This is an engaging poem, which seems to open with the narration of a someone left over from the party the night before, hungover, itching to leave. But there is something else going on–the turning of a page, a shifting of life’s gears by the Narrator-- some introspection, some resignation, and some resolution. I am not sure if I would better decipher this enigmatic poem if I knew if the “he” in S.2 referred to Klimt, the absent apartment owner, or a mystery man in the shadows. I liked stanza 2 & 6 the most.
A lot to enjoy here Trish. The opening simile translates the wakening in all its headache. A payment is made. The clutter of cups/glasses is like an accusation. The mention of ‘stain’ and ‘forgiveness’ carries a biblical remorse and shame. There’s self-accusation and excuse coupled in lack of sleep for behaviours. Should there be a comma after ‘heard’ or a capitalisation of ‘if’?
My impression so far, with not waking up at home, is either the disillusion of wrong choice or that the ‘last prayer’ may point at a darker narrative of ‘no choice’. I’m thinking more of a sleepover at this point. The references to childhood pointed me to security rather than adult realities.
A lot hinges on the ‘he’. Mention of Klimt, and threading to the poem’s opening, triggered the picture of ‘The Kiss’. Liked the ‘greasy candles’ and the vulnerability of ‘fragile light’. The religious iconography brings Christ into the picture. The question is, who is the absent ‘bloke’? Perhaps the answer is a construct of Klimt/Christ/Lover or an ex.
The closing is more directly confessional. Filling the ‘blanks’ I wondered if this was a commitment ‘escape’ the poem ends on and just the reality that life is less than neat, does not offer up a flawless, heavenly blue and the abstractions of belief. Time to split.
Just an initial read Trish. Will ponder some more on the presence/absence in the poem.
I get the same vobe as Tracy or at least it’s a famialiar scene from my own night of overdoing it too, waking up to a glad I don’t live here vibe and getting outta Dodge befor anyone finds me.
I almost titled it, A Hotel Across The Street from Vagabond Pizza…
it’s inspired by this truly awful hotel I woke up in once…years ago, briefly disoriented. Family gone somewhere.
Thank you, Tom.
A weird David lynch-like feel at times. At its strongest it shows and does not tell. I would experiment with cutting any commentary as in stanza 5, which for those of a cruel nature would make them ask, 'yeh, so? It is not clear why the reader needs to know this, whereas the located stanzas make one think and explore and piece together elements of a night, or is a morning or is it a life? Thus, very engaging
Thank you, David, the “he” doesn’t refer to Klimt, exactly … but the absent loved one, but it could just as easily stand in for Gustav Klimt.
Thanks especially for calling out stanza 5 as being not really necessary; honestly, I have no idea why I even put it in.