Gyre

grooveamatic

The laundromat which I frequent--
Which I drive my car two blocks to get to,
But in the summer, who knows,
Maybe I'll pick up my laundry baskets
And detergents and walk there--
Is the same laundromat which my sister,
Years ago, when she lived around here,
Washed her clothes at.
As I lean against the soda machine
I can picture her very clearly
Walking through the front door--
An armload of thisandthats almost sliding
Out of her grip, she walks to a washing machine
And relievedly sits everything down.
She is so perfectly pictured in my mind
I blink my eyes to make sure she isn't there;
She isn't.
Her long, straight blond hair isn't there,
Nor her precisely chosen clothes
Or the nose of our mother which sits on her face.
She had been here, though, in this very building
On occasions previous;
It is this realization which strikes me so visciously hard
That causes me to stumble into the plastic chair
Snuggling the soda machine. I cannot stand up.
Did she ever use this soda machine?
It's impossible;
Maybe she even (oh god could it be?)
Sat in this very chair waiting for a cycle to be finished
Or paged through the same years-old magazines
On the brown shelves by the big front windows.
The floodgates are open: who else has been here?
What other folks from my life invaded this drab cornerless
Business to dispatch of their dirty things?
My uncles? But I barely know them;
Surely they couldn't have been here
Doing what I am doing--solely I am doing it.
My old schoolteachers
Who had neither private parts or private lives,
What would happen if they used this laundromat?
Surely the world would collapse;
Certainly I would not be permitted to be here;
I would be instantly laden with quarters.
Immediately I grasp what has plagued me
For the decades I have been alive:
Too many things are able to exist
Within finite space:
Exponential lives have been squeezed
Into the geometrical bounds
Of my own life.

Scared out of my mind,
I spring from the chair and walk quickly
Out the door which my sister entered
Five minutes ago
Five years ago
And I escape into the stinging cold.
The wind now brings not only faint hints of death,
But also a series of haunting images:
Depression-era men in tall hats
Strolling down the sidewalk;
Stoned teenagers in tie-dyed shirts
Doing Chinese fire-drills by the stop sign;
A married couple, some year distant and future,
Sleeping soundly in my bedroom;
My mother's nose
On my sister's face.

FinsburyParkCarrots

grooveamatic wrote:

Immediately I grasp what has plagued me
For the decades I have been alive:
Too many things are able to exist
Within finite space:
Exponential lives have been squeezed
Into the geometrical bounds
Of my own life.

I like the fact that this Yeatsian epiphany regarding time, subjectivity and "The Gyres" of history occurs in a laundromat. The occasion of psychological and even spiritual revelation, in the midst of everyday drudgery, is the nub of much truly poetic experience. Well done.

mulac

excellent poem.

Ali

I liked the part about the chinese firedrill!!!!!!!It reminded me of middle school!!!!!!
No...it was a great poem Groove....I liked it:)

grooveamatic

FinsburyParkCarrots wrote:

I like the fact that this Yeatsian epiphany regarding time, subjectivity and "The Gyres" of history occurs in a laundromat. The occasion of psychological and even spiritual revelation, in the midst of everyday drudgery, is the nub of much truly poetic experience. Well done.

Thanks so much, Fins. Sometimes it's difficult to see the poignancy of daily life, but when one does, it's always a gift. Your response was very poetic in it's own way, too.

grooveamatic

Ali wrote:

I liked the part about the chinese firedrill!!!!!!!It reminded me of middle school!!!!!!
No...it was a great poem Groove....I liked it:)

Chinese firedrills are one the most fun things ever!

grooveamatic

One more thing Fins...I find it interesting that you quoted the part of the poem that you did...I was very close to not including that part...I wasn't sure if it was unnecessary for me to explain those thoughts, and that maybe the last few lines explained it (although I am very fond of the way those lines sound). So, you without a doubt think those lines should stay in there?

EvilToasterElf

I actually think that part your speaking of groove could be narrowed a little bit. It's the only piece I found a little too clunky, or if you'd like to keep it the same way, make sure that it stands out, because it seems a little out of sync with the rest of the narrative, a narrative of people and places, when all of a sudden it's cut into by exponents and geometry. It's a nice thought, but I think it can be said in a few less syllables or maybe in a single long line in the middle of the stanzas, something like that. Very nice piece though.

grooveamatic

EvilToasterElf wrote:

I actually think that part your speaking of groove could be narrowed a little bit. It's the only piece I found a little too clunky, or if you'd like to keep it the same way, make sure that it stands out, because it seems a little out of sync with the rest of the narrative, a narrative of people and places, when all of a sudden it's cut into by exponents and geometry. It's a nice thought, but I think it can be said in a few less syllables or maybe in a single long line in the middle of the stanzas, something like that. Very nice piece though.

Thanks alot, Elf. I was pretty sure that something needed done with that part...I've been agonizing over it for some time. I'll try working on it.

EvilToasterElf

I think it was Hemmingway who said as a writer you always have to be willing to murder your darlings. Most often if your agonizing over something, either cut it out completely or just come back to it later, much later, and you sometimes realize you don't like it anymore anyway. It's hard to do at first but once you get used to the fact that no matter how good you think a line is that you're gonna one up it later, it gets a little easier.

shiftlesslayabout

This has got to be my favorite one yet, groovey. It really made me think. I mean, I mean, I live in a pretty old apartment building. Imagine how many people's lives have been fit into my apartment! But I only see it as holding my life. So strange.

christmascleanlove

This is the most thought-provoking poem I've read in a long time. I'm going to need to read it a few more times. wowza.