Tender Bruises (rewrite for bosch)

Cherry

By jennifer

Thu, 13 Nov 2008
  • 3109 reads
9 comments
 

Tender Bruises (2) (13th November 2008, 10.43am)

It was here, between these
concrete sheets which press against
my heart, that you moved in me;
I could not see you, then, in the
dark, but I felt you, slick in your
sweat-glazed skin,
bearing down on me.

My legs graze each other,
seeking something greater
than the stubble they find;
I re-enact remembered moves with
unbearable lightness; my body
rises high, but does not reach you.

I recall sweet-found release, the
horny hoofprints of your
unkempt nails tracking up my
spine, your rough thumbs lining
my thighs with tender bruises.

I call your name, it rasps
in my throat, my mouth gapes
wide, fishlike, for the slither
of your missing tongue;
I have a use for your dark eyes,
intensely glaring down, while
warm sweat dripped from your
overlong fringe; I bite my lips,
craving the saltiness.

My fingers are a weak echo,
an attempt at recreation
that will not fill me as you did;
I push my head back against the
stone-cold wall, but its solace is a tool
that cannot carve your presence.

Certificate 18
Poem
Out of my Head (Autumn 2008)
Love

Comments

Submitted by Bradene on
Well yes, this really is showing us; very graphically too. Wonderful Jennifer, a grittier version by far. Val x

Submitted by bosch on
jennifer: Yes, you've improved your piece. As Val says, its grittiness. It's better. At the same time, I think this version needs some general paring, and that it would profit by removing 'I' from the poem. Perhaps, not the thing itself, but a finger pointing to the moon, Here, between these concrete sheets, which press against my heart, you moved in me; in the dark, blind, I felt you slick in your sweat-glazed skin. My legs grazing each other want something greater than the stubble they find; remembering moves, my body rises high, but can't reach you. ...the horny hoofprints of your unkempt nails tracking up my spine, your rough thumbs lining my thighs with tender bruises. Your name rasps out loud in my throat. My mouth gapes fish-like, for the slither of your missed tongue; your dark eyes, your intense glare, warm sweat dripping from your overlong fringe; I bite lips that crave the saltiness. My fingers are poor substitute, don't fill me as you did; I push my head back against the stone-cold wall, but its solace is a tool that does not carve your presence. Anyway, to your attention, and hopefully of use.

Submitted by culturehero on
this is a powerful piece that makes me sick for those loosely recalled and urgent moments of a past, and more so for those of a future. and sick in a good way. the personal rhythm of the 'I', I think, hits the rhythm of the act like a taut flesh drum of the soul. "the horny hoofprints of your unkempt nailss tracking up my spine" is very wonderful, as is this pome.

 

Submitted by culturehero on
in addendum: this is infinitely more exhilarating than previous. good work, I say.

 

Submitted by Ewan on
Well, I disagree with Bosch here - and after all it would be boring if we all agreed, all of the time, wouldn't it? I prefer the version posted here: I prefer this version to the original. Bosch's edit here - for me I hasten to add - is more self-consciously poetry and as such, less immediate, or visceral than the original. Is it a happy typo or a deliberate choice to carve rather than crave, Jen? Either way I would leave it as carve. regards Ewan

Author Page at the 'Zon
 

Submitted by bosch on
jennifer: It's your poem. As is, you walk down the page 'telling' the reader, narrating as such. The repetitive 'I' not only underscores the act of the narrator as tour guide, it creates a layer between the poet and the reader who wants to experience what you've experienced, not have some juicy tidbits shared in a second-hand chat. Show us, don't tell us, don't rob the reader of a chance for immediacy, for interaction. I can only think that other readers are more comfortable with a prosaic line when according to many tastes poetry has as its base compression. To your attention.

Submitted by jennifer on
bosch - But then, I write poetry for me primarily - it's how I get my emotions out - venting onto the page gives me serenity in 'real life'. When I'm not writing, I'm miserable and bottled up. I am content with the rewrite I have offered above - the version you offer is also good, but it is YOUR version, not mine. Thank you for taking the time to push me, I really do appreciate it, for your urging has resulted in better poetry - keep reading! Ewan - thank you, and yes, the 'carve' was intended - reread the last two lines: 'but its solace is a tool that cannot carve your presence.' The tool is the implement that cannot carve. But yes, I do crave his presence! Thank you to everyone else, this one was quite steamy! Maybe I should write more...seems to have a good reaction, you naughty minxes!

 

Submitted by The Chosen One on
I think the most positive question is, what do you gain from writing poetry? I don't think anyone can really teach someone how to express themselves in poems. They might be able to round them off a little but still is that necessary? Does it become a bit more technical than natural that way and more unrealistic. I dunno. I like Jennifers writing the way it is..

Submitted by Dynamaso on
Brilliant work, Jen. Loved every bit of it.