Eggs

[danny_]

Just for fun.

Eggs

carried on white plates
from the sizzling fryers
behind the counter where
a black woman cooks beside
a white girl with red hair

eggs come to me
eggs go to a big man on a silver stool
drinking a mug of coffee

eggs go to the young Asian girl
poking her brother with a straw
dripping orange juice

eggs arrive white-skinned sunny
sacks of yolk and sprinkled with
black pepper

eggs fry and fill the air
as soon as you open the door
you smell them

eggs cut with the sides of forks
splitting them open to run
yellow out on the plate
their flesh on the tongue
in all mouths, his, hers,
and how good they are.

[just mercedes]

typo - yolk

[therabbitisme]

This was a pretty fun read, definitely fulfilling the role of "just for fun". Your imagery is pretty solid and engaging. I think the last line "and how good they are." is a bit too trivial of a conclusion. The poem basically builds up to this description, and while a juxtaposingly brief description is great for effect, this one came as a disappointment rather than an appreciated misdirection. I'd love if it was a one-line summary of the taste using a very trivial metaphor. Very nice poem overall, I like this style a lot.

[danny_]

Hi therabbitisme, thanks for the good feedback. I agree about the last line but also glad you caught the intention. I was curious about how the repetitive style would be received, I am a sucker for it sometimes. Good suggestion for the ending, I will revise with that in mind.

[abu nuwas]

Just for fun.

Eggs

carried on white plates
from the sizzling fryers
behind the counter where
a black woman cooks beside
a white girl with red hair

eggs come to me
eggs go to a big man on a silver stool
drinking a mug of coffee

eggs go to the young Asian girl
poking her brother with a straw
dripping orange juice

eggs arrive white-skinned sunny
sacks of yolk and sprinkled with
black pepper

eggs fry and fill the air
as soon as you open the door
you smell them

eggs cut with the sides of forks
splitting them open to run
yellow out on the plate
their flesh on the tongue
in all mouths, his, hers,
and how good they are.

Hi!
 I have a liking for casual, conversational pieces, about ordinary, everyday things. I also like repetition.  I fancy, tho' that such poems depend on wit; or if not wit, a twist, and the longer the poem, the more it cries out for such. I waited for a twist which never came! Perhaps you might have made it a deal shorter.

As a matter of interest, where I come from, if a greasy spoon had served eggs with black pepper, the caff would have been told robustly, that they could take that ''f.....g' foreign muck'' back.  

[danny_]

Hi abu nuwas, thanks for your reply! You make a good solid point about it needing to either be shorter or have some kind of catchy ending. That is essentially what I felt was missing but couldn't put my finger on it.

Now hold up! Greasy wasn't in there!   This is based on a true experience in the South (USA) however, so it's the black pepper that would be a problem, isn't it? You might be right. That was added to the eggs later, which isn't suggested by the poem.

[abu nuwas]

I am a pedant. I read that the eggs ''arrive.... sprinkled with black pepper'', with no hint that the customer has had any input at that point. As for it being a greasy spoon, if one can smell all this frying the moment one opens the door, well, that is pretty much my definition of a greasy spoon.

Of course I accept your simple explanation that that is how it was. To say the truth, it has grown on me since re-reading, and I find that I am trying to tidy up the metre, and looking for the odd extra rhyme, because, I fancy, that alone would provide some of the missing wit: everyday nothingness, cast in form. It was an old trick much and well used at the beginning of the 20th century, by people like GK Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc. Though they did like a good twist as well.

[danny_]

Oh, no problem, and you are right. I agree the poem didn't mention any input about how they should be served. And since it's not after the "come to me" part, it can't even be supposed. It's a good point to consider for a revision.

Yeah you could see the frying if you sat at the counter and since it was in the South at a place called Grits'n'Grill, it's simply the truth, that you could smell them right away. But not exactly a greasy spoon, however, I have to say... it was pretty clean, they also had egg wraps and other non-typical-southern stuff, so it wasn't some run-down country corner greasy place. It was actually near the beach. But then again, who could know based on the poem? My imagination fills in the blanks with my experience, but yours and other readers will see it differently. I wonder if it's important to describe the atmosphere more. (See, I am a pedant too.)

I'd be interested in your revision if you want to PM it over

[abu nuwas]

I'll think about revising properly; probably end up more mine than yours, but maybe as a piece of fun, tho' I'm a lazy arse, so...

I think you mentioned there in passing something of major importance, which we do in common speech, and with greater consequences in poetry, because necessarily, it tends to be brief. It is so true that I write with a whole load of lumber in my head, and you read with different lumber. So if, e.g. I were to write about the little croft I used to have in the Orkney Isles ( on top of Scotland) , I would be aware of the seas which impelled giant waves up tall cliffs; the numerous sea-birds; the stone buildings, and Neolithic remains which were everywhere; the locals, and their incomprehensible dialect; their slow conversations about someone's broken rudder; the mobile shop; the bank which came once a week and set up shop in some old lady's cottage; the unlicensed cars the police never found, because the boatman phoned on ahead, and they hid under hay-stacks; and the wild winds and rain, and heather. And a thousand others fragments. It is so easy to assume that others have this picture.

Perhaps the best we can do, is to be as conscious as we can, and decide what major bits and bobs we need to present. Ambiguity has been done to death, I think: it will be there whatever we do, and with all the precision in the world. So I don't see the need to add to it, although I know for others, this is the very stuff of poetry. I am bordering on a rant-fest now so...Pip-pip!

[danny_]

Actually that was a great post abu (if I can call you that for short?) To be honest you just about touched on a nice bit of prose. I would take that and keep going, I got quite a nice image while reading.

You're exactly right. There is even more to your experience than you can fit into the writing (probably endless details). You just have to share the important parts - the parts that matter most and also help bring in everything else without trying. It won't be exactly true to the experience, whether real or imagined experience, but I think that's not the goal. The goal is to capture the essence of the experience, or perhaps, the spiritual side of the experience. Details can either help or hinder that. Natalie Goldberg said "Don't marry the fly," meaning don't go so far into detail that it gets in the way.

The great thing about poetry (and prose) is it has the ability to show you more than what is directly said. If you ever studied any psychology, the mind relentlessly wants to fill in the blanks. It's the dreaming side of the mind, and it's amazing. Take a minute and imagine:

Distant piers barely visible through the fog,
she walks along the shore,
the sun falling in narrow shafts
alongside pillars of rain, far out
over the mercury sea.

I just made that up, it's probably rough, but hopefully I can make a point with it. I bet you saw more than I directly spoke of. You might have imagined sand. You saw waves? Seagulls? Perhaps you saw bare feet. Did you see anyone else on the beach? I never said if there was or wasn't anyone else, so perhaps you saw it as empty stretches of sand, but I never said. Windy or calm? You saw a whole scene and I never gave you a whole scene. So the mind does a lot we don't ask it. As writers we take advantage of that - make the most important parts clear, creating the essence, and leave the rest to imagination.

Now I have done my share of rambling. Feel like this should be a separate thread, lol. Only so others can chip in, I don't mind if it's in this thread though.

I can see you have a good way with writing. I might poke around and find some of your work.

[abu nuwas]

You are right -I shall now bow out. Two quick points, tho'. A. Mind can also create a picture with what it has, or less, like putting grease on a camera lens. B. See if you can find a few pictures of English sea-side piers!

Oh, and C. I think the mind sorts by way of importance. So it might assume that if the beach were crowded, that would be stated in precedence to talk about the less important sunbeams etc. Therefore, it probably will leave a hazy picture without people. NOW, I'm done, and please don't pore over some old things which I dumped here years ago, in some haste. One or two are nice, that's all. Tara!