reading a poem

[Senna Jawa]

This is a thread for reading poems together. By this I mean making as clear distinction as possible between reading and interpreting. You may read here any poem, be it by you or by another author (not necessarily from Literotica). You may add interpretation but keep it separate from the reading itself.

For various reasons I've decided to read with you my poem below. I'll do it in a series of posts. First the text:







  time on your hands




                I

John set down the pot of hot soup
in front of the bum the fly
floating on the surface

hi my name is John
i do social research
what is your name
i'll call you george
you are george number four

John wrote in his notebook
i said hi my name is John...
and dated friday september 13 1996

day after day John brought
a fresh pot of soup with a fresh fly

after each session he emptied
the untouched pot into the gutter
and left with
see you tomorrow george

the bum's gaze
gave meaning
to the word
horizon
in the context of a downtown sidewalk


                II

on the third day
John came with a stone
tucked into his pocket

after a practice session alone
John was able to get the stone from the pocket
swiftly

on the fifth day
John replaced the stone with a pistol

otherwise his routine didn't change
the pot the fly his monologue


                III

on september 24 the bum has uttered
his first word
please...

John came still closer to the other man
and bent the man continued
sir please take your pot and leave
why george
my name is not george
this tuesday is my weekend

the bum's head slumped resting on his sternum
his closed eyes
gave a new
meaning
to the word
horizon

John entered into his notebook
tuesday september 24 1996
george4 said
this tuesday is my weekend


END


Wlodzimierz Holsztynski ©
1996-11-09

 

[Senna Jawa]

Reading "time ..." -- part 1

You may like, for your reference, to keep the full text of "Time..." in a separate window. (It is given above, in this very thread; or click on the link below, on the title).


time on your hands




                    I

    John set down the pot of hot soup
    in front of the bum the fly
    floating on the surface


At the first one might think, fleetingly, that the title says that someone has leisure time at her/his disposal. This interpretation will be challenged by the poem. A very different meaning of the title will crystalize by the end of the poem.

After reading the first three lines of the text you may suspect that it is an outdoor scene. The certainly disturbing thing is the fly in the soup. Nothing in art happens accidentally. Art has its logic. But at this moment that's all we can say: a fly in the offered soup is disturbing. Especially that most likely "bum" is depraved of food. Most likely this is why the experiment is performed on him. (Somewhere deeper in reader's mind this possibility should occur already. Indeed, you woudn't let that John and his soup close to you).


        hi my name is John
        i do social research
        what is your name
        i'll call you george
        you are george number four


We see that the two man didn't know each other, that John is a busy researcher (his present research subject is already at least the fourth one, most likely there are more). John is superficially friendly. But he is a callous man. Even if the other man (the bum) didn't offer his name, John didn't have to tell him his code which brands the subject in an insensitive way. Not to mention that codes can be individual, say: the resident of Santa Clara Street, etc. The combination of the fly in the soup and of numbering people is now striking.



        John wrote in his notebook
        i said hi my name is John...
        and dated friday september 13 1996


Check a calendar and you will see that indeed, September 13 was a Friday. Many people are superstitious about 13 and Fridays, that they bring you bad luck. (I am not superstitious hence I was pubished. In the summer of 1972 an unknown to me before Italian American woman has strucked my car with hers from behind, and I had whiplash for years. The accident had happened on Friday, 13th).


        day after day John brought
        a fresh pot of soup with a fresh fly


There is no more doubt that we are dealing with a mean experiment.


    after each session he emptied
    the untouched pot into the gutter
    and left with
    see you tomorrow george


Mean and cruel.


                the bum's gaze
                gave meaning
                to the word
                horizon
                in the context of a downtown sidewalk


We have to take what the text has offered. The bum is ignoring John. There is no more any doubt that the scene takes place on a street. It's quite certain now that the bum is homeless, that he sticks to the same place on a street day after day. It's almost certain that he is hungry. But he does not touch the soup. We have to assume that this is due to the fly in the soup.

Now there is time for a bare minimum of interpretation. The fly is repulsive, offensive, humiliating. The bum has his dignity.

Going already back to the title, even if you still have no choice but to interpret it as "leisure time", the title starts to have a more ominous meaning, it is already much darker. As a minimum, one could say at this moment that "leisure time" is meant sarcastically. However it is more dramatic in the case of the bum. "Irony" and "sarcasm" are not quite the words which fit here, the situation is too serious for that or rather too deep.

 

[Senna Jawa]

Reading "time..." -- part 2

Let's continue.






  time on your hands






                    II

    on the third day
    John came with a stone
    tucked into his pocket

    after a practice session alone
    John was able to get the stone from the pocket
    swiftly

    on the fifth day
    John replaced the stone with a pistol

    otherwise his routine didn't change
    the pot the fly his monologue


Why stone? Why pistol?

The poem does not indicate anything special going on that street. True, downtowns can be dangerous. But they don't have to be. Not during the broad daylight. John is an experienced enough social researcher (it is his geoger4 subject), he does not have to be afraid like people who would never venture into streets. And he was relaxed on his first day.

One thing we know, that stone and pistol are for selfdefense.

Now a bit of interpretation. The poem provides only one reason for John's fear. The bum is quiet but John became afraid of him. Why? Because John knows that he is doing nasty things to the bum, things for which it would be possible to strike John in a fit of eventual anger.

One way or another we get quite an image of John, who otherwise is an ordinary citizen.

 

[Senna Jawa]

Reading "time..." -- part 3

The conclusion of the "time..." poem:






  time on your hands






                        III

        on september 24 the bum has uttered
        his first word
        please...

        John came still closer to the other man
        and bent the man continued


Here you need to be a poetry reader, sensitive to the crucial details. You have to imagine the images offered by the author. You have to see that the bum speaks slowly (after bum's "please" John had enough time to walk to the bum before the next word was uttered). You have to see that the bum is talking very softly--John was already near the bum, but John still had to get nearer, he has to bend down to hear what the bum is saying. Furthermore, the bum must be sitting (because John is bending down, and there was no reason given to think that John was significantly taller than the bum). You have to see this whole scene.



        sir please take your pot and leave
        why george
        my name is not george
        this tuesday is my weekend



Now everything is clear. The bum tells John that he is dying, that he will not live till Saturday, that this very Tuesday is his last day.
The bum wants to die in dignity, he wants John to respect his last moments by leaving him alone.

What follows confirms bum's words. He died:



        the bum's head slumped resting on his sternum
        his closed eyes
        gave a new
        meaning
        to the word
        horizon



The bum, when dying, didn't have to close his eyes. But nothing in art is accidental. The bum, in his dying moment, didn't want to look at John and John's pot of soup with a fly in it. He wanted to see his horizon and beyond.


                John entered into his notebook
                tuesday september 24 1996
                george4 said
                this tuesday is my weekend


END


Wlodzimierz Holsztynski ©
1996-11-09


NOW tell me the meaning of the title of this poem.

 

[Senna Jawa]

Re: Reading "time..." -- part 3

Furthermore, the bum must be sitting (because John is bending down, and there was no reason given to think that John was significantly taller than the bum). You have to see this whole scene.

We know that the man was sitting, day after day, because you do not set a pot of soup in front of a standing man. (Once again, we have defaults at work).

Regards,

 

[Rybka]

Poem Interpretation

S.J. The only places where I did not follow your interpretation were in the following:

II

on the third day
John came with a stone
tucked into his pocket

after a practice session alone
John was able to get the stone from the pocket
swiftly

on the fifth day
John replaced the stone with a pistol

otherwise his routine didn't change
the pot the fly his monologue

"the third day struck me as inconsistent with the previous "day after day . . .". The time line seemed faulty. Also, I began to see John as a serial killer of the indigent. - Later, I began to wonder why he had to practice if this was "george 4".

sir please take your pot and leave
why george
my name is not george
this tuesday is my weekend

I totally missed ". . .weekend" as referring to death. - I also object to "sir please" if you have ever dealt with the "street destitute people" you should know that they indeed do have their own pride and are invariable rough tongued. They have to be to live on the street.

I enjoyed this poem, but I do not rate it among your best. It read more like a minimalist story than a Senna Jawa poem. - No offence meant.

As far as the title: time on your hands is concerned, I have no clue beyond what you have already apparently rejected.


Regards,                 Rybka

 

[Senna Jawa]

Re: Poem Interpretation

S.J. The only places where I did not follow your interpretation were in the following:


"the third day struck me as inconsistent with the previous "day after day . . .". The time line seemed faulty.

I try hard to agree with my critics, often too hard. Here too I did try, I had a reflex to say that poetry is not a lab journal, that suppossedly there is a minor glitch here. But there is none. A story hardly ever develops perfectly linearly in time. Part I gave an overview of a longer period of time (until the last day). Part II went a bit back to provide certain details, to give more of an insider view.

Also, I began to see John as a serial killer of the indigent. - Later, I began to wonder why he had to practice if this was "george 4".

That's perfectly alright. Different readers have different associations, triggered by their own background and personality. But one should not take such associations too seriously, when they are not supported by the text, when it's only a fleeting impression.

I totally missed ". . .weekend" as referring to death.

That's a great pity. What can I say? You missed the culmination of the whole poem, a culmination which was well prepared, patiently and clearly. It was described by poetic means. I hope that you can enjoy the poem now anyway, despite of your initial misfortune.

- I also object

What do you mean "also"?

- I also object to "sir please" if you have ever dealt with the "street destitute people" you should know that they indeed do have their own pride and are invariable rough tongued. They have to be to live on the street.

Rybka, you are rationalizing, you don't know what you are talking about. It is perfect in the poem as is. It fits (some) people on the streets (ithey are not a homogenous crowd anyway), and it fits the situation.

I enjoyed this poem, but I do not rate it among your best. It read more like a minimalist story than a Senna Jawa poem. - No offence meant.

You are rushing with your judgement before you got the full impact of this piece. It is not a colorful poem like my "San Jose" and other pieces. It is subdued. Thus the moral, ethical, philosophical meaning of the poem explodes with even greater force.

As far as the title: time on your hands is concerned, I have no clue beyond what you have already apparently rejected.

What John was doing to the other man was a horrible crime, he took the other's man time, precious time. Murderers have blood on their hands, John had (the other man's) time on his hands. It was equally reprehensible. John wasted a portion of another man's life.

BTW, Rybka, you are not the first reader to miss the death of the man. The state of readership is sad indeed. High level poetry requires high level readership. The author and the reader are like bridge partners. The game is great when both partners are strong.

Regards,

 

[dragonhearted]

ahem

bump