again, Alex—I googled "New Order" with "movement," to avoid the band, and then I got New Order’s album, Movement, haha. And I tried other search words and still didn’t find anything. So, for now, I'll guess that it’s a militant, perhaps cult-like faction (as their minds are "closed as a barred window"). I don’t know how important it is for the poem re the background on this. Or maybe it’s something I should be aware of anyway…

The "dunks of stone” line I think is much clearer now—I understood it the first time around, but this is more reader-friendly. And I love the change to “message” in the last stanza. And the other changes before the last stanza work well, imo.

I keep going over and over your closing stanza. I love the gist of it, and where the poem ends up, but I’m wondering if sharpening it a bit would be worthwhile. My idea might be to reduce it to two lines and perhaps end it in the general vicinity of “to guide his sketches, color his absence.” In the poem, he is drawing his observations, and “His crayons are the shades of body fluids” suggests, to me, a certain level of brutality, so something like the above might imply the necessity to make something up, make his absence less severe, etc.** For whatever that's worth. As I mentioned before, I think this is great work, and hopefully something here will be of use.

**Added: The above was initially intended to be just an example of something that gets there a bit faster. I got a little carried away...

[Alex Pepple]

Hello again, James,

Thanks for returning to this and taking the time to look over the revision. I’m glad to know it reads more clearly now.

On “New Order,” it’s funny (and telling!) what Google served up! I’d hoped it would be taken at face value—as referring to a sociopolitical system or movement—but I can appreciate that it might not come through precisely enough, given all the other connotations and references floating around.

Your ruminations on the closing stanza are genuinely helpful, and I’ll definitely be mulling them over as I work toward a final shape. And no need at all to apologize for the expansiveness of your thoughts—I appreciated it all!

Cheers,
…Alex

P.S. -- And a few new tweaks have been applied.