[Glenn Wright]

Version 2

Another State

My boredom, like a cat, brushes my skin,
urging me where I know I should not go,
convincing me that life is sweeter in
another state, a place I do not know.
I’ll run and leave my discontent behind,
swim in ocean waves, ski mountain snow,
take risky drugs, have one-night stands, and find
the inspiration for my art to flow.

Companions I pick up in squalid bars
prove not to be dependable or true.
I hitchhike in some sketchy strangers’ cars,
lured on by the mirages I pursue.
As long as I keep moving, I can hope,
lie to myself, and get one more tattoo.
At last I reach the end of ride and rope,
admitting what I guess I always knew.
————————
Edits:
S1L1: Just like a cat, my boredom licks my skin, > My boredom, like a cat, brushes my skin,
S1L6: dive into ocean waves, ski mountain snow, > swim in ocean waves, ski mountain snow,
Add stanza break after S1L8
S2L3m I hitchhike dangerously in strangers’ cars, > I hitchhike in some sketchy strangers’ cars.
S2L5: At last, stripped of my self-respect and pride, > As long as I keep moving, I can hope,
S2L6: In Anchorage, I see that I’ve been fleeing > lie to myself, and get one more tattoo.
S2L7: myself. But here I am at the end of the ride, > At last I reach the end of ride and rope,
S2L8: the only saboteur of my well-being. > admitting what I guess I always knew.


Version 1

Another State

I think my life would be much sweeter in
another state, a place I do not know.
The itch of curiosity licks my skin,
leading me where I know I should not go.
I trick myself to think my goal is nearer,
framing my disappointment in the mirror.

Another state, a place I do not know,
calls me to leave my discontent behind.
I dream of ocean spray or mountain snow,
far from the boredom keeping me confined.
Risky drugs and dangerous acts create
the illusion of escaping the life I hate.

The itch of curiosity licks my skin,
tantalizes my imagination,
calling me relentlessly to sin,
to risk my self-respect and reputation.
To fix myself, find gladness, I am sure
I’ll have to find a geographic cure.

Leading me where I know I should not go,
my own delusions make me think that others,
family, friends, co-workers brought me low.
I flee those selfish comrades, faithless lovers,
seeking companionship in dives and bars,
taking desperate rides in strangers’ cars.

I trick myself to think my goal is nearer
than my pathetic effort would deserve.
I flee them, too, when their schemes become clearer,
and with a downcast heart resolve to swerve
away from past mistakes. Alaska embraces
another failure, offering her graces.

Framing my disappointment in the mirror,
I take my inventory, confess my flaws,
deciding that my peace of mind is dearer
than money, success, or popular applause.
I realize at last that I’ve been fleeing
myself, not looking for my own well-being.
————————
Edits:
S1L5: tricking myself to think my goal much nearer, > I trick myself to think my goal is nearer,
S5L1: tricking myself to think my goal much nearer > I trick myself to think my goal is nearer

[Carl Copeland]

Hi, Glenn. Funny, I’ve been away from the US for so long that I started by reading “state” as “state of existence,” which I kind of liked. Just a couple quick thoughts to get things going:

In S1, I take it that it’s curiosity that’s tricking you, so “myself” should be “me.” Only I can trick myself.

“Alaska embraces another failure, offering her graces” is hard to work out. I suppose Alaska is the state the N is trying to get away from, and when he fails, it offers consolations, but that’s based partly on my knowledge that the poet lives in Alaska.

When the N decides that his “peace of mind is dearer,” I had to wonder: isn’t it peace of mind that he was hoping to find elsewhere? He complained about “discontent” and “boredom,” but said nothing about a lack of money and success until now. The realization that he needs to look inward rather than outward for peace is clear, of course, so I suppose this is no more than a quibble.

I was going to suggest that a shorter poem could tell the same story until I discovered that the poem’s size is preprogrammed by its form: a pantoum, but strictly rhymed and metered, making it doubly and triply challenging.

[R. Nemo Hill]

Carl writes: "I was going to suggest that a shorter poem could tell the same story until I discovered that the poem’s size is preprogrammed by its form: a pantoum, but strictly rhymed and metered, making it doubly and triply challenging."

Indeed, Glen, it seems that only the form dictates the long-windedness here. If you want to use such a form you must find more to say. A repeating form does not mean you simply repeat your argument over and over again in slightly different words. This feel like an inflated quatrain or two, and it was hard for me to get all the way through it to the end.

Nemo

[Roger Slater]

This is a pantoum? I'm not seeing it. Sure, there are some repeating lines, but it's not systematic. I'm only seeing ababcc stanzas.

Yes, the poem is very repetitive. We're told the speaker always thinks the answer to his unhappiness is to move to a different locale, and we're told that over and over again. What we're not told, or even hinted at, is the nature of the speaker's unhappiness. What's eating Gilbert Grape? The effect is that you've written a confessional poem that confesses little and reveals even less. And there's no development of the thought at all that would explain the sudden realization at the end that the speaker is fleeing himself. What happens in the poem that somehow makes it feel right for the speaker to understand at the end that he had been fleeing himself? And what does that even mean?

It could be just my own opinion, but "The itch of curiosity licks my skin" strikes me as a very bad line, a hyperpoetical way of saying "I become curious." But phrasing aside, it also doesn't seem consistent with the rest of the poem, since it's not "curiosity" that seems to drive our speaker to a change of locale, but a desire to flee his genuine self.

[Mary Meriam]

It's a trenta sei (ababcc, 6 stanzas) invented by John Ciardi.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Carl, Nemo, Roger, and Mary—

This poem is a trenta sei—a verse form I was unfamiliar with until I read Mary’s poem in TDE a few weeks ago. This is my first attempt at this form, and your comments, Nemo, lead me to think I may have chosen a canvas that is too big for the painting I wanted to draw. Not unlike a sestina, this form requires a lot of repetition, which a more skillful or experienced poet would be able to vary by playing on ambiguities and multiple entendres. I may need to consider using a different form—maybe a rubaiyat! (Just kidding.)

Carl, I did mean that I tricked myself, and made adjustments to S1L5 and S5L1 to clarify this. In S5L5-6, “Alaska embraces / another failure, offering her graces,” I was suggesting that after abandoning my past mistakes, I took the path taken by troubled, unhappy people since Gold Rush times and made Alaska my permanent home.

“The itch of curiosity licks my skin,” Roger, was intended to suggest a cat. Cats and curiosity have a proverbial and lethal connection, and since I am allergic to them, a cat lick makes me itch and seek escape. I wanted to personify my perverse tendency to believe that my current situation was responsible for my happiness or unhappiness rather than my own efforts to take control of my life.

Thanks, all for your helpful comments!

Glenn

[Susan McLean]

Glenn, I recognized quickly the pattern you were using in this poem, though I have seen so few poems in this form that the name did not come to mind (thanks, Mary). However, I have to agree with others that you are not departing enough from the expected pattern of the situation you describe. You might consider taking this in the direction that Carl mentioned, more into states of mind, and trying to convey those states of mind with images and metaphors. Take us somewhere we don't expect to go. Or you can pick a more condensed form that does not require you to fill in the blanks at such length (I usually find sestinas disappointing because they are long and feel like exercises to fill those blanks). You aren't specific enough for me to pick up the edginess of a "true confessions" poem, and general "sins" just don't hold my attention.

Susan

[Roger Slater]

There are no cats in the poem, Glenn, even if you were thinking about cats when you wrote the line about curiosity. And even if there were, itches don't lick.

But leaving aside the "cat" idea, the line bothers me because the poem is about a speaker who moves from place to place in order to flee himself and his unexplained depression and unhappiness. He doesn't move around because he is "curious" about other places, but because he keeps on thinking it might be a cure for his melancholy.

I still think the biggest problem with the poem is that you don't give us a clue about the nature of the speaker's depression. You just keep on hammering the conclusion that he feels that way, but despite the confessional tone, you actually withhold all relevant information. And then you end the poem with the abrupt announcement that the speaker suddenly realizes what's bothering him, and it turns out to be something that is equally vague and unrevealing: he's been trying to run from himself. To me, that sounds like generic advice from a life coach manual, not the sort of granular, introspective exploration of emotion that a poem like this ought to deliver.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Susan and Roger—

My intention in this poem was to share an epiphany that I had as a young man. I realized that my attempts to find happiness by seeking changes in my location, situation, and friends were doomed to fail because the things that needed to change were my own values and attitudes. I did not intend to write a “confessional poem” in the style of Anne Sexton or John Berryman. I lack the skill, courage, and desire to attempt such a project.

That being said, I understand that I seem to be promising a full disclosure of my most personal memories and feelings, which would give emotional weight and authentic conviction to the poem. However, instead of a strip tease, I deliver a rather preachy sermon on personal responsibility. I think Susan’s suggestion to try a more condensed form is good advice.

Thanks, both, for your helpful suggestions.

Glenn

[Christine P'legion]

If you're looking for a shorter form that still employs some kind of repetition, may I suggest a tritina? It's like a baby sestina:

1) Three stanzas of three lines each, followed by a single concluding line
2) Pick three words to end your lines (rhymed or un-rhymed as you prefer). In the three stanzas follow the pattern ABC / CAB / BCA with those words. In the concluding line use A, B, and C somewhere in that line in order.

(example; the second poem on the page)