Friendly Ghosts *, Revision II Options

[Psyche]

REVISION II


I stroll through crowds,
awareness unexceptional today,
savouring aromas of ripe watermelons.
Perhaps I’ll take that yellow pumpkin
and a ½ kilo of kiwis?

Is that your face in the market?

Unpredictable, yet constant.
No confrontations.
Profile’s turned away now.
I’ll take the kiwis, Rosa,
then a watermelon and four beets will do.
No pumpkin today.

Did I glimpse your face in the market?

Blue blue eyes,
hairline slightly receding,
trim beard, whimsical air of comedy.
A good likeness, yes.
Right! 10 pesos it is...adiós Rosa,
I’ll hurry back now.
Must check in at 9 a.m.

Why do you hover in the crowds?

In appearance weightless,
you don't beset me;
a sporadic silhouette
amidst resolute shoppers.

A presence in improbable spots:
gestures in queues at the ticket office
(you loved theatre!),
the shape of a head, outlined in dimness.
One gets used to it.

Friendly features come and go:
my eyes devour them,
my heart is a crystal goblet
brimming over with fine reminiscences.

I allow ghosts to visit,
then send them on their way.

Sylvia Evelyn, Bariloche, Argentine Patagonia. 2015.








ORIGINAL

Whose is that face in the market?

I stroll through crowds,
awareness unexceptional today,
eyeing some watermelons.
Perhaps I’ll take that yellow pumpkin
and a ½ kilo of kiwis?

It’s a familiar face. Seen it around.
Profile’s turned away now.
- I’ll take the kiwis, Rosa,
not the pumpkin today,
and I think four beets will do.

Whose is that face in the market?

Blue blue eyes,
hairline slightly receding,
trim beard, whimsical air of comedy.
A good likeness, yes.
- Right! 5 pesos it is...adiós Rosa,
I’ll hurry back now.
Must check in at 9 a.m.

And whose is that face in the market?

Standing your ground,
in appearance weightless,
a sporadic silhouette
amidst resolute shoppers.
I get visits in improbable spots:
a gesture in queues at the ticket office
(you loved theatre!),
the shape of a head, outlined in dimness.
One gets used to it.

Friendly ghosts come and go:
my eyes devour them,
my heart is a crystal goblet
brimming over with fine reminiscences.

I allow ghosts to visit,
then send them on their way.

Sylvia Evelyn, Bariloche, Argentine Patagonia. 2015.

[Luce]

Hey Sylvia,

Sorry I didn't get back to this one until now.

First off, I never assume that whatever the writer is writing about has happened to the
writer. I just interpret what I see in the poem. And sometimes there is no one way
to see it - which is usually a good thing.

Now to a closer look of the poem:

Friendly Ghosts

I'm sure it's just me - and this association really tells my age - but I immediately
thought of the American Cartoon "Casper the Family Ghost". I also thought that the
title kind of gave "the store away" too soon. Maybe something like "Glimpses"
or something like that may be better.

Whose is that face in the market?

You're really asking a general question so I'm wondering if the correct usage
should be "Who is that face in the market?"

"Whose" is the possessive of who and I think you would use the word "whose"
to indicate possession like: Whose car is this?

By no means am I a grammar queen but for some reason it doesn't sound quite right
to use "whose is".

I stroll through crowds,
awareness unexceptional today,
eyeing some watermelons.
Perhaps I’ll take that yellow pumpkin
and a ½ kilo of kiwis?

It’s a familiar face. Seen it around.
Profile’s turned away now.
- I’ll take the kiwis, Rosa,
not the pumpkin today,
and I think four beets will do.

Whose is that face in the market?

Blue blue eyes,
hairline slightly receding,
trim beard, whimsical air of comedy.
A good likeness, yes.
- Right! 5 pesos it is...adiós Rosa,
I’ll hurry back now.
Must check in at 9 a.m.

If you're saying that it is "a good likeness, yes" then you're inferring that the
subject knows who it is. Therefore, asking who it is doesn't quite go.

And whose is that face in the market?

Standing your ground,
in appearance weightless,
a sporadic silhouette
amidst resolute shoppers.
I get visits in improbable spots:
a gesture in queues at the ticket office
(you loved theatre!),
the shape of a head, outlined in dimness.
One gets used to it.

I'd make a line break after shoppers. It separate the spirit from the person who is
glimpsing them more clearly.

Friendly ghosts come and go:
my eyes devour them,
my heart is a crystal goblet
brimming over with fine reminiscences.

Great Stanza

I allow ghosts to visit,
then send them on their way.

Like these closing lines especially.

And yes, I believe in spirits. And they can make their presence known in many
ways.

My mom had the habit of peeking into your bedroom to make sure you were ok
and asleep. She did this even when we were grown and visiting her. When she died,
we all stayed at my parents big house during the funeral. The night we buried her,
we all went to our bedrooms to sleep. In the morning everyone reported the same
strange thing. The door would open for a few seconds and then close quietly, as if
someone was peeking in.