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Click hereHe sent me to my room with yelling and threats
But I dropped out the window to the ground
Then made a gesture at the house
And walked off to the woods to be alone,
but alone on my own terms
Nurturing my resentments and smoking
The cigarettes that I stole from his car
Yep – my dad and me.
Well.
When he died, years ago, we were still estranged
I don't miss him but I think of him now and then
Years can soften bitterness if you let them
I don't, but there is less heat now
I wish I could tell him how much I regret
That there were those disappointments
Not for the cause of them, as I am who I am
But that we didn't go past them
And to tell him
That he never took my pride
- COMMENTS
Ashesh9about 10 years agoThought/ experience & precious to you : thank you for sharin' !
Cleardaynowabout 10 years agoOddly, on first reading, while I liked this as a ‘story’, I was not keen on it as a poem. The more I read it now, the more I like it. In fact, I cannot see why I did not immediately take to it.
Clearly it is a ‘narration’ style of poem – not popular with some but every bit as valid as the cryptic puzzle style. Given that this was Philip Larkin’s predominant style, I do think we can feel secure in liking it.
The structuring with the single word verse and the final two lines accents the story nicely. The words do flow and occasional slight jaggedness in that flow work to emphasise key points in the narrative.
As always with your poems, the sincerity and honesty (slightly different things) shine through. There is subtlety and delicacy of idea and feeling carried by the progression of the narrative. It avoids cliché about a parent and makes you think. A lot.
