Refining Daylight

[bronzeage]

As general rule, it should not be necessary to explain a poem. The images used in this piece should be familiar to anyone who lives in an oil town. For those who do not have the benefit of living next door to one of the world's largest oil refineries, I include this short note.

When crude oil is refined there are unusable waste products. A refinery has several tall towers called stacks, which have a high temperature gas burner at the top. This burner is called a flare. Waste products are piped to the flare and incinerated. Sometimes there is a mechanical breakdown in the refinery and perfectly good product has no place to go. It is sent to the stack to burn. When all the flares are lit at the same time, it usually sign something has gone very wrong.


It's midnight under a cotton candy sky.
Exxon is refining daylight.
The flares paint the clouds
with the unneeded and unwanted spirits
of petrochemicals.
Too much of this and some of that leftover.
It all goes to the stack and burns in the night air.
Waste not, want not, wish not, want not.
The flare fades to a smoky glow against the morning sky, its job finished,
and I wonder what lesson I have missed,
of how to burn the waste until the want is extinguished
and if anyone looked to the sky,
the night I went to the stack.

 

[butters]

*bookmarking this for comment later*

i want to eat this, as it eats into me....

 

[Angeline]

This reminds me of trips my fam would take to NYC, up the Garden State Parkway and past all the oil refineries. If we commented on the pretty pink sky, Dad would cheerfully say "It's pollution." Oy.

 

[greenmountaineer]

This reminds me of trips my fam would take to NYC, up the Garden State Parkway and past all the oil refineries. If we commented on the pretty pink sky, Dad would cheerfully say "It's pollution." Oy.

I grew up there, right between Port Reading and Perth Amboy, New Jersey. My father worked in what was first known as the "Cal Oil" refinery, which later became Chevron, as did my uncle. I have a vivid recollection of what bronzeage writes about in his poem and the sky you describe which was most prominent at dusk, particularly on humid summer nights.

On a coincidental return trip, my then 8 year old daughter said "it's ugly and it smells" when I drove through the refinery grounds to show her where her deceased grandfather once worked.

I never quite understood why the road you were on is called "the Garden State Parkway," at least in that part of the state.

 

[vrosej10]

It reminds me not refineries (of which I have no experience) but nights surrounded by bushfires. The fear and the awful hell-like nature of the night is similar.

 

[butters]

As general rule, it should not be necessary to explain a poem. The images used in this piece should be familiar to anyone who lives in an oil town. For those who do not have the benefit of living next door to one of the world's largest oil refineries, I include this short note.

When crude oil is refined there are unusable waste products. A refinery has several tall towers called stacks, which have a high temperature gas burner at the top. This burner is called a flare. Waste products are piped to the flare and incinerated. Sometimes there is a mechanical breakdown in the refinery and perfectly good product has no place to go. It is sent to the stack to burn. When all the flares are lit at the same time, it usually sign something has gone very wrong.


It's midnight under a cotton candy sky.
Exxon is refining daylight.
The flares paint the clouds
with the unneeded and unwanted spirits
of petrochemicals.
Too much of this and some of that leftover.
It all goes to the stack and burns in the night air.
Waste not, want not, wish not, want not.
The flare fades to a smoky glow against the morning sky, its job finished,
and I wonder what lesson I have missed,
of how to burn the waste until the want is extinguished
and if anyone looked to the sky,
the night I went to the stack.

first off, i see nothing wrong with adding footnotes to a write to serve the purpose of explaining certain backgrounds to it. header-notes, well less so but they still serve the same purpose. it's a personal thing, preferring to read the poem and see where the words take me, and then reading the footnote afterwards which can make for a whole different set of thoughts firing off. so thanks for adding the explanatory lines, bronze, as i have no personal experience or even any passing knowledge of oil-refinery skies.

your first two lines hook me in, strong strong strong. was less convinced of the need for the hard punctuation, but got more comfortable with it as i read it again... still don't think the period end L1 is required though. however, the use of them throughout, breaking each 'sentence', makes me slow down in the read, makes each sentence more solid, if that makes sense. this solidity brings weight, and this is a weighty topic - this burning of the unwanted, the valuable deemed waste through our own failings to utilise its worth. or something...

i can't help but see these images superimposed by holocaust imagery with your 'unwanted spirits' and 'It all goes to the stack and burns in the night air.'

but for me it's your opening two lines and your final four lines that eat into me the most - so much being said in those final lines. quite quite haunting, bronze:

and I wonder what lesson I have missed,
of how to burn the waste until the want is extinguished
and if anyone looked to the sky,
the night I went to the stack.

but i'm still left itching to tinker with the punctuation

 

[bronzeage]

Thank you very much. That was for what I aimed.

 

[EroticOrogeny]

I've on occasion passed close by refineries, such as Exxon's Baytown plant, but apparently at times when not too obnoxious.
I recall the steel mills in Gary more vividly, along with the Coor's plant in Golden (noticeably pungent apple-ish smell)

 

[twelveoone]

As general rule, it should not be necessary to explain a poem. The images used in this piece should be familiar to anyone who lives in an oil town. For those who do not have the benefit of living next door to one of the world's largest oil refineries, I include this short note.

When crude oil is refined there are unusable waste products. A refinery has several tall towers called stacks, which have a high temperature gas burner at the top. This burner is called a flare. Waste products are piped to the flare and incinerated. Sometimes there is a mechanical breakdown in the refinery and perfectly good product has no place to go. It is sent to the stack to burn. When all the flares are lit at the same time, it usually sign something has gone very wrong.


It's midnight under a cotton candy sky.
Exxon is refining daylight.
The flares paint the clouds
with the unneeded and unwanted spirits
of petrochemicals.
Too much of this and some of that leftover.
It all goes to the stack and burns in the night air.
Waste not, want not, wish not, want not.
The flare fades to a smoky glow against the morning sky, its job finished,
and I wonder what lesson I have missed,
of how to burn the waste until the want is extinguished
and if anyone looked to the sky,
the night I went to the stack.

Agree with chip, about the first two lines. I'm having a bit of trouble getting the voice of this, some of it sounds clunky, looks clunky; but I'm not sure, that may be what you want.
so if you don't mind a little tinkering

The flares paint the clouds with unneeded,
unwanted spirits of petrochemicals. ( I do see your point about the enjambment of "spirits" that does give a slight pause before "of" which is seems to need

Too much of this and some of that (this is a great use of a toss away line, considering the context, followed by) leftover.

Waste not, want not, wish not, want not. The flare (better enjambment)
fades to a smoky glow , its job finished,


"the morning sky" I have a problem with, I see night, night, night, with no time passage to morning, and it takes some of the power from "refining daylight."
consider a change from the to its
How's something like this:
a smoky glow in its manufactured sky,

Rethink the want's i.e. if you want the wants do you want unwanted

 

[bronzeage]

Agree with chip, about the first two lines. I'm having a bit of trouble getting the voice of this, some of it sounds clunky, looks clunky; but I'm not sure, that may be what you want.
so if you don't mind a little tinkering

The flares paint the clouds with unneeded,
unwanted spirits of petrochemicals. ( I do see your point about the enjambment of "spirits" that does give a slight pause before "of" which is seems to need

Too much of this and some of that (this is a great use of a toss away line, considering the context, followed by) leftover.

Waste not, want not, wish not, want not. The flare (better enjambment)
fades to a smoky glow , its job finished,


"the morning sky" I have a problem with, I see night, night, night, with no time passage to morning, and it takes some of the power from "refining daylight."
consider a change from the to its
How's something like this:
a smoky glow in its manufactured sky,

Rethink the want's i.e. if you want the wants do you want unwanted

I appreciate your comments. The beginning is intended to be clunky. It's a straightforward technical description.

The voice changes abruptly with the second half of L8, "wish not, want not". The narrator sees he is still holding everything, but has no use for it, and realizes he has been judged to be unusable and surplus.

 

[twelveoone]

I appreciate your comments. The beginning is intended to be clunky. It's a straightforward technical description.

The voice changes abruptly with the second half of L8, "wish not, want not". The narrator sees he is still holding everything, but has no use for it, and realizes he has been judged to be unusable and surplus.

First part is fine, better than fine. I like it. Different. This one is probably worth you working up a sweat about.

Waste not, want not, wish not, want not. (Full stop - pause) I don't read the commas here as being dramatic pauses
The flare fades to a smoky glow against the morning sky, its job finished, (What's this, 17? syllables that is a long breath after 8) too many notes to the measure, so to speak.
One more question about the poem:the I in the last sentence, refers to who?

Do you mind me asking? Who do read? When I was trying to find the voice. I kept thinking Robert Penn Warren, but I don't know why?

 

[bronzeage]

First part is fine, better than fine. I like it. Different. This one is probably worth you working up a sweat about.

Waste not, want not, wish not, want not. (Full stop - pause) I don't read the commas here as being dramatic pauses
The flare fades to a smoky glow against the morning sky, its job finished, (What's this, 17? syllables that is a long breath after 8) too many notes to the measure, so to speak.
One more question about the poem:the I in the last sentence, refers to who?

Do you mind me asking? Who do read? When I was trying to find the voice. I kept thinking Robert Penn Warren, but I don't know why?

The voice is me. I am familiar with Robert Penn Warren. I sound more like Shelby Foote.

 

[twelveoone]

The voice is me. I am familiar with Robert Penn Warren. I sound more like Shelby Foote.

Don't know him, looked him up. From Wikipedia:
In the late 1980s, Ken Burns had assembled a group of consultants to interview for his Civil War documentary. Foote was not in this initial group, though Burns had Foote's trilogy on his reading list. A phone call from Robert Penn Warren prompted Burns to contact Foote.

How's that?

Like your stuff. It's got balls. Not that there is anything wrong with florid verse,
Keats is one of my favourite poets. Sends me into peels of laughter, sorry, Keats is very good, but he always inspires me to go write something warped.
Ah, Selene, Selene, what? No shepard boy am I? -unfinished sonnet

Read your haiku. Where were you when the Haiku River was overflowing with effluents 'round here?

What I am asking is, what poets do you read? On the spot - the desert island question, one book of poetry, which one would you get least bored with?
mine...
Dante's Divine Comedy
...'cause it's fat, and I never finished it.

 

[bronzeage]

Don't know him, looked him up. From Wikipedia:
In the late 1980s, Ken Burns had assembled a group of consultants to interview for his Civil War documentary. Foote was not in this initial group, though Burns had Foote's trilogy on his reading list. A phone call from Robert Penn Warren prompted Burns to contact Foote.

How's that?

Like your stuff. It's got balls. Not that there is anything wrong with florid verse,
Keats is one of my favourite poets. Sends me into peels of laughter, sorry, Keats is very good, but he always inspires me to go write something warped.
Ah, Selene, Selene, what? No shepard boy am I? -unfinished sonnet

Read your haiku. Where were you when the Haiku River was overflowing with effluents 'round here?

What I am asking is, what poets do you read? On the spot - the desert island question, one book of poetry, which one would you get least bored with?
mine...
Dante's Divine Comedy
...'cause it's fat, and I never finished it.

Shelby and I share what is known as the "Soft Southern Drawl". As I have explained to many before (But, you don't sound southern. Yes, I know. I make up for it by looking more southern than necessary), not all of us talk like the Dukes of Hazard. Take a stereotype Southern accent, slow it half a beat and remove the twang.

If I had to choose only one, it would be the giant 1 volume edition of Charles Bukowski.