Undulating silverware
I went to a poetry class today. I mean, I figured it couldn’t actually make my poetry worse. However, I don’t think that poetic surrealism necessarily suits my particular style. We were given a list of first lines, and told to construct a poem from them. Bugger knows where my first line came from, but here it is: “The table-silver survives in big shoals deep down where the Atlantic is black”. Tee hee, I thought.
The table-silver survives in big shoals deep down where the Atlantic is black
The butter dish undulates, capturing salt spoons in its tendrils
Candlesticks creep up on unsuspecting teacups
And dinner plates scuttle across the sea bed, silently.
As we swim here, treading water, watching passing gravy boats,
We all know that tonight we’ll sleep in the ocean
And will wake tomorrow with silt in our mouths.
..This didn’t go down particularly well with the surrealist poem bods. Big silence. “Hmmm. I like the silty mouths bit. Next?”
I like your stuff. About that silver table carp.
I would have done something like this.
The table silver survives in big shoals deep down where the Atlantic is black
Survives silver table shoals down deep black Atlantic is the where the
Where is Atlantic? Deep down. Table silver shoals big in black (the the)
The table silver survives deep in shoals BIG DOWN where the ATLANTIC IS (black)
Then, I would have told them to stick it.
Comment by The Village Idiot — February 8, 2007 @ 8:06 pm