[Rick Mullin]

Green Giants

Reading Yakovlev and watching birds,
distracted by the flight-line of a bee,
I’m not expected to remember words
or recognize a new variety
of arborvitae when the hemlocks die.
They’re popular and bound to fill a space
in which my neighbor’s outdoor television
chips away at memory. The grace
notes fade into a faltering retention.
And now the dove has fixed its amber eye,
a window to the winter soul, on mine.
My afternoon of tea and chlorophyll
dissolves into the halo of a pine
that something in the yard forgot to kill,
a tea stain on the border of the sky.
.

[Cally Conan-Davies]

Rickster,

It's dreamy and it's beautiful. Metrically exquisite, of course (being you!).

I love how it plays with space and gaps, both physical and in memory, and how distractions drift the mind towards other, more subjective things. Not being able to concentrate on the reading material, not able to retain what you just read, what the mind becomes aware of.

Lines 6 -9, the way the thought moves, I find interesting. (It horrifies me to think of people having television outdoors!) I'm still contemplating "space", which is doing complex work.


The last 6 lines are lovely. I can see it. I can feel the whole effect of an afternoon sitting in a garden, the great trees; the play on the idea of eyes being windows to the soul, using the dove's eye. And the halo and the tea stain, both lovely images.

It feels lived.

Cally

[Carl Copeland]

I like this, Rick. One minor question that asked itself was: “Who doesn’t expect you to remember words?” I guess you mean “I can’t be expected to remember words,” but couldn’t fit it in. I don’t know why a dove’s eye would be a window specifically on winter, but that’s one of the prettiest parts, so I’ll let it go. Nor do I know why something in the yard would try to kill the halo of a pine, but I love the intimately connected “afternoon of tea and chlorophyll” and “tea stain on the border of the sky,” so I guess I’ll have to let that go too. The “grace/notes” enjambment is a bit daring, but you do it with flair. Much enjoyed.

[John Riley]

As Cally said it's dreamy. I felt an afternoon waving in the heat. My only touch of a hangup was the dove's "amber eyes." Amber felt like a bit too much. It's one of those modifiers I noticed. I have no idea if anyone else will experience that. I think a not-eye-color modifier may work better. That's a small nit because there is no need for more. I enjoyed reading this.

[Nick McRae]

I like this one quite a bit.

The only standout word for me is 'soul', but everything around it is so rich that it gives the word a bit of color that it might not otherwise have.

I feel like the term, in general, has been stripped of all it's life, but it does have a touch here.

[Mary Meriam]

Beautiful, Rick! The rhymes are fantastic. My only quibble is with the title because it reminds me of Jolly Green Giants - that commercial? But perhaps it's forgotten by most, in which case, title is fine.

[Carl Copeland]

Originally Posted by Mary Meriam

My only quibble is with the title because it reminds me of Jolly Green Giants - that commercial? But perhaps it's forgotten by most, in which case, title is fine.

In the valley of the jolly—ho, ho, ho—green giant. Who could forget those immortal lyrics? I assumed the reference was intentional without really thinking about it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8ilBsr9n3o

[David Callin]

Lovely reflection on the joys of an afternoon in the garden. The thought of an outdoor television appals me too.

Nicely wrought, Rick.

David

[Jim Moonan]

.
For once I did things right and read the poem a few times over a few days, then made some preliminary notes, and only then did I read the comments. If I did that every time I read a poem here, 9 times out of 10 I'd have nothing new to add.

But not always. It's heartening in this case to realize how closely my own impressions jived with others, but that my slant on them, in some cases, is different. The dove's amber eyes, for instance, pulled me back into the poem just when I had begun to lose concentration and drift. There are doves that visit my high-tech bird feeder and their soft amber eyes are a striking contrast off-setting their November-gray sheen of feathers. They pop. That your poem suggests they are windows that look into a figurative winter is intriguing to me, here in the throes of muggy summer.

Mary brings up the title's knee-jerk association with the brand of frozen vegetables. It makes me smile. I assume you are talking about the arborvitae as being the green giants? Maybe a new title... how can a jingle command such allegiance to the past?!?

I think the poem is a perfect capture of an in-and-out-of-focus afternoon in the backyard. It gathers everything and brushstrokes it to the page like a painting. No surprise there : )

It is a specimen of a poem. An example of how everything is waiting to be poetry. Even paint drying is poetry (but maybe not a poem). Now I'm excited to write a poem about the inside of a ping pong ball — Ha! Seriously, it's a gracefully rhymed, tinged with melancholy, beautifully portrayed multi-vision of your imagination's view of your own backyard.


.

[Mary Meriam]

That's the best crit of yours I've ever seen, Jim.