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Post by Sherry Thrasher on May 27, 2008 22:50:46 GMT -5
He nods towards a table between the hibiscus
and other flowering plants,
a bit more removed from the racket of passing cars,
the tiny music of forks tapping porcelain dinner plates.
Her eyes spy artwork for sale
hung across mustard-colored walls.
He wants Amore: flatbread
covered with baby spinach,
sliced tomatoes,
melted feta and provolone.
She searches for something more exotic:
can almost taste the tumbling of arugula
and gorgonzola dripped in a vinaigrette
of pear and thyme. Or perhaps
the portobello lasagna,
its cream sauce surrounding
layers of spinach and mozzarella
to go with a glass of good white wine.
But he insists on the flatbread
and places her menu aside,
doesn't catch the shrug
or her wandering eyes.
Tab plus tip: $31.95. Or a bargain
for pride—unaware the real cost
of ordering the pizza was her
disinterested sigh.
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Post by LeoVictorBriones (poetremains) on May 27, 2008 23:13:32 GMT -5
Very nice. Great details. My high school English teacher always said, "Write what you know about". You've done an amazing job of that hear.
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Post by Sherry Thrasher on May 27, 2008 23:24:19 GMT -5
Thanks. When I write about food it always seems that I am creating a menu (again). I appreciate your kind comment. I do hope to write more about what I know. I am not really satisfied with the last stanza and if you have any suggestions I'd really appreciate them. I would like to turn this into my poetry writing class as my first poem submitted. I am required to present ten in all. I like the sentiment of the last stanza and don't want to lose the flavor but feel that it could be smoother, almost like the perfect herbed wine sauce that just clings to the back of a spoon.
Sher
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Post by mfwilkie on May 29, 2008 14:55:57 GMT -5
Sher,
I think the first stanza could be a bit stronger image-wise, and I think using a word like ambiance does two things: lets you concentrate on building the image of were they are sitting and it sets up his need for show. Cafe seating, to me, takes in the tables and chairs, so I don't think you need to mention the chairs.
And I'm thinking from the first stanza, you might go straight to the Amore.
Here's my messing with what I hear.
He requests café-seating for its ambiance:
the tropical notion braided haibicus brings
to a riot of color from flowering potted plants.
His mouth waters for the Amore with its home-grown
plum tomatoes, the pleasure he finds beneath baby
spinach leaves and melted provolone and feta.
But her excitement is for something more exotic,
an arugula salad maybe, its mixed spring greens,
tumbled with gorgonzola, and toasted walnuts;
she can almost taste the drizzle of pear and thyme
sweetness. But he insists on the feast of flatbread
and places her menu aside. Her disappointment finds
wall art for sale. Too late, he realizes their table
is under a cloud, the evening more costly than
he planned.
Magpie
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Post by LeoVictorBriones (poetremains) on May 29, 2008 15:18:43 GMT -5
Best poem you have ever written IMO...so many amazing details...the last stanza is a bit prosaic (self-evident)...if you could just describe what disappointment looks like it would enhance the poem...great, great write!
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Post by Sherry Thrasher on May 29, 2008 16:04:01 GMT -5
Thanks to you both for your ideas. I'm working on it...aargh! Went to Bella Monica for lunch today and I decided to skip the pizza.  |
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Post by LynnDoiron on May 29, 2008 18:30:40 GMT -5
He requests café seating on black wrought iron, [sherry, wondered about the sort of awkward/ambiguous feel to this line English-wise. Like, it could be that "he" was "on" the wrought iron when he made the request ---- yes, I can be very wierd, I know. But, what about something like:]
He nods toward black wrought iron,
a place to nuzzle between braided hibiscus
[gets you there but loses the ambiguity -- maybe?]
[what happens in the next bit for me is that there are three sentences that make statements in sort of regimented ways; comes across stilted, which, may be exactly what you were going for -- as the evening is a bit nervous and stilted, too -- right?]
They chat above the noisy clatter
of passing cars and dinner forks
tapping white porcelain [could omit plates].
Water goblets wet with condensation
are wiped clean with dry linen cloths. [could shorten/tighten to "are dried with linen cloths."
She gazes across mustard-colored walls
and notices framed artwork for sale.
[She notices framed artwork for sale / across the mustard-colored walls.]
He wants Amore: flatbread [maybe a colon after Amore]
covered with baby spinach,
sliced roma tomatoes,
melted feta and provolone.
She searches for the exotic: [maybe a colon after exotic]
an arugula salad of mixed spring greens,
tumbled with gorgonzola,
and toasted walnuts,
lightly tossed in a dressing
of pear and thyme.
Or perhaps the portobello
and sun-dried tomato lasagna,
filled with spinach and mozzarella,
layered in a sauce of cream
and white wine.
[yummmmmmm -- love all of the details poured into the above stanzas!]
But he insists [omit on Amore,]
and places her menu aside.
She nods, filled with disappointment
shown evident in her eyes and
he instantly knows
that he shouldn’t have
ordered the damn pizza.
S -- have done as much dammage as one old california girl can manage at a sitting, so will close with my praise for this delicious prize. L
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Post by Sherry Thrasher on May 29, 2008 23:40:28 GMT -5
Working it out. Thanks guys!
He nods towards a table
between the hibiscus
and flowering plants,
a place to chat above the clatter
of passing cars
and dinner forks
tapping porcelain plates.
Goblets wet with condensation,
dried with linen cloths.
She notices framed artwork for sale
across mustard-colored walls.
He wants Amore: flatbread
covered with baby spinach,
sliced tomatoes,
melted feta and provolone.
She searches for the exotic:
an arugula salad of mixed greens,
tumbled with gorgonzola
in a vinaigrette of
pear and thyme.
Or perhaps the portobello lasagna,
filled with spinach and mozzarella,
layered in a cream sauce
with a glass of white wine.
But he insists on the flatbread
and places her menu aside
unwise to notice
her shrug and wandering eyes.
The tab, plus tip, $31.95.
She files this dining uneventful
knowing he is oblivious
to the cost of ordering pizza.
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Post by mfwilkie on May 30, 2008 0:04:18 GMT -5
I like the revision, above, Sher.
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Post by Sherry Thrasher on May 30, 2008 12:31:04 GMT -5
Magpie, still working on the ending just above. Comments, please (and thank you)!
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Post by brianedwards on Jun 2, 2008 1:40:41 GMT -5
Hi Sherry!
This has really moved on. I really like how the food sounds so exotic and delicious and yet the language of the poem is so simple. It's an interesting effect you've worked.
I also like the new last stanza, changing the pov to hers. This makes more sense to me.
Good luck in class!
B.
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Post by Sherry Thrasher on Jun 2, 2008 9:59:22 GMT -5
He nods towards a table between the hibiscus
and other flowering plants,
a bit more removed from the racket of passing cars,
the tiny music of forks tapping porcelain dinner plates.
Her eyes spy artwork for sale
hung across mustard-colored walls.
He wants Amore: flatbread
covered with baby spinach,
sliced tomatoes,
melted feta and provolone.
She searches for something more exotic:
can almost taste the tumbling of arugula
and gorgonzola dripped in a vinaigrette
of pear and thyme. Or perhaps
the portobello lasagna,
its cream sauce surrounding
layers of spinach and mozzarella
to go with a glass of good white wine.
But he insists on the flatbread
and places her menu aside,
doesn't catch the shrug
or her wandering eyes.
Tab plus tip: $31.95. Or a bargain
for pride—unaware the real cost
of ordering the pizza was her
disinterested sigh.
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