The Edited Editions: Coffee Sonnet 9

9

Today, opaque takes its first meaning,
The morning sun trapped behind dullish cloud,
Wind whipping round our backs, the flowers bowed,
As the wood fire burned, spitting and crackling.

We had wandered to a red wooden shack,
Once a fisherman's cabin; cosy, warm,
Trinkets, curiose, one painted girl mourns.
No end of coffee, refills 5 cents back.

"It's just to make you happy", when asked they say,
Though the walls, all adorned with frames enough,
And the customers with dogs made of fluff,
Or simply respite from an opaque day.

Though there are always times when one must leave,
You can choose the meaning of two to cleave.

The editing

When a place has so much character it's really easy to imagine this cafe again; a place that gave you 5 cents back for every refill you had of their filter coffee.
Normally my sonnets were written when I was alone, maybe the reason this edit is so close to the original is because this time I was with a group of friends - meaning I wasn't left to my own thoughts, which as I have previously written about can be dangerous!
The changes that have been made are generally updating words/phrases (like, 'I decree') and some changes to the rhyming word also seemed wise. My favourite line now " the flowers bowed", such a graceful image and one that is very easy to see in your head when reading.

Original

This day opaque takes its first true meaning,
Stealing the morning sun behind their clouds.
The wind whips round our backs, the dullness shrouds,
Wood smoke surrounds me, the crackling song.

Off to wander to a wooden shack,
Once a fisherman's cabin, cosy, warm,
Trinkets, curiose, a painted girl mourns,
No end of coffee, refills 5 cents back.

When asked they say it's just to make you happy,
My dear your walls adorned with frames enough
And the characters with dogs who're made of fluff,
I could stay here forever I decree.

Alas it is surely time, time to leave,
Sorrow at separation, two to cleave.

The Edited Editions: Coffee Sonnet 8

8

The rattle of trams coming from the sea
On cold air, that with exposed skin collides.
My knuckles raw and walking quietly
Alone, searching for warmth where I can hide.

Candles flickering as the door opens,
But unmoving those with blankets on chairs.
Sat with sounds as company I listen,
To friendships in flow, their hopes and their fears.

The sharp music of the tram's timpany,
Now nearer, it pierces through that cold air,
Forcing the warmth to plead for clemency,
Before being blown out by winter's snare.

The whites of Luther are crumbling now
Like my skin, head down with furrowed brow.

The edit

On reading the original back I really didn't like it. By purposefully making the place a person it warps the actual enjoyment I got from being at the café.
I only wished to keep the tram's rattle and the whites of Luther, a reference to the Lutheran cathedral that when you got up close you could see the cracks in the paint.
I also referenced the Köket by name which I decided early on in these edits I didn't want to do. The poem is geared toward the café closing and me finding it particularly homely, this led to a dramatisation of that fleeting relationship.
The candle has stayed as well, though I wanted to change its purpose, from subjective to objective. Generally the whole sonnet has changed from a rather dark and sad poem to something that is more matter of fact and warm - despite the cold being ever present (the norm in Finland!) their are elements of warmth that you can identify with, namely the blankets and the head down, not only with furrowed brow but wrapped up in scarf and hat.

The original

O' Köket, you are a cute little thing,
And yet you are closing yourself to me.
The rattle of trams coming from the sea,
Outside your window where the choirs sing.

Our candle burns so slowly but so warm,
But you are contained and so out you go.
Joining the cold air, the harbinger crow.
No warning shown that your cold heart is torn.

You leave me not alone, but empty sure,
I can't afford to buy more company,
So soon I too shall leave, my own timpany
Sending me on my way, find your own cure.

The whites of Luther are crumbling now
But sweet Köket you shall leave with a bow.

The Edited Editions: Coffee Sonnet 7

It's been some time again since I posted and this is in part due to my laptop breaking. So this time around I have two sonnets to post.

These proved tricky to adapt to the way I enjoy poetry now and you may think the originals flow a bit better.

7

It is in this place that I often sit,
Longing for many things, hopeless really.
The dreams confined to a bottomless pit,
Though no darkness, with light shining clearly.

Ambiguous abstracts of solar flares
That blaze from the cut glass that drinks are poured,
Off metal machines and the locks of hair
But how heavy are the chains they secure?

I can leave this metropolitan jail,
As the work of my imagination,
Created for the purpose of a tale,
My inward self an inky pollution.

Be warned, that to be alone with your thoughts
Is not safe or warm but where danger courts.

The Edit

There were 3 quite important things that I wanted to keep from the original (below): "ambiguity, abstracts of the sun", we are always attracted to light and when it shines through, and on, so many different surfaces the sun can show all the colours of the spectrum - I thought that was quite beautiful; "locks that fall, how may I see you clearly? And how heavy are the chains they secure", this is important because of the subject, with reference to Goldilocks and shackles showing a dramatised representation of that person; "never leave yourself alone with your thoughts. Safe and warm, these lines show where danger courts", in the original this really becomes the volta which I tried to address in the edit by making you aware that the previous stanzas are highly affected by the very act of me being alone and allowing myself to think about stuff - that bottomless pit.
An important addition, which is linked to that solitary thought, is the line "created for the purpose of a tale". This is because I can often find myself creating stories from the thoughts I have about the real world, not necessarily fantastical but stories that are  possibilities - what if this...? So this line fits in well with both the bottomless pit of the first stanza and Goldilocks in the second but also the ending, having a courtship with danger as your thoughts can become an unknown space.

The original

It is here I decided to have fun,
If that is what you'd call it over there.
I long for many things, hopeless really,
They are all so far from me and so close.

Ambiguity, abstracts of the sun,
How will I be judged? Skin and mind so fair?
Locks that fall, how may I see you clearly?
Or are they in chains? I fear, I suppose.

Hopes and dreams surround my cafe latte,
How metropolitan of me I know.
My inner workings, they can hurt me, so,
Run to my friends or sanity shall pay.

Never leave yourself alone with your thoughts,
Safe and warm, these lines show where danger courts.

Moisturising Ain't Enough

Skin hardening.
Cracking to the extent that    
'Hey man I like your style...
Can I show you something for under your eyes?'
Frowns and stares,
More than laughter and care
Free attitude to the highest bidder who pissed me off today.
For no real reason than I've lost that cliché,
The spark in my eye,
The apple
And no butterfly.  

Your heart doesn't harden,
Nor does the blood run thick.
There's a reason though
and the rhyme will be found,
That maybe I'm just wanting
A three worded sound.

The Edited Editions: Coffee Sonnet 6

Well it's been a while. University took over and I have made excuses of being busy ever since, so it is only now that I've given myself the time to sit down with my sonnets again. This is number 6.

6. 

It was my first feeling of being at home,

A familiarity with the room, 

Enough to have felt comfort on my own, 

With the china clinks providing the tune. 

It could have been the weather that took me, 

The global mist fading what was in front. 

Leaving the grey walkers of Esplanadi

As the shaded focus of the pavement. 

So I watched the mono-saturated:

The white faces, black ties and overcoats, 

Unaware of my blue eyes fixated,

Playing the game of cafes, taking notes. 

Before leaving the colour behind too

And joining the ashen catwalk's few.

The original of this is full of awfully forced rhymes and generally when I re-read it felt that it needed wholesale change. 

As I've taken a turn toward observation with my poetry I decided that the act of observation within the sonnet was a nice frame to keep; that's also a reason for pushing it into the past tense, as a reflected observation on me observing. 

It jumped out that colour was really what I wanted to put across here - though I did it in a pathetic fallacy kind of way; the link of the cliched British weather with what I assume was a current mood, though this time I found it difficult to remember the moment - something I haven't struggled with as yet. 

I've copied a technique observed in the past semester in the edit: by leaving colour out, and deliberately noting the black and white shades, it focuses the blue of the watching eyes, which is then only placed to set up the eventual joining to colourless life outside. This is as the cafes were moments of reflection and a time-out from the rush of Erasmus life, it can come across negatively with this description - that it was when away from it that I regained the colour in my eyes but at this moment the weather and amount of work I had becomes synonymous with a dulled eye. 

In the original I say "Watching fashion", this is why I observe the ties and overcoats, simple garments that can influence a look and though black and white the "catwalk" of the edit brings the potential juxtaposition of weathered against new. 

Though I am still unsure of the "china clinks" line it is the only real connotation of why the room is familiar, implying a tea room, whilst also being an over arching comment on separation from Erasmus in Helsinki. 

It's also a point to note that some of the original doesn't even really make sense, hopefully the improvements are substantial. 

Original.

The First time I have felt like I'm at home, 

All because of a familiar clink. 

More like a tearoom, no need for my phone, 

Cakes and pastries awaiting my lips, think

This is the place I was recommended.

I sit here, gazing at those who go past. 

My place at the front should be commended,

Watching fashion, no questions do I ask. 

The grim outside mocks me, return I'm waiting

The low mist pathetic, damp, insipid.

I must leave but not yet, work is berating

Me, I'll watch: but who am I to kid? 

People watching is a game for cafes, 

But the warmth shall turn my day to a haze. 

The Edited Editions: Coffee Sonnet 5

5. 

Rosemary and cardamom on my tongue:

Infused in the air and the cold white ice

In my mouth, with undecided thoughts hung

Like my pen, waiting for an inky voice.

Looking for words to fill my empty lips,

As my fingers tread the page for the beat

Matching my heart, and the feet as they skip

Over the distant chatter in the street.

Peter! Time directs its hand to my face;

At least, my friends tell me its time to leave. 

Darkness rising and day ending at pace.

So them to me, and I to my pen cleave.

A napkin with blurred lines held in my hand

The noise of my unheard thoughts, as I stand. 

This poem has been the most difficult to edit so far; I think this is because I am starting to be much more confident and consistent with, I guess, a bastardised form of imagism and so I'm becoming much more aware of devices I'm using. 

Poetically there are some very obvious ones, "hung" being left at the end of the line with no punctuation and "skip/ Over" using the same device and paralleling the image. The volta is probably the strongest I have formed; by taking what originally started the poem and developing it with the imagery of time that I had thrown about the original copy there is a much more emphatic (thanks to the nominalisational exclamative "Peter!") snap into an awareness of the surroundings rather than the self and specifically the mouth. The dual meaning available to the verb "cleave" is very important as I aim to confuse the reader as to who takes either one - to part or to adhere to. 

I am still unsure of the final couplet though it  does tie in with the first two stanzas as well as positioning the persona in a stance to leave; this image I do like as it is as if the persona is leaving the poem as the reader ends this sonnet. It is certainly better than the original ending which at the time obviously shows my inability to understand the word kitsch and also passes a judgement which I don't particularly like. "Alter ego" is a reference to the name of the place we were at ("artelier ego") and is far too removed from the casual reader to make any sense of. 

The "Czech, Polish, Swiss and Dutch my friends, I think/ Wish to leave..." is a fun line and clearly the "I think" begins to question whether the persona fully agrees with the initial statement "my friends" but to why is left unknown. 

In an earlier edit I tried to keep the empty glass line too, especially due to the "empty on my lips" which is an image I have obviously kept for the final edit - but with a much stronger focus, as a persona that is trying to write words that are available to them but not articulated.

Original

Come on, food is your interest Peter!

So here I am in someone's home, loving

The dark, earthy colours. As I'm sat here

We are artists and we are coveting. 

Feet shall tread throughout the day in this place.

Rosemary and cardamom infuse their tastes, 

Harried am I, time staring me in the face

Second hands, arriving filling up plates.

This napkin that I write bleeds out the ink

The glass that I drink empty on my lips

Czech, Polish, Swiss, and Dutch my friends, I think

Wish to leave this place, kind words we go, tips.

Alter ego, taken with a twist, it's

Restaurant day in Helsinki, how kitsch.

The Edited Editions: Coffee Sonnet 4

4.

A cafetiere stands on the table. 

Loose leaf tea drifting in ever-greening

Water - as time drifts with it in a lull

For us, sat apart from our surrounding.

Sunk into the two sofas by the window,

Eyes closed but I see from constant voices.

Korvapuusti's cinnamon smell thrown

Across to nostrils, which begin to rejoice.

The air scolded and split like paper torn,

As the beans, ground and tampered compactly

Wait to line my tulip cup. Clasped to warm

Cold hands; steam rising, curling toward me.

And, in that, return to our window seat.

The moment where back to life I retreat.

The Edit

I found this week's edit quite difficult; again on reading back the original I thought it was disjointed and quite specific on either surroundings which couldn't be imagine...but that didn't add anything ("T is flipped here, made in cafetieres" for example) or on themes I'd already looked at (the kinds of people who frequent the cafe). 

  There were however lines that I liked and certainly ideas that I wished to keep - most specifically the sounds of coffee being made, which in the edit are used at the volta to snap back into the reality of life (noted by the cold hands, as before everything is homely and a sense of warmth is attempted). I like this volta largely because it is a definite parallel to the reasons I go to cafes and also works more effectively than the original's attempt at degrading the status of another cafe. This is something I have and will continue in my edits, the omittance of names, as it limits the availability of the poem to a reader; I would like to ensure a liminality to the cafes in these sonnets so that the experiences within them can be shared, rather than confined to the specific space I was in a year ago. Furthermore the constant voices in the second stanza allude to the fullness of the cafe and thus embodies all the people in the original that are omitted in the edit (families, students and lovers). 

  I think, on the whole, I manage to keep the essence of my original poem but create imagery that flows and is accessible - which is where I think the original fails: 'the dark bodies of other nations dear' was clearly something poignant at the time but the inability of my other lines to coalesce around this idea means it is empty of any real meaning. This is also why 'young tyke', something originally associated with the first line 'American retro writing', are both cut from the sonnet as they do not immediately provide that link.

  I am aware that talking of time and it slowing can be quite cliche and to attempt to lessen that I have linked it to the tea leaves, a moment in time that can be fixed upon - something similar to staring into a fire, I guess. 

  There are also reductions in obvious rhyme, something again I will probably continue as I think it can sometimes feel too forced and in some cases has pushed me (at the time) to create a line that doesn't necessarily work. 

  

Original.

American retro writing adorns

Your windows, two, sofas we sit upon.

I can hear your namesake, like paper torn

The sound of constant voices never gone.

T is flipped here, made in cafetiers;

But that is not the smell that pervades here. 

Ground and beaten, scolded, poorly it fairs

The dark bodies of other nations fear.

Beside Roberts' you are beside yourself

Serving better coffee that that top scum.

Bringing in youth let us drink to our health.

Like saunas, steam, lures our bodies to come. 

Families, students and lovers alike

Yet probably treated as the young tyke.

6000 Views and a New Project

In just a year this blog has had over two and half thousand views (I think actually maybe even past 3000 and close to 4); for a blog which consists of my meanderings of Europe and poetry which of late has slowed I am incredibly honoured to get at least a few views every day.

That means I have now passed 6000 views, as of this week, and I should probably give the readers who come back and expect something...that something. It has been a long time coming but as you will know that from starting in Helsinki I became very interested in writing poetry and I wrote an awful lot; if you follow me on twitter you will have seen me talking about Coffee Sonnets - these weren't published but I wrote a collection of 40 - inspired from my thoughts that day and from the confines of the cafe I sat in.

In the dream world of my head I wanted to publish these but as of yet they are unedited and actually pretty s***. At least, the very first one I wrote is and it has almost completely changed on my second review of it.

So the something that I am going to give is a new project - alongside my final semester at Uni, my placement with a collective of poets and my attempts at finding a job. If you care to bear with me I am going to re-edit one of these sonnets each week and publish it on here, at the same time I will post the original so you can see the changes I made and hopefully see how far the poem will have progressed.

The very first sonnet I wrote was not a Coffee Sonnet, that was something I came up with later and so that can begin my new project. They are untitled and instead, like a boring poet and copier I will number them. I hope you enjoy them and thanks for the views!

1.

To me sterile unceasing hate, I go

Although we will all say the same of you

Still we go; back and forth and to and fro.

Always following the orderly queue.

Taking us to predetermined places

The traffic of the masses rumbling on,

As monotony's shown in our blank faces,

One of thousands; on this seat sat upon.

An unchanging everyday of Underground

Living - what else can we come to expect?

Your screams and moans an ever present sound,

That now we know you have little effect.

I will see you again, though not the same

Me, or you, but for what we're called by name.

Original.

O, my sterile unceasing love I go, 

Although many will say the same of you.

Through you I go, through and through to and fro.

I hear your groaning cease and then you flew.

You take me so, to where I wish to be

But you traffik yourself to the masses

It hurts no more, from your tunnels to flee,

You taste so bitter, dark like molasses.

Yet you are but the underground metro

What can I expect of you otherwise?

Screams and moans denote that you're far from slow,

This was just to show what you can disguise.

So often it is the reverse for these,

Sex hidden by mundanity to please.

The Fishmonger

What would you like duck?
This one?
You sure?
Cleaned and gutted?
That'll be a tenner, aha!
Scales for price
And scraped to the floor.
Cut up?
3 or 4?
The hammer lifted to the knife,
Smack.
Crack.
Is that all?
And onto the next
And what for you?
An ongoing play
A holla and call.

On Coming Home

A home from home
But home all the same.
Nothing has changed
But the season.
Looking on from a familiar seat,
Absent for months,
Though I was here yesterday.