Three Years into Limbo (New rev 20.02.2012), 2 or 3 revs. *** (for crits) Options

[Psyche]

Thank you Snow, Steve, Wally, Dani, Lori and all for your enormous help.
I've just tweaked a few lines (put italics), so didn't copy & paste again.



REVISION

Three Years into Limbo

I was wrong.
Time is gentle with you.
Your mind sheds muddled memories.
Each day, you’re born again.
Conformist drill, primary needs,
hallucinations, mirth.

A broad smile greets me.
We hug - I'm your bride!
-What’s in t'bag?
-Cookies.
And peach juice. What joy!

-'Tis m'fiancée, B..b..ertha.
-Oh… I say.
Bertha stares vacuously.
You wave angular arms:
-M'wife lives 'nudder h..h..hotel!
Bertha articulates:
-Do come soon.
-Mmmm… I mumble.

Outside, pungent evening air
is a mocking lifesaver.
It’s Sunday. Families
stroll by with pushcarts,
cyclists whizz between lazy traffic,
the odd sparrow picks at garbage.

I feel lonely among the dog poop,
bicycles, sparrows.
Families irk me.
An ochre sky compresses my shoulders.

I hear kitty meowing as I
fiddle with keys in the lock.
She twines herself around my legs,
tripping me as I search for a cool
drink and our dinners.

My wits are awash in chaos:
my dreams dream you
on bygone illumined isles.

Limbo has dance-stepped over to my side
with sidling grotesquerie.

Poetry and plans are on hold…


20.02.2012 revs:
Conversations in italics.
S2, L5: Different.


Revs: S2, L5.
S3, L1

Sylvia Evelyn, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2010.



ORIGINAL

Three Years in to Limbo

I was wrong.
Time is gentle with you.
Your mind dumped merciless memories.
Each day, you’re born again.
Conformist drill, primary needs,
hallucinations, mirth.

A broad smile greets me.
You hug me like a bride.´
-What’s in that bag?
-Cookies.
… gobbling goodies.

-This is my fiancée, Bertha.
-Oh…I say.
Bertha stares inanely.
You wave your arms:
-My wife doesn’t live here.
Bertha articulates:
- Do come soon.
- Mmmm… I mumble.

Outside, pungent evening air
is a mocking lifesaver.
It’s Sunday. Families
stroll by with pushcarts,
cyclists whizz between lazy traffic,
the odd sparrow picks at garbage.

I feel lonely among the dog poop,
bicycles, sparrows.
Families irk me.
An ochre sky compresses my shoulders.
I hear kitty meowing as I
fiddle with keys in the lock.
She twines herself around my legs,
tripping me as I search for a cool
drink and our dinners.

My wits are awash in chaos:
my dreams dream you
on bygone illumined isles.

Limbo has dance-stepped over to my side
with sidling grotesquerie.
Poetry and plans are out…



Sylvia Evelyn, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2010.

[Eisa]

Hi Syl

It is so good to read your poetry again ... and this one is superb. A poignant tale ... yes I feel the melancholy as you wanted.


You begin with the realisation that time is unexpectedly gentle on the person and I sense that time is not so gentle with the writer who faces a difficult visit. I remember such times visiting my mother (who had alzheimer's) and how although she remebered who I was, never hugged or kissed me -- yet did so to the staff, calling them wonderful.

Outside, the fresh air was often a lifesaver for me too.

I love the subtle sense of humour of the dog poop, bicycles and sparrows but feel the loneliness too as you are left with the cat and bygone dreams ... beautiful in its sadness!

Yes, Limbo has dance-stepped over to your side and you have made us feel that.

Poetry and plans are out…

I did not feel this ending as negative, just that things were on hold, to be continued sometime ...

I certainly hope you continue to write poetry Syl - this is amazing!

I cannot find a nit - I wouldn't have used so many dashes to start lines, but that's probably me.

Hugs
Snow

[Psyche]

Hi Snow!

Another apology for delay in replying.

Your analysis of what I've written is quite right. Yes, senile dementia can take unexpected directions.
It can become delayed -tho' not cured- if the person is in an environment that's got good vibes, to put it in simple words. Routine is good, with some flexibility, and various activities seem to awaken sleeping neurons. I'd never seen senile oldsters dancing before. Well, some who seem like statues actually come to life and dance amazingly well! Modern stuff, such as samba, cumbia and many mixes get them going, with excellent rythm.

I'm pleased you caught the melancholic air, especially concerning the cat & bygone dreams. Just so.

About the dashes I used to mark dialogue, how do you handle that? I'm not sure about dialogue, should it be with some other punctuation? When you have a moment, I'd love to learn about that.

Yes, I fully intend to continue writing, Snow. Time is the 'enemy'...LOL....So much to do!
Hope you also get inspired. Shall inspect the forums for your new topics.

Thank you, hugs, Syl***

Hi Syl

It is so good to read your poetry again ... and this one is superb. A poignant tale ... yes I feel the melancholy as you wanted.


You begin with the realisation that time is unexpectedly gentle on the person and I sense that time is not so gentle with the writer who faces a difficult visit. I remember such times visiting my mother (who had alzheimer's) and how although she remebered who I was, never hugged or kissed me -- yet did so to the staff, calling them wonderful.

Outside, the fresh air was often a lifesaver for me too.

I love the subtle sense of humour of the dog poop, bicycles and sparrows but feel the loneliness too as you are left with the cat and bygone dreams ... beautiful in its sadness!

Yes, Limbo has dance-stepped over to your side and you have made us feel that.

Poetry and plans are out…

I did not feel this ending as negative, just that things were on hold, to be continued sometime ...

I certainly hope you continue to write poetry Syl - this is amazing!

I cannot find a nit - I wouldn't have used so many dashes to start lines, but that's probably me.

Hugs
Snow