The Visit

[CalebPerry]

She was waiting at my neighbor’s door
when I arrived home from the market,
a middle-aged woman, somewhat gaunt,
with an absent-minded look on her face.
I asked if I could help, and soon enough
invited her inside to wait for him.

She didn’t want food, didn’t want tea.
I offered liquor as a joke — no response.
But she seemed to want to talk to me.
Was my life worth living? (Such an odd question
from a stranger, unsuitably personal.)
I thought she might be thinking of herself
— did she have a problem? No, the question
was about me. (I see, a philosopher.)
Well, life hasn’t been everything I wanted,
but when is it? Then — what matters to me?
(Another odd question from a stranger.)
Well,—injustice, politics, environment.
She wanted to know: justice or injustice?
And what about love? Whom did I love?
By then I was shifting in my seat
and was not about to give an answer.

I inquired, how did she know my neighbor?
She noted that the neighbor was quite old,
had done everything he needed to do,
though not everything he wanted. But how
did she know? “Ma’am, who exactly are you?”
“His last friend.” His car pulled up and she left.
Soon I heard him asking, May I help you?

My neighbor died that night from natural causes.
I had admired him. He was one of those
who stopped at nothing — never that successful,
but he tried many things. Even when age
curtailed him some, he remained sharp, intent,
forward-looking always. His views were fresh;
nothing shocked him, not even perhaps this “friend”.

Soon after, my life began to change.
I started walking more, watched TV less.
I cleaned more. I no longer had to be
listening to something, like the radio.
I judged people less. Instead of looking far
ahead, I started living for the day.
Human cruelty no longer angered me
but saddened me instead. One thing didn’t change:
I never stopped worrying about the world.
Curiously, I stopped wondering if there
was a God, because I seemed to know.

I am eighty-three now. Sometimes it seems
that my life will never end, and sometimes
it seems it hasn’t begun. I have friends,
a reputation. I'm active and involved.
But there are moments when I stop, relax,
and listen to what the birds and the breeze
are trying to tell me — or I read a book
(I don’t mind being alone). Those are the times
I wait for a visit from my last friend.
I must say, though, when I’m at the market,
I’m never in a hurry to come home.

-end-

Although I tried to stick to ten syllables per line, I let the stresses fall naturally, so this should be considered free verse.

[Jackie]

This is an interesting read, Perry, and the ending works beautifully.

I'm afraid I don't understand, though, why you are calling it a poem rather than a short story.

Jackie

[CalebPerry]

This is a narrative poem, Jackie. The format (line breaks and other poetic elements) should tell you what it is. I've never seen a short story written in ten-syllable lines, have you?

[1lankest]

Much enjoyed, Perry. A lilting, moving tale - there’s something of the C.K Williams about it. The parallels between the narrator and subject are nicely wrought and there is sufficient metric control here for the poetry label.

I don’t know why by I found myself questioning whether they were in fact ‘natural causes’ or whether something more sinister or tragic had occurred? Probably just my over active imagination.

Best,

Luke

[CalebPerry]

Thank you, Luke. You are very nice to say such nice things.

Yes, the woman is my conceptualization of the Death figure. That's why I wait for and, at times, fear her return at the end of the poem.

I should have been a little nicer to Jackie. The language has a prosaic quality, but it definitely falls within the definition of a poem.

I'm on my way to bed; I'll be back in eight hours. (I keep rather vampirish sleeping hours.)

[NotQuiteSure]

.
Hi Perry,
I'm rather with Jackie, on the short story front, not least because the line breaks
seem more like interruptions to the flow/story. Not a criticism, just an observation.

The Visit
I think, given the subject, the title's a little bland.
(Even The Visitor might add a bit more).

Did wonder if starting with the description (L4-5) might be worth exploring.
She was waiting at my neighbor’s door
when I arrived home from the market,
a middle-aged woman, somewhat gaunt,
with an absent-minded look on her face.
- I'd like a more detailed physical description
(clothes, handbag, glasses, etc) - and is her
appearance specific to either N or his neighbour?
I asked if I could help, and soon enough
invited her inside to wait for him.
- 'and soon enough' - feels like you/N skipped over a detail here,
would the narrator normally invite someone in to wait, and if not,
what made her different?

She didn’t want to eat, didn’t want tea.
- perhaps reverse the order, 'tea' before 'eat'?
I offered liquor as a joke — no response.
- 'no response' is distinctly uninformative,
But she seemed to want to talk to me.
Was my life worth living? Such an odd question
from a stranger, unsuitably personal.
I thought perhaps she was thinking of herself
— did she have a problem? No, the question
was about me. (I see, a philosopher.)
- not sure about the parenthetical aside, especially
after the 'liquor as a joke - no response' line.
Well, life hasn’t been everything I wanted,
but when is it? Then — what matters to me?
— another odd question from a stranger.
- think the repetition of 'odd question' is a
bit of a let down.
Well, — injustice, politics, environment.
She wanted to know: justice or injustice?
- interesting distinction.
And what about love? Whom did I love?
By then I was shifting in my seat
and was not about to give an answer.
- Why not? Is there a reason, and why is he
uncomfortable? Feels like the character of
N could be opened up a bit more here.

Was she friends with my neighbor? a relative?
She noted that the neighbor was quite old,
had done everything he needed to do,
though not everything he wanted. But how
did she know? “Ma’am, who exactly are you?”
“His last friend.” His car pulled up and she left.
Soon I heard him asking, May I help you?
- this reads like it's rushed.
Why doesn't the narrator question 'May I help you?' ?

My neighbor died that night from natural causes.
- think you could cut 'from natural causes' (anyway,
how would N know?)
I had admired him. He was one of those
- maybe end the verse with 'I had admired him'?
who [had] stopped at nothing — never that successful,
but he tried many things. Even when age
curtailed him somewhat, he remained sharp,
- 'curtailed him somewhat' ? Seems implied by
'he remained sharp'
forward-looking always. His views were fresh;
nothing shocked him, not even perhaps this “friend”.
- Interesting to have no expressions of grief or sadness
over the neighbour's death. The detachment's in keeping
with the unemotional tone of the writing.

After that, for reasons I never knew,
and without any thought, my life changed.
- doesn't 'without any thought' explain 'reasons'
I never knew' '? Might be better to simply say,
After that I started ...
I started walking more, watched TV less.
I cleaned more — and in my writing, rhymed less.
- repetition of 'more'.
Twenty years of writer’s block dissolved.
I judged people less. Instead of looking far
- I think 'I judged people less' is an interesting
line, but want to know why. But the repetition
of 'less' weakens it.
ahead, I started living for the day.
I forgave myself for sometimes feeling fear.
Human cruelty no longer angered me,
but saddened me instead. One thing didn’t change:
- the 'human cruelty' line needs an explanation, I think,
it's rather 'grand' after the more 'simple' walking/writing/
living for the day etc.
I never stopped worrying about the world.
Curiously, I stopped wondering if there
was a God, because I seemed to know.
- like the ambiguity of where the line/thought ends.

I am eighty-three now. Sometimes it seems
- so how old was N when 'the visit' occured,
how much time has passed?
that my life will never end, and sometimes
it seems it hasn’t begun. I have friends,
- I think the 'sometimes it seems' line is
either unnecessary or in the wrong place. It doesn't
make much sense when N goes on to describe
positive things, friends, active, birds etc.
a reputation. I'm active and involved.
But there are moments when I stop, relax,
and listen to what the birds and the breeze
are trying to tell me — or I read a book
(I don’t mind being alone). Those are the times
- Again, the parenthetical seems misplaced. There
is no indication, prior to this, that N is/was alone.
I wait for a visit from my last friend.
- why (given the positive things listed above)?
Seems quite a change from 'shifting in my seat'.
And when did N decide what 'she' was?
I must say, though, when I’m at the market,
I’m never in a hurry to come home.
- good ending.

I think it would be worth giving some consideration to expanding this into a short story -
see, not always about cutting - it's a bit dry and lacking in characterisation but I suspect
that arises from the format.

Regards, Not.

.

[ray miller]

It's a variation on a well-worn theme, a bit Tales of the Unexpected and so I found it too predictable. I think stanzas 4 and 5 could do with trimming, but I realise you're not one to use 2 words when 10 will do.
After that, for reasons I never knew,
and without any thought, my life changed. - beggars belief, really.

[bjondon]

Hi Perry,
for me this is your best yet.
I think most of the circumlocutions just add a sort of
vernacular warmth to the narrator.
It worked fine for me without the woman being an
explicit ghost or Death figure . . . I was thinking she might be
a sort of alzheimers holy fool or maybe even a rather oblique
Jehovahs Witness . . . It does diminish it a bit to an old hokey ghost story
. . .So maybe have the N thinking that is a possibility but leave it more open.
Regards, Jules
p.s. thank you for recommending Carl Sandburg to me in one of your previous posts,
have been enjoying several of his magnificent works.

[Macavity]

Some divided opinions on this one Perry. For me, the write was definitely readable and rereadable. I enjoyed the spooky aspect. I agree with NQS that some more description of the woman would add interest.

cheers

mac

[Jackie]

I should have been a little nicer to Jackie.

Not to worry, Perry. I wasn't that considerate to you—sorry I didn't explain myself.

I've had the experience of trying to punch and wheedle a short story into poetry format, and thought you might be weighing the two options yourself.

Jackie

[churinga]

Hi Perry

I thought this good, i like thee mysterious nature of the woman.
think it reads well and the enjambments work.
It could be trimmed a little but since it is in meter ( it is not free verse)
i don;'t think it's practical to suggest edits.
It is a prose style, nothing wrong with that, if the story is interesting.

Are you 83?

cheers

Ross

[CalebPerry]

Thank you, everyone. No one loves the poem unreservedly, but it does seem to be more successful than the others I have posted.

I'm not 83, Ross -- I'm 68. This poem is a fantasy of what it might be like to have an encounter with Death. I'm moving into that age when people start to die off, so I'm thinking about it a lot (especially since I have a lot of health problems).

I didn't count feet, so it can't be called metered -- especially since some lines have five stresses but many have four. And since the lines vary from 9 to 11 syllables, I can't even call it syllabic. Restricting the syllable count is an easy way to give a poem a somewhat metered sound without being strict about it.

For those who want to know more about the Death character, I didn't describe her much because the poem is really about how the encounter affects the narrator. Besides, do we really want to pin down a mythical figure too much? Death may be a different figure to everyone who encounters him or her. To the narrator, Death was a middle-aged woman who had become a little weary of her work. The neighbor in the poem, however, might have seen an old man. (Of course, I didn't write any of that into the poem.) Having had an encounter with Death, the narrator's life suddenly comes into focus. The real message of the poem is: Don't wait for your death to approach before you get serious about living.

I've already spent a lot of time trimming the poem, but I'll see if it can be trimmed a little more.

NQS, thank you for your very specific suggestions, but as usual, they puzzle me. For example, if I had described her dress, handbag and glasses, others might have advised me to remove the description as irrelevant. The same thing is true if I gave reasons for inviting her inside. Do you really want me to make the poem longer by adding details? Of course, you suggested I make this into a short-story, but I am a poet, not an author of fiction. There's something to be said for trying to see a poet's vision before you advise him to transform his work. However, I do appreciate the effort you put into your crits.

I don't agree with you about repeating words. They provide emphasis and make the language sound colloquial.

Ray, have you ever seen the Death figure described in this way before, or with this kind of language? If a poet brings something new to a well-worn theme (which I think I did), that justifies the poem.

Thank you all again.

[ray miller]

Ray, have you ever seen the Death figure described in this way before, or with this kind of language? If a poet brings something new to a well-worn theme (which I think I did), that justifies the poem.

I can't be specific but I've encountered similar tales in films, TV, novels, short stories, poems. I don't find anything special in the language used. But you don't need my approval to justify a poem and if you're happy with it all's good.

[CalebPerry]

You've seen the Death figure portrayed as a sympathetic, transformative figure in "films, TV, novels, short stories, poems"? We're obviously watching and reading different things.

[lotus]

dear Perry

i see the title as speaking of transformation

which is a detachment
some might refer to as death

i like the sideline conversation going on in the thread
about the length of a poem and the length of a short story

yet not about the length of life
or purity of the poetics of being

and being being ok

what would people say if i said i felt the poem was not long enough ?

anyone familiar with the poem Savitiri by Sri Aurobindo
which at his death was unfinished at 24,000 lines ?

silent lotus

[CalebPerry]

You bring up an interesting point, Lotus. A narrative poem is similar to a short story or a novel, but writers of fiction don't worry about the length. Only poetry, it seems, is expected to be short, as if a reader can't be expected t slog through a lot of it. Actually, I agree with that (given that poetry is written with dense language), but then, I see my poems as already being short. (This may not address your point, however.)