World War Two Rooming House

[Roy Hobbs]

Rooming house rooms are cheap,
and there are front porches
and swings to sit in,
smoke and drink beer--
men in undershirts,
women braless sitting back.
Bodies air out in quiet
neighborhood air, elm trees branches
rustle making shadows in leafwork.

No rat race for sex here--
most are all loved-out,
given to a kind of malaise
that occupies the minds of old
stallions standing in a field
watching mares unload from a trailer
and then eye-following
their twitching tails

But sex is not lost to the mind,
for Janeen lives here in dresses
always Five and Dime-- Janeen
molding and molting inside, slip-sliding
in such wondrous ways when she
leaves the swing and goes inside,
her swish warning eyes away
from setting too close.

Janeen's rooms on the third floor.
Old man Batholdi's a door down
toward the circled third-floor veranda.
These third-floor rooms open
temperate for their purpose--
every gashed wallpaper tear and
times painted chest-of-drawers.

Cracker Jack romanced Janeen up here
in her one-bed bedroom, Batholdi fell
asleep with a racing form
in his lap. Cracker's lips fastened
on Janeen's cheek and smacked.
They held hands and listened to the
radio. Batholdi won $200 in the third
at Belmont two years ago
and still remembers the girl cashier
was beautiful and had long fingers.

Janeen, "Goodnight Cracker."

Cracker came to town in an railcar,
a papyrus ark, dirty hat pulled low
across his face-- Alma's Rooms
on English Street seemed just the ticket,
a block south of Douglas,
one house west of Patti. A King's X
hamburger stand and Ceros Ice Cream Parlour
on the corner of Patti and Douglas.

Within a short walk,
And the river a mile away.

"Goodnight Janeen-- sleep tight."

The cadence of life here at Alma's
so carefully controlled, so happily mild,
reeking its way along
with the best of all possible reeks.
Nothing self-conscious, a little Puritan,
but lots of the weary sensuality
and fleshy aromas of one-bath-a-week
allowed in the four-legged tub.

Kansan and Nebraskan and Oklahomian.

These third-floor rooms--
transfuse into English Street's bloodstream,
into the wistful lewdness of Janeen's
telling a bawdy story of the most consummate
nasty boy ever to touch her leg past her knee.

Rooms

Out on the porch sitters
watch glow bugs light the night,
hear locusts sing.

Janeen's light goes dim.

The Gemini are out. Discouroi.
One called the Morning Star
and one the Evening Star-- listen
'slish, slish'-- the sound of a dress.
Janeen's coming down the stairs.

"Anyone object if I take my bath tonight?"

Lannie Lou gets up from a chair.
"Let's take it together.
My turn, but I'll share."

rh

[Erthona]

Well this is suppose to be a mild critique, but I don't know how to do that so...

Rooming house rooms are cheap, (maybe "boarding house rooms are cheap.)
and there are front porches (They always have large front porches with swings to sit on)
and swings to sit in, (on?)
smoke and drink beer-- (I've never smoked a beer, or "men in undershirts" for that matter)
men in undershirts,
women braless sitting back. (Interesting syntactical choice)
Bodies air out in quiet (are they cadavers?)
neighborhood air, elm trees branches (tree's)
rustle making shadows in leafwork. (leafwork...new word?)

No rat race for sex here-- (I get it, just not sure it works as intended)
most are all loved-out,
given to a kind of malaise
that occupies the minds of old
stallions standing in a field
watching mares unload from a trailer
and then eye-following
their twitching tails (I'm not completely sure this metaphor is consistent with what you want to say)

But sex is not lost to the mind, (period)
for Janeen lives here in dresses (new sentence)
always Five and Dime-- Janeen (use em dash for parenthetical —always "Five and dime"—)
molding and molting inside, slip-sliding
in such wondrous ways when she
leaves the swing and goes inside,
her swish warning eyes away
from setting too close. (from looking to closely?)

Janeen's rooms on the third floor. ("room's' a contraction?)
Old man Batholdi's a door down (cannot signify possession and an "is" contraction at the same time)
toward the circled third-floor veranda.
These third-floor rooms open
temperate for their purpose-- (equivalent of: these doors open moderate for their purpose)
every gashed wallpaper tear and (tear is redundant)
times painted chest-of-drawers. )I have no idea)

Cracker Jack romanced Janeen up here
in her one-bed bedroom, Batholdi fell
asleep with a racing form
in his lap. Cracker's lips fastened (I'd use his whole name again, "fastened" doesn't seem to work very well)
on Janeen's cheek and smacked.
They held hands and listened to the
radio. Batholdi won $200 in the third
at Belmont two years ago
and still remembers the girl cashier
was beautiful and had long fingers.

(still remembers the pretty girl cashier
with long lovely fingers)

Janeen, "Goodnight Cracker."

Cracker came to town in an railcar, (colon)
a papyrus ark, dirty hat pulled low
across his face-- Alma's Rooms
on English Street seemed just the ticket,
a block south of Douglas,

(Alma's Rooms, a block south of Douglas, one house west of Patti
on English Street seemed just the ticket)

. A King's X
hamburger stand and Ceros Ice Cream Parlour
on the corner of Patti and Douglas.

Within a short walk,
And the river a mile away.

"Goodnight Janeen-- sleep tight."

The cadence of life here at Alma's
so carefully controlled, so happily mild,
reeking its way along
with the best of all possible reeks.
Nothing self-conscious, a little Puritan,
but lots of the weary sensuality
and fleshy aromas of one-bath-a-week
allowed in the four-legged tub.

Kansan and Nebraskan and Oklahomian. (the form "Oklahoman" is more consistant with the other two)

These third-floor rooms--
transfuse into English Street's bloodstream,
into the wistful lewdness of Janeen's (awkward)
telling a bawdy story of the most consummate
nasty boy ever to touch her leg past her knee.

Rooms

Out on the porch sitters (Out on the porch, sitters...)
watch glow bugs light the night,
hear locusts sing.

Janeen's light goes dim.

The Gemini are out. Discouroi. (Discouroi?)
One called the Morning Star
and one the Evening Star-- listen
'slish, slish'-- the sound of a dress.
Janeen's coming down the stairs.

"Anyone object if I take my bath tonight?"

Lannie Lou gets up from a chair.
"Let's take it together.
My turn, but I'll share."

rh

------------------------------------------------------------------
Roy,

This seems more like a prose short story that you have excised parts of the sentence structure in order to make it appear to be poetry, but on the whole, it reads as simply grammatically truncated prose. It delves too much into the personal to be merely a sketch of a boarding house, and by inference a social commentary, yet does not give enough information about the character's for the reader to make a connection to them, and care about them. In other words, in both form and substance this is neither fish nor fowl. Thus, as it is neither here nor there, it appears to be no place at all, which is where I was left at the end of reading it.

Dale

[Roy Hobbs]

Well this is suppose to be a mild critique, but I don't know how to do that so...

Rooming house rooms are cheap, (maybe "boarding house rooms are cheap.)
and there are front porches (They always have large front porches with swings to sit on)
and swings to sit in, (on?)
smoke and drink beer-- (I've never smoked a beer, or "men in undershirts" for that matter)
men in undershirts,
women braless sitting back. (Interesting syntactical choice)
Bodies air out in quiet (are they cadavers?)
neighborhood air, elm trees branches (tree's)
rustle making shadows in leafwork. (leafwork...new word?)

No rat race for sex here-- (I get it, just not sure it works as intended)
most are all loved-out,
given to a kind of malaise
that occupies the minds of old
stallions standing in a field
watching mares unload from a trailer
and then eye-following
their twitching tails (I'm not completely sure this metaphor is consistent with what you want to say)

But sex is not lost to the mind, (period)
for Janeen lives here in dresses (new sentence)
always Five and Dime-- Janeen (use em dash for parenthetical —always "Five and dime"—)
molding and molting inside, slip-sliding
in such wondrous ways when she
leaves the swing and goes inside,
her swish warning eyes away
from setting too close. (from looking to closely?)

Janeen's rooms on the third floor. ("room's' a contraction?)
Old man Batholdi's a door down (cannot signify possession and an "is" contraction at the same time)
toward the circled third-floor veranda.
These third-floor rooms open
temperate for their purpose-- (equivalent of: these doors open moderate for their purpose)
every gashed wallpaper tear and (tear is redundant)
times painted chest-of-drawers. )I have no idea)

Cracker Jack romanced Janeen up here
in her one-bed bedroom, Batholdi fell
asleep with a racing form
in his lap. Cracker's lips fastened (I'd use his whole name again, "fastened" doesn't seem to work very well)
on Janeen's cheek and smacked.
They held hands and listened to the
radio. Batholdi won $200 in the third
at Belmont two years ago
and still remembers the girl cashier
was beautiful and had long fingers.

(still remembers the pretty girl cashier
with long lovely fingers)

Janeen, "Goodnight Cracker."

Cracker came to town in an railcar, (colon)
a papyrus ark, dirty hat pulled low
across his face-- Alma's Rooms
on English Street seemed just the ticket,
a block south of Douglas,

(Alma's Rooms, a block south of Douglas, one house west of Patti
on English Street seemed just the ticket)

. A King's X
hamburger stand and Ceros Ice Cream Parlour
on the corner of Patti and Douglas.

Within a short walk,
And the river a mile away.

"Goodnight Janeen-- sleep tight."

The cadence of life here at Alma's
so carefully controlled, so happily mild,
reeking its way along
with the best of all possible reeks.
Nothing self-conscious, a little Puritan,
but lots of the weary sensuality
and fleshy aromas of one-bath-a-week
allowed in the four-legged tub.

Kansan and Nebraskan and Oklahomian. (the form "Oklahoman" is more consistant with the other two)

These third-floor rooms--
transfuse into English Street's bloodstream,
into the wistful lewdness of Janeen's (awkward)
telling a bawdy story of the most consummate
nasty boy ever to touch her leg past her knee.

Rooms

Out on the porch sitters (Out on the porch, sitters...)
watch glow bugs light the night,
hear locusts sing.

Janeen's light goes dim.

The Gemini are out. Discouroi. (Discouroi?)
One called the Morning Star
and one the Evening Star-- listen
'slish, slish'-- the sound of a dress.
Janeen's coming down the stairs.

"Anyone object if I take my bath tonight?"

Lannie Lou gets up from a chair.
"Let's take it together.
My turn, but I'll share."

rh

------------------------------------------------------------------
Roy,

This seems more like a prose short story that you have excised parts of the sentence structure in order to make it appear to be poetry, but on the whole, it reads as simply grammatically truncated prose. It delves too much into the personal to be merely a sketch of a boarding house, and by inference a social commentary, yet does not give enough information about the character's for the reader to make a connection to them, and care about them. In other words, in both form and substance this is neither fish nor fowl. Thus, as it is neither here nor there, it appears to be no place at all, which is where I was left at the end of reading it.

Dale

---

I have no excuse.

When one receives a well-wrounght crit, one
replies, as best he can, with 'throw offs'-

1-- I was drunk.
2-- I wasn't really trying.
3-- I was testing a would be commentator
to see if he could find my mistakes.
4-- I admit to no poetry ambition and
suggest by bad poetry, no one else should
either.
5-- I'm old.
6-- At the end, one is always disappointed
in a few weeks after enrolling in poetry
forums.

I do protest that my use of the possessive
case before the gerund in that one line is
correct.

" ... wistful lewdness of Janeen's (awkward)
telling ..."

I had already posted a bloody honeymoon
before I read this. Have you vacationed
in Hawaii?

Thanks for the crit and time spent. I am
honored by your interest.
rh

[rayheinrich]

Yes, it does seem confusing, but there's a simple answer:

The titles of the forums needed to be shortened to fit properly.

The actual title of "Poems For Serious Critique", for instance, is:

"Narrowly Defined and Preferably 19th to 20th Century Formatted
Poems For Grammatical, Very Literal, and Non-metaphorical Critique".

Hope that clears it up.

-rh2

P.S. These worship services can sometimes involve a holy relic
called "toupik" or "toothpick" or some such. There exists a tiny
legion of subalterns who've sworn a blood oath to protect it.
Any comments not in homage to its saint are deemed heretical.

P.P.S. Yes, I know, I'm having WAY too much fun being snarky.
Sorry, just couldn't help it. And hell, let me go on record as
saying that I really do respect the intent of 'workshop' type
critique methods even though they're not my cup of tea. There
are many ways to work at/with/around writing and it/they certainly
is/are one/ones of them.
As Margaret Atwood famously said:

"Workshopping is like trying to find god by going to church:
It's a lot easier than the desert and the results are usually the same."

[Erthona]

Ray,

Those who can't, complain!
---------------------------------------

Roy,

You have written some good stuff...this just isn't one of them...at the moment. Do you write short story?

Dale

[Roy Hobbs]

[quote='Erthona' pid='93168' dateline='1332920284']
Ray,

Those who can't, complain!
---------------------------------------

Roy,

You have written some good stuff...this just isn't one of them...at the moment. Do you write short story?

Dale
***
Dale,

Don't worry about hurting my 'feelings.'
(I was in the military)

Yes, I do write a little short story.

But who wants to 'wade' through one? I sometimes
think web poetry came about because few cared to
read 'longer' writing.

Poetry is shorter.

longa and brevis

rh

[rayheinrich]

Those who can't, complain!

Q.E.D.

[Philatone]

hello roy

I have a few main comments, some of which I hope you can entertain at least a little.

The poem did not start for me until the 3rd stanza. Beforehand, the piece is heavy on description and rather nill on action. Perhaps that captures the lazy, mild atmosphere I get from the piece, but honestly when I removed them the poem only felt enhanced. That being said

I felt some of the content was stated more directly than I like. For instance:

"most are all loved-out,
given to a kind of malaise
that occupies the minds of old"

and

"The cadence of life here at Alma's
so carefully controlled, so happily mild,"


I didn't want to be directed like so. just some things to ponder, I think the piece has potential