Typhoon in Three Acts by Brian Edwards
Brian Edwards October 21, 2009 at 9:42AM
Typhoon in Three Acts
After
Just once I want to be chosen
by the weather,
to have my world thrown
to the wind,
to know the stench of sleep
in a schoolhouse
somewhere in the white noise—
a fetid room
crawling with desperate life.
Here there's only phoned excuses
and slightly messy pavements.
During
What are you looking for
under all these houses
and all these trees
in all these lives?
All you'll find is death
and you
already have his address.
Before
Air fizzes,
taut enough to strum.
Smells arrive first,
amphibian and somehow nostalgic,
rain being the same in tropical climes
as it is on speckled moors.
Strongest winds
for over a decade, they inform us—
they, who deal out weather like tarot cards
us, who wait anxiously for The Hanged Man.
~
Brian Edwards
Typhoon in Three Acts
After
Just once I want to be chosen
by the weather,
to have my world thrown
to the wind,
to know the stench of sleep
in a schoolhouse
somewhere in the white noise.
Here there's only phoned excuses
and slightly messy pavements.
During
What are you looking for
under all these houses
and all these trees
in all these lives?
All you'll find is death
and you
already have his address.
Before
Air fizzes,
taut enough to strum.
Smells arrive first,
amphibian and somehow nostalgic,
rain being the same in tropical climes
as it is on speckled moors.
Strongest winds
for over a decade, they inform us—
they, who deal out weather like tarot cards;
us, who wait anxiously for The Hanged Man.
~
Brian Edwards
Typhoon in Three Acts
After
Just once I want to be chosen
by the weather,
to have my world thrown
to the wind,
to know the stench of sleep
in a schoolhouse
somewhere in the white noise.
Here there's only phoned excuses
and slightly messy pavements.
During
What are you looking for
under all these houses
and all these trees
in all these lives?
All you'll find is death
and you
already have his address.
Before
Air fizzes,
taut enough to strum.
Smells arrive first,
amphibian and somehow nostalgic,
rain being the same in tropical climes
as it is on speckled moors.
Strongest winds
for over a decade, they inform us—
they, who deal out weather like tarot cards;
us, who await The Hanged Man.
~
Reader Comments (10)
'we, who await The Hanged Man' - might be more elegant?
Ah Brian, let me give you some thoughts.
Firstly, I f-ing love the title, and the concept. There are definitely some areas for improvement in the poem, though:
'After' -- Yes, I like the mood/mode, I get it. This is weak:
'a fetid room
crawling with desperate life.'
The N's wish for something bigger, more epic to happen is quite clear, and intriguing.
'During' is quite well executed, but the first stanza sounds like the 'houses' and 'trees' are contained within the 'lives' -- not sure if that's intended.
'Before' is wonderful. The first four couplets have a lovely control and are preeminently prophetic (heh). But that closing one: if you're going to have that juxtaposition between 'they' and 'us' in such a manner, you have to , HAVE TO, punctuate--stick a semi-colon on it. At the minute it just looks sloppy. The idea itself is great though, especially with The Hanged Man card relating to what almost feels like the N's lust - or at least curiosity - for disaster.
Great work.
Also, I wonder why you've re-ordered it anti-chronologically? I think it might work better going from A to B, but am not entirely convicted of that opinion. Would be interesting to hear your motivation, though.
james
dear Brian
i will leave the tiny nits to those more knowing than i !!!
other than that
i really am enjoying this one
silent lotus
Mmmm. very much enjoyed. I think the anti-chronology works well. If the typhoon was such a damp squib and you wrote towards that as an end, it would be difficult to avoid a rueful, slightly humourous finish. Instead there is this examination of the narrator's response to a turmoil...unexpected and complex. There's a sense we''ve all learned something here, without being preached at.
I'd nix or change for a more surprising word anxiously from the last line.
Strong update, Brian.
'Smells arrive first,
amphibian and somehow nostalgic,
rain being the same in tropical climes
as it is on speckled moors.'
I do love that.
Interesting you picked out that word Sue --- I had been toying with the idea of "hopefully" . . . .
Thanks both for lookin' in . . .
B.
~
Hopeful is a better word, there but could mean the waiting folk could be hopeful the hanged man would be ok!!! I'm such an optimist! :)
Ahh, I see.
excitedly?
breathlessly?
zealously?
?
Or a riff on Pete's suggestion?
us, who await The Hanged Man.
"During
What are you looking for
under all these houses
and all these trees
in all these lives?
All you'll find is death
and you
already have his address."
in my opinion this is the poem.