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.

The Walker

Tired feet,
Aching legs
And heavy shoulders.
Stiff neck,
Dry lips
And cold ears.
But cheeks flushed,
Eyes keen
And hair swept. 

Walking in The Garden of Ireland

There are an endless string of hellos,
As I walk the Wicklow way.
With the steady thud and crunch of my feet
Across hills and mountains,
I'm not sure which.
Crows gliding with the wind
And the screams of deer riding on it.
A chilling sound, colder than the air,
Though still a sight when near.
A map guides me
And from Laragh to Mullacor I trekked,
Before the Spink brought me to Glendalough
On a blessed day,
The sun shining upon my back
And rain held at bay.
Yet the contours never give up
And for a day, that's enough. 

Sitting somewhere above Lough Dan, Wicklow

Sheltering between knuckled rocks,
Looking across a misty space
Whilst above the mirrored loch.
The only sound, nature's silence;
The unseen win brushing by
And the drizzle pattering my sack.
A distant call from within the gorse,
As I take to my feet
Of course, the wind finds new voice,
Now pushing, rather than brushing past.
For the moment I share the sky with the clouds,
Gathering and flowing on.
But I'll be meeting the ground again,
Not before long,
As I take to my deer
And head on. 

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.