Poetic Shop Talk Presents: One Form To Another

Thanks to all the new viewers. Sorry the posting is scarce again.

This is a bit of teaser. Even though a finished project came out of the two poems below, I won't be publishing the final version here because I plan to try and have it published elsewhere. Still, I thought it might be interesting to print two-thirds of the process.

From the beginning of the workshop that just ended to the one I'm taking now (both with Tom
Daley), I've been taking existing work that seems--or just flat out is--weak and trying to improve on it. The sonnet below I wrote when I was taking classes at Emerson in 1997. It ended up being included in my final thesis. The professors never commented on it (because I never brought it into workshops and just plopped it in the thesis), which led me to believe it was "finished." This was grad school thinking, folks. I've since thought otherwise but never was motivated enough to improve it.

Going Away Party

Ray, a fellow waiter, is following his girlfriend
to Baltimore. To say good-bye we decide
to meet at our hang-out, the bar that doesn't card, at the end
of Saturday night, Ray's last shift. Inside,
they pass the shots around for the toast but say to wait.
Ray's vanished. In fact he's gone outside to smoke.
The newest workers say to hell with it and drink. It's late,
but I talk with Susan, who's always said Boston will choke
her to death unless she leaves. This time she's Florida bound
next month. She says I'll use her in a story, that she knows
I've inspired her. I ask her--in case she really isn't around
in the future--if that sentiment goes
towards me. We want to make sure, despite our different fates,
that'll we'll live on through anyone who escapes.

When Tom assigned the villanelle for our assignment, I took the last couplet, changed the lines considerably, and used them for the refrains. This resulted in the early draft you see below.

The waiters drink like it’s their final day,
as if it was their last time on the floor.
They live through anyone who gets away.

This time, the honor goes to lucky Ray,
who’s following his girl to Baltimore.
The waiters drink like it’s their final day.

Most don’t know the duration of their stay,
they don’t go by their school years anymore.
They live through anyone who gets away.

Their hope in scraps. That’s how it comes their way.
The untouched meals back through the kitchen doors.
Tips used for drinks, to finalize their day.

And those who’ve stayed too long gave hope away,
made trades for pocket flasks. And they drink more
when someone’s blessed enough to get away.

That’s why the waiters revel with dismay,
not caring that Ray left the night before.
The waiters drink like it’s their final day,
They live through anyone who gets away.

Once Ray finally was kicked out of the later drafts, the poem finally took shape and became "Last Calls," which I am getting ready to send out. I so hope to have my sestina good to go in a month. We shall see.

I know this is probably poetic chicken feed, but hey, at least I didn't do the sonnet again.

That's next time.