Beneath the Christmas Tree Options

[Guest_PashernatePoet_*]

Here's a tentatively titled piece ( I'm concidering just 'Beneath the tree' ) Which is in a very early stage. The ending is particularly troubling. I believe the poem will end up in Herme's, once I've decided on a form.

EDIT 2 - 19/12/05

The Gift

The gift came wrapped
and tied, as most do,
with a date to be opened
implied between the patterns.

“Love from mother,” the tag
which lay upon it read,
“and father.” It mattered
it really did, but not always

And I wondered why
this one was placed alone
and bound with care;
patient fingers lingered.

I prodded and poked for hours,
when no one was around,
through the folds and partings,
for a look inside, just one, mind.

I pestered and bothered my dad
but all he’d ever say was
‘It’ll do you good in life.
Trust me. It’s worth the wait’.

For months, it seemed
their faces were all smiles.
It made me wonder what
It was I'd seen in their eyes...

What can I say? I was young…
and the devil has an affinity
for idle hands in school holidays,
I could hardly wait, those days.

And inside? Well, all I’ll say
is it took me quite by surprise.
As daft as it seems, I cried,
and couldn’t stop for hours.

I made my parents take it away,
and wouldn’t speak for days.
Gifts which last weren't welcome
then. And now? Perhaps…


EDIT 1: 13/12/05

Beneath the Christmas Tree

The gift came wrapped
and tied, as most do,
with a date to be opened
implied between the patterns.

“Love from mother,” the tag
which lay beside it read,
“and father.” It mattered
it really did, but not always

And I wondered why
this one was placed alone
and bound with care;
patient fingers lingered.

I pealed and poked for hours,
when no one was around,
through the folds and partings,
for a look inside, just one, mind.

I pestered and bothered my dad
but all he’d ever say was
‘It’ll do you good in life.
Trust me. It’s worth the wait’.

For months, it seemed
their faces were all smiles,
mum and dad, that is,
and I wondered, ‘perhaps…’

What can I say? I was young…
and the devil has an affinity
for idle hands in school holidays,
I could hardly wait, those days.

And inside? Well, all I’ll say
is it took me quite by surprise.
Handmade it was. But I cried,
and couldn’t stop for hours.

I made my parents take it away,
and wouldn’t speak for days.
Gifts which last weren't welcome
then. And now? Perhaps…


Beneath the Christmas Tree

The gift came wrapped
and tied, as most do,
with a date to be opened
implied between the patterns

“Love from your mother,”
The tag beside it read
“And father.” It mattered
it really did, but not always

And I wondered why
this one was placed alone
and bound with care,
the patient fingers lingered

I pealed and poked for hours,
when no one was around,
through the folds and partings,
for a look inside, just one, mind

I asked and asked my dad
but all he’d ever say was
‘It’ll do you good in life.
Trust me. It’s worth the wait’

For months, it seemed
their faces were all smiles,
mum and dad, that is,
and I wondered, ‘perhaps…’

What can I say? I was young…
and the devil has an affinity
for idle hands on school holidays,
I could hardly wait, those days.

And inside? Well, all I’ll say
is it took me quite by surprise,
and handmade. But I cried,
and couldn’t stop for hours.

I made my parents take it away
and wouldn’t speak for days.
gifts which last aren’t welcome
not then, and now? Perhaps…

[Guest_Nina_*]

Hi Liam

A fascinating and most intriguing poem.  I want to know what present could possibly make him cry like that and insist to his parents that they take it away.  Am I missing a hint somewhere?

Suggestions

[add] {delete} comment

The gift came wrapped
and tied, as most do,
with a date to be opened
implied between the patterns[.]  ...clever way of describing the wrapping paper

“Love from {your} mother,”
{T}[t]he tag beside it read[,]
“{A}[a]nd father.” It mattered
it really did, but not always[.]

{And} I wondered why
this one was placed alone
and bound with care{,}[;]
{the} patient fingers lingered[.]

I pealed and poked for hours,  ..is pealed what you mean?  Perhaps prodded
when no one was around,
through the folds and partings,
for a look inside, just one, mind[.]

I asked and asked my dad
but all he’d ever say was
‘It’ll do you good in life.
Trust me. It’s worth the wait’[.]

For months, it seemed
their faces were all smiles,
mum and dad, that is,
and I wondered, ‘perhaps…’

What can I say? I was young…
and the devil has an affinity
for idle hands {on}[in?] school holidays,
I could hardly wait, those days.

And inside? Well, all I’ll say
is it took me quite by surprise{,}[:]
{and} handmade. But I cried,
and couldn’t stop for hours.

I made my parents take it away[,]  
{and} wouldn’t speak for days.
{g}[G]ifts which last {aren’t}[weren't] welcome
{not} then{,}[.] {a}[A]nd now? Perhaps…

Thanks for the read, most curious but then curiosity killed the cat or rather got you narrator into a right state.

Nina

[Guest_PashernatePoet_*]

Thanks for the comments Nina.

I'll make the changes and think about it some more tomorrow (bearing in mind that I want to turn this into a fixed form poem at some point). Apologies for all of the grammatical errors.

[Psyche]

Hi Liam !!

I like your poem very much. For me, at least, it expresses the disappointment of children who get knitted woollen scarves or clumsy sweaters for Christmas, instead of that fantastic new-fangled toy or gadget that all their friends seem to be getting...

I'm probably way off the mark, but it brings back childhood memories of certain disappointments under the Christmas tree...

I guess as one grows older one appreciates handmade gifts that last forever, but not always.... certainly not !! One suspects they're not always crafted with love, but rather by people who stubbornly insist on making things they've no talent for...  :(

Anyway, Happy Christmas to you, may it bring you love, joy and peace, and please have a good laugh about unwanted gifts !!
Cheers,
Sylvia  :dove:

[Guest_PashernatePoet_*]

Thanks for the comments Psyche

Ok, I'll spill my guts on the themes and all those things poems are meant to have.

I wrote the poem with considering the first time someone truly loves you, which, in many cases for people, occurs after much fascination with the prospect of love and many abortative attempts on our own part to show a love stronger than affection. Anyway in my experience, when love does finally arrive, it's scary and confusing and not at all what you were expecting got so long.

For me, this has strong parallels with the unwanted christmas presents we all got as children. Love seems to come much too early, even though you're the person who has encourage it. The whole situation is ridiculous and leaves you feeling like an ungrateful child.

Can anyone help me draw out these ideas more effectively? (I'm still working on giving it a fixed form)

By the way, I ran kicking and screaming from love the first time...

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hi Liam.

I will think on this one for you and come back later today or tomorrow with some ideas hopefully for your consideration.

As usual on the weekdays, I'm out the door.....

Ta
Lori

[Guest_PashernatePoet_*]

Thanks Lori - I'm worried about the direction the poem may take if I'm left to my own devices.

[Guest_Nina_*]

Hi Liam

Thank you for your explanation.  I know see where the poem is going.  I have a few random thoughts you might like to consider or just ignore if you don't like.

Beneath the Christmas Tree  ...I think the title needs to give a bigger clue.  Perhaps Gift of Love.

The gift came wrapped
and tied, as most do,
with a date to be opened   ....the date to be opened is distracting and somewhat puzzling.  Motherly love when present, begins often before birth, it wouldn't start at a date in the future, nor could a parent give to a child the gift of passionate love between two partners.
implied between the patterns.

“Love from mother,” the tag
which lay beside it read,
“and father.” It mattered
it really did, but not always

And I wondered why
this one was placed alone
and bound with care;
patient fingers lingered.

I pealed and poked for hours,
when no one was around,
through the folds and partings,
for a look inside, just one, mind.

I pestered and bothered my dad
but all he’d ever say was
‘It’ll do you good in life.
Trust me. It’s worth the wait’.

For months, it seemed    ..again it seems odd that the present would be sitting there for months.t
heir faces were all smiles,
mum and dad, that is,
and I wondered, ‘perhaps…’

What can I say? I was young…
and the devil has an affinity
for idle hands in school holidays,
I could hardly wait, those days.

And inside? Well, all I’ll say
is it took me quite by surprise.
Handmade it was. But I cried,  ...handmade doesn't work.  You could leave it out.and couldn’t stop for hours.

I made my parents take it away,
and wouldn’t speak for days.
Gifts which last weren't welcome
then. And now? Perhaps…


Another thought is to leave the parents out of the poem completely and just have it as a mysterious parcel arriving.


Vague revision I hope something may be of use.

Gift of Love

The gift came wrapped
and tied, as most do,
with a date
implied between the patterns.
“With love,” the tag
which lay beside it read,

And I wondered why
this one was placed alone
and bound with care;
patient fingers lingered.

I pealed and poked for hours,
when no one was around,
through the folds and partings,
for a look inside, just one, mind.

I pestered and bothered my dad
but all he’d ever say was
‘It’ll do you good in life.
Trust me. It’s worth the wait’.

What can I say? I was young…
and the devil has an affinity
for idle hands in school holidays,
I could hardly wait, those days.

And inside? Well, all I’ll say
is it took me quite by surprise.
But I cried,
and couldn’t stop for hours.

I sent it away,
and wouldn’t speak for days.
Gifts of love which last
weren't welcome then.
And now? Perhaps…

[Guest_PashernatePoet_*]

You make some interesting points and you're pointing out the parts that I was unsure of, so that's helpful.

You're perhaps right about the title - it leaves a few questions unanswered. My main concern when I came up with the title was not using a tag that wouldn't seem related to the poem but would emphasise the idea behind the piece (it annoys me when that's done - it seems like a cop out). You offer a pretty good compromise with your suggestion. I'll think it over in a while.

One comment I wasn't sure about though was:

"....the date to be opened is distracting and somewhat puzzling.  Motherly love when present, begins often before birth, it wouldn't start at a date in the future, nor could a parent give to a child the gift of passionate love between two partners"

The poem is less about the arrival of love and more about the recognition of its arrival. When you begin to understand your parents' love for you, it's rather disconcerting (I found) and takes a while to comprehend fully. This seems to carry on when someone falls in love with you. The giving of the gift of love from the parents seems to me to be more about giving the gift of the ability to accept love. It's quite suprising how much you do end up actually taking love.

Sorry if any of this contradicts what I've written before

[Guest_circumsolar_*]

hello Liam, just got around to reading this one of yours - and the rewrite's a definite improvement on the original, smoothing out many of the bumps i detected in it. Of course that just might have been me :)

glancing through your replies to others and their own comments, it's a worthy metaphor but to be honest i didn't see all of that in the poem itself, but truly enjoyed it at face-value. The four-line verses seem to work well for this, and there's a clever use of internal rhymes running throughout the whole lending itself to an overall feel of continuity here. For example, your 'tied' and 'implied', 'patterns' and 'mattered'...

I don't know your age, but this poem has the voice (imo) of a man past middle-age, fairly slow, considered, thoughtful and gentle. It may not have been your aim to create that voice, but that's how i read it so apologies if i've got it all wrongside upways :)

Not so convinced your 'pealed' works so well, but that's up to you of course, and it's an interesting idea about it representing love like that... but this certainly stands on its own, however it's read. Maybe there's some way to suggest that within a different title or, even, some sub-title? Maybe just 'The Gift' or plays on that - the greatest gift of all, the gift of love, expectations? dunno :(

Sorry if you've already answered this elsewhere, but why have the gift's tag laying next to the parcel, almost as if it's fallen off? just wondering :)

Beneath the Christmas Tree

The gift came wrapped
and tied, as most do,
with a date to be opened
implied between the patterns.

“Love from mother,” the tag
which lay beside it read,
“and father.” It mattered
it really did, but not always

And I wondered why
this one was placed alone
and bound with care;
patient fingers lingered.

I pealed and poked for hours,
when no one was around,
through the folds and partings,
for a look inside, just one, mind.

I pestered and bothered my dad
but all he’d ever say was
‘It’ll do you good in life.
Trust me. It’s worth the wait’.

For months, it seemed
their faces were all smiles,
mum and dad, that is,
and I wondered, ‘perhaps…’

What can I say? I was young…
and the devil has an affinity
for idle hands in school holidays,
I could hardly wait, those days.

And inside? Well, all I’ll say
is it took me quite by surprise.
Handmade it was. But I cried,
and couldn’t stop for hours.

I made my parents take it away,
and wouldn’t speak for days.
Gifts which last weren't welcome
then. And now? Perhaps…

[Guest_PashernatePoet_*]

Thanks for the comments circumsolar, they helped me to reconsider a few things.

i've re-written the piece with a few of the above changes in mind. Apologies for the half-rhyme in sixth stanza, it just turned out that way and I may change it later.

I wouldn't worry too much about my exact themes coming through, that was never the intention and it's a job for English students anyway, not people who read and enjoy poetry. The ambiguity is quite necessary to the poem, I think. The gift needn't be what I said it is, it's what all of us regard as that special thing we really haven't appreciated. If anything, love's too broad a thing to consider as the gift.

Circumsolar - i've noticed that about my poetic voice as well, it tends towards the middle-aged side. I'm still (quite) far from being middle aged, I'm only nineteen, I think it's my fear that I may sound naive in what I write and worse still, immature in how I discuss the topics, that makes me write like that. It was particulaly important for this poem that I didn't write like a nineteen year old. My narrator is quite honest about his flaws and thinks he may now know what he wants. He's developed much further than me.

[Guest_circumsolar_*]

Thanks Lori - I'm worried about the direction the poem may take if I'm left to my own devices.

re your message to Lori: reading your revision no.2  it would seem the directions you're choosing are doing  absolutely fine - and far, far better than i ever was at that age. the few i wrote then ended up in their rightful place when i got older and knew a little about poetry!