The Tangled Branch Discussion Forums

Before father died, he wandered the floor
at the hospital, shouted at his shadows.

He was tired. His ankles were thinning. 
People he swore he didn’t know wept

at his bedside: a young woman in high heels
held an apple in her left hand; a barber

swept his cut hair into a gray pile; a circle
of women sat & stared at the oriental rug.

In his final moments, he did not know
himself. Nurses soothed him.

There were Easter lilies in every room, a string
of white lights, like a tightrope, was blinking

out-of-sequence. Visiting him that last night 
was like visiting when I was a child: 

there was a row of pine trees to our house, 
and each time I left him, I waved. 

His lone figure flashed between heavy boughs
until I could not see him anymore.

As ever, nice rhythm / cadence in your writing.

This seems to me to be presenting the confusion of someone nearing the end of their life. It reminds me a little of a delirium I had once when I was very ill, and I was never sure when I was dreaming or awake. The flashing between heavy boughs seems to tie in nicely with that. If that wasn't your intention, I liked it anyway

I'm not sure having some words italicised adds anything (?)
Hospital, bedside, nurses, visiting...

Maybe it does. I notice it's every other couplet except for the last - and that discrepancy seems to tie in with not seeing him anymore.

Another really good poem IMO.

Amie wrote: ↑

Mon Mar 12, 2018 6:13 am

As ever, nice rhythm / cadence in your writing.

This seems to me to be presenting the confusion of someone nearing the end of their life. It reminds me a little of a delirium I had once when I was very ill, and I was never sure when I was dreaming or awake. The flashing between heavy boughs seems to tie in nicely with that. If that wasn't your intention, I liked it anyway

I'm not sure having some words italicised adds anything (?)
Hospital, bedside, nurses, visiting...

Maybe it does. I notice it's every other couplet except for the last - and that discrepancy seems to tie in with not seeing him anymore.

Another really good poem IMO.

Thank you, Amie. You are correct about many things here. And I appreciate all of them. I'm not sure about the italicization either. Was trying to establish the narrator in the real world as opposed to the sedative state of the father. Still thinking some things through.  

Like the word "another"  ;)  

Hi Tim
I like this a lot. It is quietly moving without being sentimental and clearly and cleanly described. The italics don't help in my opinion but it was fairly clear what the idea was. The title is ambivalent but not worse for that. If there is anything, it is the position of wept in line 4 and the slight time it takes to take in ' was like visiting when I was a child', which also has a double sense to it.
Good poem

Dave wrote: ↑

Tue Mar 13, 2018 9:40 am

Hi Tim
I like this a lot. It is quietly moving without being sentimental and clearly and cleanly described. The italics don't help in my opinion but it was fairly clear what the idea was. The title is ambivalent but not worse for that. If there is anything, it is the position of wept in line 4 and the slight time it takes to take in ' was like visiting when I was a child', which also has a double sense to it.
Good poem

Thanks, Dave. Title is a series so makes sense to me. I appreciate your comments on word placement. Makes me feel like I'm on the right track.

Based on popular opinion here, I will drop the italics. I agree w/all comments about it. 

Late to the party.  Another strong, well textured poem.  The title had me going, it had me looking through the poem as I read each time to settle on what it is the Narrator wants us to know about him, the Narrator, when the poem is clearly not about the Narrator, but about the father.  The poem is rich is detail and texture, the simply clarity of the narrative is devastating.  Awesome closing image.  I conclude what the N wants us to know is that he witnessed/experienced this progression, and that is enough.

T

Tracy Mitchell wrote: ↑

Sun Mar 18, 2018 1:23 pm

Late to the party.  Another strong, well textured poem.  The title had me going, it had me looking through the poem as I read each time to settle on what it is the Narrator wants us to know about him, the Narrator, when the poem is clearly not about the Narrator, but about the father.  The poem is rich is detail and texture, the simply clarity of the narrative is devastating.  Awesome closing image.  I conclude what the N wants us to know is that he witnessed/experienced this progression, and that is enough.

T

Watching Dad die, oblivious to what was actually happening to him b/c of his advanced Alzheimer's, remains the single most unpleasant experience of my life. I've tried to capture it a couple of times. I'm getting closer.

Your replies are more fun than the poem, Tracy, I kid you not.  And that's a compliment.   

I'm surprised I missed this one. We just celebrated my mother's 101st birthday last Sunday. She recognizes that her cognitive abilities are going downhill and often bursts into tears because she can't handle things like her own finances anymore. I gave her a corded telephone--she is back in touch with the world now. Remembers everyone's phone numbers and knows what's going on in the world but just recently lost track of how to operate a cordless phone. Its so spotty and so damned strange. I am probably like most people imagining my own death---not as a lost child--all attachments gone but as a functioning mind saying a final farewell. Chilling, these lines:

In his final moments, he did not not know
himself. Nurses soothed him.


Thank you for posting this poem.

PS just noticed the double "not" in above quote--is that intentional? Changes the way I read it entirely
 

indar wrote: ↑

Tue Mar 20, 2018 9:22 am

I'm surprised I missed this one. We just celebrated my mother's 101st birthday last Sunday. She recognizes that her cognitive abilities are going downhill and often bursts into tears because she can't handle things like her own finances anymore. I gave her a corded telephone--she is back in touch with the world now. Remembers everyone's phone numbers and knows what's going on in the world but just recently lost track of how to operate a cordless phone. Its so spotty and so damned strange. I am probably like most people imagining my own death---not as a lost child--all attachments gone but as a functioning mind saying a final farewell. Chilling, these lines:

In his final moments, he did not not knowhimself. Nurses soothed him.Thank you for posting this poem.

PS just noticed the double "not" in above quote--is that intentional? Changes the way I read it entirely

Indar, Thank you for your story about your mother. I wish my dad could have gotten back in touch w/the world somehow. But not to be. Alzheimer's is a scourge and not one of God's best jokes. 

Thanks for noticing the "not not"...it was not meant to be either.  I will edit that now. 

Very good indeed. I'm new here and just flipping through stuff. This caught my eye and reminded me why a enjoy poetry. 

It's all good, but the detail of the barber is very strong. It reminds us how the normal continues, even in the most extreme cases.

Mark