POEMS AS STORIES

This week, slightly later than normal, I thought I would explore the ancient idea of the poem as a story. Ok you say, so far so very Homeric and I would have to agree, but I thought it would be interesting to share a couple of older poems that arose out of real life and imply if not explicitly tell a story.

THE GEOMETRY OF BETRAYAL

Four people,

Four view points,

Four chairs around a table.

One secret is shared by three,

Exclude the other,

Fear her reproach,

Yet allude to the secret openly,

Describe the one perspective.

Discord divides the circle.

The originator speaks:

“I do not consider myself the same

As other women who have affairs.”

Note this evening,

This moment as a reference point,

A snapshot of relationships.

Four chairs around a table.

The logic of Euclid

Will disprove her proposition.

Inevitability crawls towards them all.

This poem evolved after one of the diners told me about their experience. I think it was sparked by the included dialogue, the illusion that this time can be different. Another example of this illusion is The Gamblers Fallacy; apparently it is common amongst people who gamble to tell themselves after not winning for some time that they are due a big win to even things up. But then again the human mind can convince itself of anything.

I liked the idea of a circular table and the four chairs as points around that circle; as I remember the idea that three of the four diners shared a secret enabled me to play with the numbers. I also thought the story marked a potential crossroads in their relationships, by this I mean that there is here the chance of the relationship floundering.

THE TRIANGLE OF COMBUSTION

Someday you’re going to get careless,

That’s how fire’s start,

Speak the wrong name in passion

And your life will burn apart.

The air is becoming heady,

The heat begins to climb,

Her flesh is so incendiary,

As you ignite one more time.

Some day you’re going to get careless

Then the flames will start,

And all of your safety procedures

Will not save your heart.

THE SAD FIREMAN’S SONG

I have a secret phone,

Store it next to my heart.

Lock both in my briefcase,

They help to keep me apart

From a wife and a lover,

With time divided I can cope.

Can either woman change me?

They just haven’t a hope.

The three poems in this post are of a piece. They were written close together and concern the same situation. As you may gather, there may be more than a hint that one of the participants worked for the emergency services. I had been reminded of the triangle of combustion after reading a section of a health and safety manual (yes, I am that sad that I read such things) and that triangle chimed with the human triangle that I could see in front of me. It was relatively easy to weave the conceit into the poem.

At the time I think, I viewed the participants in a rather negative perspective; if I am honest rereading these poems before posting, I feel sorry for the four of them. It feels like another example of the Gambler’s Fallacy that, after a period of unhappiness the desperate deceit would bring some kind of happiness. I do not think it did.

At the beginning of this post I made reference to Homer; perhaps for any human to be viewed as heroic many years have to pass.