Rejections

[BobBradshaw]

V2:

Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
— William Shakespeare, sonnet 29



Rejections

 
  When I think of this poet—
  or that one—with books published

  --or when my poems in workshops
  are praised merely
  because someone doesn’t wish
  to hurt my feelings…

  happily I recall you
  and how I savored your love
  —but then I remember how your parting kiss
  meant no more to you than kisses
  lavished under a mistletoe.

  If you were a critic of my love
  would your rejection letter
  be written in that most
  familiar template?

  “Bob, I enjoyed your kisses.
  Unfortunately, they don’t fit
  what I am looking for.
  I wish you the best
  in future endeavors…”

  I’d give anything
  to think of you the way William  
  recalled his love
  as larks arising from sullen earth
  singing hymns,  
  but this is the real world, baby,

  and I feel as outcast
  from the world of love and letters
  as the illiterate
  Bua Noi,
  caged at a Thailand mall
  for 30 years on the 7th floor,
  “the world’s loneliest gorilla”.

V1:
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
— William Shakespeare, sonnet 29



Rejections

 
  When I think of this poet—
  or that one—with books published

  --or when my poems in workshops
  are praised merely
  because someone doesn’t wish
  to hurt my feelings…

  happily I recall you
  and how I savored your love
  —but then I remember how your parting kiss
  meant no more to you than kisses
  lavished under a mistletoe.

  If you were a critic of my love
  would your rejection letter
  be written in that most
  familiar template?

  “Bob, I enjoyed your kisses.
  Unfortunately, they don’t fit
  what I am looking for.
  I wish you the best
  in future endeavors…”

  I’d give anything
  to think of you the way Billy Shakespeare  
  recalled his love,
  larks arising from sullen earth
  singing hymns,  
  but this is the real world, baby,

  and I feel as outcast
  from love—and the publishing world—
  as the illiterate
  Bua Noi,
  caged at a Thailand mall
  for 30 years on the 7th floor,
  “the world’s loneliest gorilla”.

[CalebMurdock]

Just to say, I'm confused by the ending. I don't see the connection between the poem and Bua Noi. I guess there's a story there that I'm not aware of.

Up to that point, the poem has a very prosaic and somewhat meandering feel. I'm curious how you knew her parting kiss didn't mean much to her. That's important because her imaginary evaluation seems to be based on that kiss.

I guess my overall feeling is that the poem skips around a lot -- from your poems being workshopped, to a parting kiss, to an imaginary evaluation, to Billy (!) Shakespeare, to a guy trapped in a mall. It all feels scattered to me.

[BobBradshaw]

Thanks for commenting

[FranktheFrank]

Its seems a lot deeper than when I first read it, Bob.
I've learned now not to jump in with first thoughts.
It does seem a metaphor for loneliness

You finish on the disheartening spectacle of a Gorilla caged for three decades. I remember watching Guy the gorilla in Bristol zoo five decades ago and wondering how can these people, with all their degrees - all their intelligence some professors even, just leave a living being eke out its existence in a concrete hell-hole behind bars. And I was just an ordinary fitter at that time. Guy was obviously intelligent because he picked up on me watching him, sought out my facial expression and responded to me. It actually hurt to think of him, reading that last stanza.

Will in the poem, I can't bring myself to call him Billy, he seems to be a great pal of yours.

I have the feeling this poem is immensely personal and as such will not tread it too heavily.

[BobBradshaw]

Thanks, Ieuan. It’s heartbreaking to see animals mistreated, and especially intelligent ones, including ones we share a lot of DNA with.

It may be that all of life is intelligent, the differences being either a matter of degree or the type of intelligence testing being done. Even forms like slime mold have shown to be intelligent, and to possess a sense of time and anticipation.

At any rate, this poem is like any other. I welcome suggestions to improve it.

[CalebMurdock]

I seem to be missing the point of the entire poem. Frank got it, so there must be something there I'm not grasping, like the connection to animals. I can be dense at times, so I don't know if the problem is the poem or my comprehension.

For whatever it's worth, my religion (New Age sources but mainly the Seth Material and, to a lesser extent, the Cayce readings) have some things to say about intelligence and feelings and life and animals that you might find interesting.

Oh oh oh -- re-reading Frank's comment, I suddenly realized that the animal in the poem is the gorilla in the Thai mall. I had no idea that wasn't a human you were referring to. I probably should have looked it up on the internet before making my initial comment.

(My excuse for not looking up Bua Noi was simply that I was tired. It was the end of my day.)

[Michael (MV)]

Hi Bob,

Title as

Rejections (after Shakespeare's sonnet 29)

Or maybe as

Rejections (with a nod to Shakespeare's sonnet 29)


Then 6th stanza as

I’d give anything
to think of you the way William
recalled his love
as larks arising from sullen earth
singing hymns,  
but this is the real world, baby,


Then the 1st of the 7th as

and I feel as outcast
from the world of love and letters
as the illiterate
Bua Noi,


"What a piece of work is a man!" (Hamlet)



Michael (MV)

Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
— William Shakespeare, sonnet 29



Rejections

 
  When I think of this poet—
  or that one—with books published

  --or when my poems in workshops
  are praised merely
  because someone doesn’t wish
  to hurt my feelings…

  happily I recall you
  and how I savored your love
  —but then I remember how your parting kiss
  meant no more to you than kisses
  lavished under a mistletoe.

  If you were a critic of my love
  would your rejection letter
  be written in that most
  familiar template?

  “Bob, I enjoyed your kisses.
  Unfortunately, they don’t fit
  what I am looking for.
  I wish you the best
  in future endeavors…”

  I’d give anything
  to think of you the way Billy Shakespeare  
  recalled his love,
  larks arising from sullen earth
  singing hymns,  
  but this is the real world, baby,

  and I feel as outcast
  from love—and the publishing world—
  as the illiterate
  Bua Noi,
  caged at a Thailand mall
  for 30 years on the 7th floor,
  “the world’s loneliest gorilla”.

[BobBradshaw]

I like your suggestions, Michael. I will revise accordingly.

[BobBradshaw]

I have revised the poem, Michael. Thx again for your help.