Wow, I like the poem, but it sounds like you dislike dinner parties. If that's true, then your poem was very effective! I was lucky enough to grow up in a rural, blue-collar family, so dinner parties are foreign to me. I've seen them on TV and read about them in books, and they don't look like my cup of tea. I learned my "social niceties" at big family gatherings, where the kids got their own table, so as long as we kept it down to a dull roar, the adults left us to our own discussions. I am definitely deficit in social skills, but that's okay...
Ironically I haven't actually been to that many dinner parties. The bit in the poem about starting with oysters and mussels is from a real memory. Other than that, I made it up (although partly from the impression I get from knowing other people who were not 'spared the ignominy of dinner parties'. For some reason I had dinner parties on my mind when I sat down earlier and though 'ah! I shall write a poem!'. So that's how it turned out.
We did meet a few fellow English folks when we first moved here (2009), but they turned out to be awful, so within a few years we simply didn't associate with them. Thus, we have been spared the ignominy of dinner with people with whom we really have nothing in common.
Stick with the beautiful garden, I'd say. All those critters are far better friends.
Some subtle hints as to to your roiling thoughts. Like the Bayeux tapestry, only visit occasionally. I still get gripped under the table at dinner parties when I overspeak my mind or my turn. It makes them less boring.
Yeah. Quite right. You can guess what prompted some of it. The rest of it was sort of imagined of course (hope you understood that). Apologies, though, for any hyperbole...
I very much like the open door mechanism...things that leave and things that arrive through the doors of one's life...a door you can't always lock or make welcoming or ever fully lock no matter how you want it or do not want it.
full of retrospection id say?
as ever your poetry is like another person within you held the pen.
It's interesting that you say my poetry seems like it's another person. I do feel that actually when I am doing poetry. It's a bit more than just being in a particular mood, it's almost like a sort of method acting. And if I were to try writing poetry when I am not in that personality or mood then whatever came out would be rubbish (or, well, it would at least be very different).
Then again I can get like that when I am doing my other writing. So I have to sort of method act the characters as well. It's partly a dissociative thing, of course.
There was a bit of retrospection this one. Part of it is imagined, though (I do not have a coercively controlling husband for starters). I did, however, once go to a dinner party where we did have mussels to start. It was a bit pseud.
A far better version was just having friends round for Sunday lunch, with perfect Yorkshire puds and lashings of delicious gravy. Yum.
Wow, I like the poem, but it sounds like you dislike dinner parties. If that's true, then your poem was very effective! I was lucky enough to grow up in a rural, blue-collar family, so dinner parties are foreign to me. I've seen them on TV and read about them in books, and they don't look like my cup of tea. I learned my "social niceties" at big family gatherings, where the kids got their own table, so as long as we kept it down to a dull roar, the adults left us to our own discussions. I am definitely deficit in social skills, but that's okay...
Ironically I haven't actually been to that many dinner parties. The bit in the poem about starting with oysters and mussels is from a real memory. Other than that, I made it up (although partly from the impression I get from knowing other people who were not 'spared the ignominy of dinner parties'. For some reason I had dinner parties on my mind when I sat down earlier and though 'ah! I shall write a poem!'. So that's how it turned out.
We did meet a few fellow English folks when we first moved here (2009), but they turned out to be awful, so within a few years we simply didn't associate with them. Thus, we have been spared the ignominy of dinner with people with whom we really have nothing in common.
Stick with the beautiful garden, I'd say. All those critters are far better friends.
Non-human tend to be friendlier, kinder, and far more forgiving than humans.
Some subtle hints as to to your roiling thoughts. Like the Bayeux tapestry, only visit occasionally. I still get gripped under the table at dinner parties when I overspeak my mind or my turn. It makes them less boring.
Yeah. Quite right. You can guess what prompted some of it. The rest of it was sort of imagined of course (hope you understood that). Apologies, though, for any hyperbole...
Never apologise. Unless you absolutely, positively, excessively adverbally must.
I forgot to ask - did you like the poem, by the way?
If I commented then that's a 'yes'! Currently in the wilds - no signal. Every byte counts, baby.
I very much like the open door mechanism...things that leave and things that arrive through the doors of one's life...a door you can't always lock or make welcoming or ever fully lock no matter how you want it or do not want it.
full of retrospection id say?
as ever your poetry is like another person within you held the pen.
It's interesting that you say my poetry seems like it's another person. I do feel that actually when I am doing poetry. It's a bit more than just being in a particular mood, it's almost like a sort of method acting. And if I were to try writing poetry when I am not in that personality or mood then whatever came out would be rubbish (or, well, it would at least be very different).
Then again I can get like that when I am doing my other writing. So I have to sort of method act the characters as well. It's partly a dissociative thing, of course.
There was a bit of retrospection this one. Part of it is imagined, though (I do not have a coercively controlling husband for starters). I did, however, once go to a dinner party where we did have mussels to start. It was a bit pseud.
A far better version was just having friends round for Sunday lunch, with perfect Yorkshire puds and lashings of delicious gravy. Yum.
its still you but just another you…