[John Riley]

The Thing You Can’t Hide

He knew when the roof boss said it would take two days
to peel off the old shingles that they would have to go slowly
because the roof had been there so long they couldn’t know
the condition of the wood beneath until the layers were gone
that somewhere inside the reservoir of things that float inside
and things that cling outside to the last leaning post until
the scalding dust scraped away the last remnant of wood or bark,
or the skin from all of the bodies lying dead on the last battlefield
of the last war of discontent and leave behind bones shining
when the noon sun appeared, or a fresh moon, and when the clouds of dust
cleared and new men appeared riding even larger horses
to say that the end of the war had appeared unbidden,
like a miracle of the everlasting, that there, inside the reservoir
of things that float and things that cling, he would finally find
what was needed for him to lie down beneath the softening boards
of his retreat, find there what was last, having long forgotten the first,
and wait, minus contentment, for cessation of the last repairs to his next-to-final home.

[Carl Copeland]

John, I can’t help trying to make a coherent sentence of this. I’m derailed by “that” at the start of L5 and never manage to get back on track. “That” seems to follow from “He knew” at the start of L1, but the clause it promises never pans out: “He knew … that somewhere [something happens?]” There’s no reason, I guess, why a poem can’t frustrate my grammatical expectations—inner speech may be a lot like this—but it had my head spinning until I decided I’d better just relax and let the wall of words roll over me. Sorry if this comment misses what you’re doing altogether.

[Matt Q]

Hi John,

I like this a lot, John. It rewards rereading. The more I read it, the harder I found to summarise it. I'm seeing an old man, in his "next-to-final home", with his final home, perhaps, being the grave. I can see him, on a literal level, not being able to sleep, though that might be because I'm familiar with insomnia being in your poems. Perhaps he's just not yet able to lie down in the sense of give up, stop fighting against the inevitability of death. He seems to not yet know what's coming. What's last. And what's needed for him to rest, or a least stop, since rest might imply contentment, which we're told he won't find. I like the way the list of what might be found when the roof is stripped back continues on and leaves me hanging there, waiting for the sentence continue. That waiting seems very apt.

I have very little by way of nits, beyond that last line seeming maybe overlong. I wonder if it could be broken thus?:

and wait, minus contentment, for cessation
of the last repairs to his next-to-final home.

so as to emphasise "cessation", and waiting for cessation.

Carl,

I'm reading, "that somewhere inside the reservoir of things [...] he would finally find what was needed". It's a quite a gap before the promised clause arrives, but I'd say it does.

best,

Matt

[R. Nemo Hill]

I thing that somewhere (L5) links to that there L13.
The length of the clause in between is, well, pure John.

Nemo

[Carl Copeland]

Thanks, guys! That really does help me parse this poem-sentence. Two further niggles:

If I’m reading it correctly as “He knew … that they would have to go slowly … [and] that somewhere,” there should be a comma after “gone” at the end of L4. I don’t mind minimal punctuation, but many of the current commas are less essential than this one.

I want “left” rather than “leave” in L9, but that depends on whether its subject is “dust” (as I want) or “things” (as the grammar suggests).

In any event, getting this poem to satisfy the crotchety schoolmarm in me is not what it’s all about.

[R. Nemo Hill]

Carl, I know what you mean about a comma after gone. I think perhaps an em-dash after gone, and than another one in L13 after everlasting , thus marking off the extended clause, and typographically joining somewhere and there in a distant marriage.

I agree that leaves should be left. Either that all the whole clause should be in the present tense.

Nemo

[Matt Q]

I'll third that comma after "gone".

On "leave"/"left", I'd read: "things that float inside and things that cling outside [...] and leave behind bones". There are things that float and cling, and once they've left, other things are left behind. Assuming that's the reading you want, maybe a comma after "discontent" would help.

"leave" only really seems to makes seems to me read as above. If it you'd written "leaves", then it would be the scraping away of bones skin that "leaves" behind bones (which also makes sense), but as it stands, the verb doesn't agree with that subject.

If it became "left", as Carl and Nemo suggest, then these would be "left-behind bones".

The problem, I think, is actually with "scraped" which is giving the impression of past tense that can't really be there: "things that cling outside ... until the scalding dust scraped away the last remnant" doesn't work grammatically as far as I can see. So it needs to be "has scraped" or "scrapes", then it works grammatically, and then there's also no longer a suggestion of past tense to make "leave" seem wrong.

Matt

[Carl Copeland]

Originally Posted by Matt Q

If it became "left", as Carl and Nemo suggest, then these would be "left-behind bones".

The reading I (and Nemo?) keep trying to get is “until the scalding dust scraped away the last remnant … and left behind bones.” It seems more natural to me logically and grammatically, though the grammar as is supports your reading. Either way, I agree that the shift in tense from present “cling” to past “scrapes” is problematic, though it didn’t stick out at me as strongly as “leave.”

[John Riley]

Thanks for the grammar help. I wrote it fast and posted it and then didn't come back for some time. I should have stopped by to say I couldn't comment.

Matt, thanks for mentioning the poem. I'm pleased it works for you. I find many of the things that matter are the same things I talked about back in college. Of course, the difference now is I know them and can't talk about them.