mllelaurel

Another something I'd thought to start up a while back is posting the various poems I've written (just the recent-ish stuff; I don't hate you guys). I never got around to doing this, and now's as good a time as any.


There are no red strings binding us together
That’s not how life works

Just you and me and the rails
and thousands of other people, crowding in
A continent where no one speaks our names.

The trains carry us from place to place
Sunrise to sunset, restless to adventure
We eat convenience store food, and you say
‘You can’t find anything like this back home,
can you?’
I drink my tea and nod, because it’s true
Whether I happen to agree or disagree

The twilight city is awash with neon signs
Advertising everything, including broken English
And things that don’t mean
What you think they mean
I purchase books on sale, you buy a T-shirt.

We see too many monuments,
And all I can remember is the dog:
Hachiko, his bronze paws planted patiently,
Still waits for an old friend who’s never coming back

I fail to notice, until much later
That there are cherry blossoms in your hair
Like Edgerton’s milk drop tinted red.

At night, we bicker over souvenirs and coffee
While buildings made of glass and chrome
Huddle around us, close together
Like a group of monkeys at the hot springs

Your bleary eyes refuse to watch the sunset
And I am fast asleep by the time
The sunrise stains the sky in russet orange blue
All other hues washed out by the grey
Of cigarette smoke.


This was written in my Freshman year of college. I remember being utterly blocked the night before it was due, then sitting down and having some really cool imagery practically pour out of my keyboard. It wasn't perfect, but I was damn proud of it.

Now, let me see if I can find the revision, written as part of my final project for the same class.

ETA: That would be a no. Instead, I'll take another look at it and see how I'd revise it now.



[First things first - the old title is crap. I didn't come up with the new one on the spot however, instead, it's one of the things I firmly remember from the aforementioned revision.

For those of you who may not know, 'gaijin' means 'foreigner' in Japanese. It's a pretty rude form of the word, actually, though if someone non-Japanese uses it to refer to themselves, it generally carries a kind of self-depreciative humor.]

There are no red strings binding us together
That’s not how life works

[I got some flack in critique for 'that's not how life works.' It's too vague and - is plain the word I'm looking for? Unfortunately, it also keeps the scan. Without it, the rhythms such as they are go to hell in a complementary fruit basket.

Hmm... New line: Not that I know of. This carries a bit more of an emotional punch and works with the theme of uncertainty through the poem. So:]

There are no red strings binding us together
Not that I know of
No
Just you and me and the rails
A continent where no one speaks our names


The trains carry us from place to place
Sunrise to sunset, restless to adventure

[Crap! Craaaap! I suggest we - and by 'we' I mean 'I' cut it and never speak of it again.]

We eat convenience store food, and you say
‘You can’t find anything like this back home,
can you?’
I drink my tea and nod, because it’s true
Whether I happen to agree or disagree

[This could probably use some work. I just don't know what to do with it. *sigh* Leaving it in for now.]

The twilight city is awash with neon signs
Advertising everything, including broken English
And things that don’t mean
What you think they mean
I purchase books on sale, you buy a T-shirt.

[The neon signs can stay. The next three lines are getting...something. Quite possibly therapy. Feeble attempt:]

The twilight city is awash with neon signs
Advertising everything, including broken English
For yen-a-dozen deals
I purchase books on sale, you buy a T-shirt.

[Yeah, ok, the Engrish wound up staying too. I just wish I had a more poetic way of describing the beauty that is Engrish.]

We see too many monuments,
And all I can remember is the dog:
Hachiko, his bronze paws planted patiently,
Still waits for an old friend who’s never coming back

[Keeping as is. In case you can't tell, this stanza was where my writer's block started letting up a bit, or at least I started sucking less.]

I fail to notice, until much later
That there are cherry blossoms in your hair
Like Edgerton’s milk drop tinted red.

[Leaving as is. This one I like - and here's more proof that extra credit field trips to the science museum at MIT can come in useful in surprising ways.]

At night, we bicker over souvenirs and coffee
While buildings made of glass and chrome
Huddle around us, close together
Like a group of monkeys at the hot springs

[No beef here. And yes, several of the hot springs in Hokkaido have monkeys coming up to bathe in them. Somehow I don't think they'd let me pet them, so it's just as well I'm stuck in the US.

I could really use a hot spring right now. Or barring that, a jacuzzi.]

Your bleary eyes refuse to watch the sunset
And I am fast asleep by the time
The sunrise stains the sky in russet orange blue
All other hues washed out by the grey
Of cigarette smoke.

[And we're done.

What's this poem about, you ask? It's about a trip to Japan, and it's about a relationship gradually, undramatically falling apart. It's not based on a true story, which seemed to miff a number of my classmates.]



There are no red strings binding us together
Not that I know of
No
Just you and me and the rails
A continent where no one speaks our names

We eat convenience store food, and you say
‘You can’t find anything like this back home,
can you?’
I drink my tea and nod, because it’s true
Whether I happen to agree or disagree

The twilight city is awash with neon signs
Advertising everything, including broken English
For yen-a-dozen deals
I purchase books on sale, you buy a T-shirt.

We see too many monuments,
And all I can remember is the dog:
Hachiko, his bronze paws planted patiently,
Still waits for an old friend who’s never coming back

I fail to notice, until much later
That there are cherry blossoms in your hair
Like Edgerton’s milk drop tinted red.

At night, we bicker over souvenirs and coffee
While buildings made of glass and chrome
Huddle around us, close together
Like a group of monkeys at the hot springs

Your bleary eyes refuse to watch the sunset
And I am fast asleep by the time
The sunrise stains the sky in russet orange blue
All other hues washed out by the grey
Of cigarette smoke