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If you can't toss it here, you won't toss it there
By what strange ways have I arrived
To touch a thing a younger self
Saw fit to pack with earnest care,
A book not placed upon a shelf
Since such a darkened yesteryear.
A book not loved nor referenced,
But left to molder in a box,
It gives not scent of well thumbed page
But brings the mind to moldy socks.
He now is me, I can't be he,
By any effort still sincere.
But if he would not toss it then,
I surely cannot toss it here.
To touch a thing a younger self
Saw fit to pack with earnest care,
A book not placed upon a shelf
Since such a darkened yesteryear.
A book not loved nor referenced,
But left to molder in a box,
It gives not scent of well thumbed page
But brings the mind to moldy socks.
He now is me, I can't be he,
By any effort still sincere.
But if he would not toss it then,
I surely cannot toss it here.
Oh, what's this? A poem about not being able to throw away things because you're sentimentally attached, not to them but to the past when you were attached to them?
Joking aside, this was an... odd piece. I'm not sure why this piece is structured the way that it is: that extra line after the first quatrain, before the ABCB pattern starts up again, which really throws off the pacing (especially in a piece as strictly metered as this, where I always feel the alternating not-rhyme/rhyme lines each have their own kind of weight to them). And the juxtaposition of the almost gothic, old-fashioned (affectionate) voice with the down-to-earth mundanity of "moldy socks" didn't hit for me, I'm afraid.
"He now is me, I can't be he" bring to mind deliberately obtuse nonsense verse. It's very Lewis Carroll, or Beatles (and of course I'm now learning Lennon was inspired by Carroll when writing I Am The Walrus). It hits the reader out of nowhere with a sentence that is deliberately hard to parse... and yet. And yet, that line & the next bring such a softness to the poem, such a quiet reflection on the nature of self and change. And yes, again, maybe this hits harder for me as someone who only uses "he" to talk about myself in past tense, not present. Maybe that's not really an intended feeling at all. But it brings that sense of peace and understanding of the self for me as a result, so...
How can I not like this piece? It's not about hoarding or sentimentality, not really. It's about honouring who you once were, long after you've changed and become someone new. That final couplet is so lovely, so tender, and I have no doubt it's going to become a permanent part of my lexicon. I may have had issues with this piece's rough edges, but it still speaks to me so clearly and that's more than enough.
What's going on?
> I am in this poem and I don't like it.
Joking aside, this was an... odd piece. I'm not sure why this piece is structured the way that it is: that extra line after the first quatrain, before the ABCB pattern starts up again, which really throws off the pacing (especially in a piece as strictly metered as this, where I always feel the alternating not-rhyme/rhyme lines each have their own kind of weight to them). And the juxtaposition of the almost gothic, old-fashioned (affectionate) voice with the down-to-earth mundanity of "moldy socks" didn't hit for me, I'm afraid.
"He now is me, I can't be he" bring to mind deliberately obtuse nonsense verse. It's very Lewis Carroll, or Beatles (and of course I'm now learning Lennon was inspired by Carroll when writing I Am The Walrus). It hits the reader out of nowhere with a sentence that is deliberately hard to parse... and yet. And yet, that line & the next bring such a softness to the poem, such a quiet reflection on the nature of self and change. And yes, again, maybe this hits harder for me as someone who only uses "he" to talk about myself in past tense, not present. Maybe that's not really an intended feeling at all. But it brings that sense of peace and understanding of the self for me as a result, so...
How can I not like this piece? It's not about hoarding or sentimentality, not really. It's about honouring who you once were, long after you've changed and become someone new. That final couplet is so lovely, so tender, and I have no doubt it's going to become a permanent part of my lexicon. I may have had issues with this piece's rough edges, but it still speaks to me so clearly and that's more than enough.
The "well thumbed" feels jammed into the rhythm, but otherwise, this is technically sound from a meter perspective. I do wonder what's going on with the rhymes. You start with an ABAB pattern, but then drop rhyming altogether until... well, no, it looks like you have an odd pattern of ABCBD, EFGFH, IJI, so it's only the lines sandwiching the middle of each group that rhyme. I'm no expert on poetic forms, so I don't know if this is a well-know one or something you invented.
I love the atmosphere of this, and it's immediately evocative. In so few words, I completely understand what the speaker is doing, what his situation is, and even his history. Plus it's a common enough situation that any reader should be able to identify with it. It's not one of those poems that wows me with its construction, but it is one that sticks with me well afterward because I really understand where the speaker's coming from. And it even does that without attaching a deep emotion to it. Like he says, the book didn't warrant some place of honor, so there's not a catharsis in rediscovering it, but sometimes it's the everyday routine thing that draws out an emotion better than the dramatic. I liked this a lot.
I love the atmosphere of this, and it's immediately evocative. In so few words, I completely understand what the speaker is doing, what his situation is, and even his history. Plus it's a common enough situation that any reader should be able to identify with it. It's not one of those poems that wows me with its construction, but it is one that sticks with me well afterward because I really understand where the speaker's coming from. And it even does that without attaching a deep emotion to it. Like he says, the book didn't warrant some place of honor, so there's not a catharsis in rediscovering it, but sometimes it's the everyday routine thing that draws out an emotion better than the dramatic. I liked this a lot.