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.

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.