Thread: The Econolodge

EDITED VERSION LOWER IN THREAD!!!


The Econolodge
(After Elizabeth Bishop)

I like these quasi-prose poems... better to tell a story than befuddle a reader!

I'm going to read the Bishop poem and get back to you. First impression, though, is that I really, really like this. You never cease to amaze me, the way you always try new things. I need to be more like that...

Originally Posted by Squalid Glass

The Econolodge – No need to repeat the title here, IMO.
on a balcony with green doors
and seventy-five cent Cokes –
Eleanor and Ada stoodin towels
fondling chipped paint
along the guard rail
and peering over the edge
to watch little Indian girls
diddle about the three foot side
of the chartreuse pool. Tense in these lines is a little off. You use "was" in the next stanza, so I think you need to change the other verbs in the first stanza accordingly, i.e., "fondling" to "fondled"; "peering" to "peered"; etc.

I was across the way,
sitting in front
of slime colored doors, reading Bishop’s
“In the Waiting Room”. The early evening palled
over the motel,
and clouds squirmed through the air
like snakes on pale lily pads. I love this image here.

The door behind the women
was open. An ochre rust
sat behind the hinges – it was like
gazing into an apple –
sick and rotting. There were no sounds Love the bit about the apple.
from behind the women
with their chipped fingernail paint.
There was only the ochre:
darker and lighter shades.

Below the balcony,
a young man ran. His hair was long,
his breasts were cantaloupes, Gah, really?!
his legs were shaved. He was chasing a dog
that had escaped its leash. I only caught
a stealing second of a glimpse
before the dog disappeared
to another wall out of sight. It looked black, "to another wall" is awkward; maybe "behind another wall"? Or something.
scrawny and protracted. I think I heard a bark.

I turned and faced my own green door.
I felt it would swallow me
like the gulp of an anesthetic. Inside, Another awesome image here.
the air conditioner would sing
a continuous, one-note melody. Inside,
the edges of my glasses would fog,
for just a few moments,
as the air trapped beneath them cooled,
and my vision would turn tunneled.
I wondered if it was right of for me
to limit the world to my eyes. Wow... what an interesting thought...!
Hadn’t I limited them it enough? So much so,
the time was beyond a clock’s measure.
I was part of,
but apart of from, the collective mesh
of jade-colored doors – some closed,
some ajar, some dissolving like salt in water;
some painted new
early that day by the cleaning crew.

I could open my green door
and step inside to drink green tea
and lay on my plywood bed. I could close the door
and when I opened it again
the pool would be a pool again –
just a ditch in a rainstorm. Ada and Ely
would not caress the poles they leaned on.
The beautiful boy would not chase his pup.
There would only be the Econolodge
and across the street a gas station,
and beyond that the trees and my parents
and the land – people stamping out the final embers
that blazed inside their living room fireplace
because night has come,
and it’s time to go to sleep. What a lovely ending! I mean that!

My initial reaction still stands: I like this a lot. The tone really is very similar to that of Bishop's poem without seeming like an outright copy or intentional aping; you took that tone and made it uniquely your own. Just needs a tweak or two here and there, IMO. Great job.

This poem opens with clear and vivid imagery. There's some wonderful chaos in this piece. The voice starts of strong and compels the reader onward. An enjoying read. Now, onward.

alex and jeff - thank you very much for the kind words. Appreciated.

Bachelorette - Did you enjoy the Bishop piece?! It's one of my favorites. Your edits look sound to me. Thank you for the careful read. I will fix what you mentioned.

I really enjoyed this, imagery was strong, and the story kept me enthralled all the way through - I do have to agree with bachelorette, I don't think you should repeat the name in the first sentence, other than that I have no nits great piece - keep up the good work!

hey s.g., i'll have to come back to this one. this is a big poem (i don't mean in length, but in scope) so i want to read a few more times. but i like! ok, be back soon

Reading Bachelorette's excellent edit may I suggest.

Glasses momentarily fog
and
I was a part apart

i really like this, of all that i've read of yours so far, i think i like this one best

The Econolodge –
on a balcony with green doors
and seventy-five cent Cokes –
Eleanor and Ada stood in towels
fondling chipped paint
along the guard rail
and peering over the edge
to watch little Indian girls
diddle about the three foot side - "three foot side" is ok, but how about "shallow end"? it plays nicely with "about". just a suggestion
of the chartreuse pool.

I was across the way,
sitting in front
of slime colored doors, reading Bishop’s
“In the Waiting Room”. The early evening palled - i like this parallel, very nice!
over the motel,
and clouds squirmed through the air
like snakes on pale lily pads.

The door behind the women
was open. An ochre rust - not liking "was", feels passive, maybe "hung"? mmm, that doesn't feel right either
sat behind the hinges – it was like
gazing into an apple –
sick and rotting. There were no sounds
from behind the women
with their chipped fingernail paint.
There was only ochre:
darker and lighter shades.

Below the balcony,
a young man ran. His hair was long,
his breasts were cantaloupes, - this image seems really weird, not sure breasts is the word you want, maybe "chest" or "pects" or "pectorals"
his legs were shaved. He was chasing a dog
that had escaped its leash. I only caught
a stealing second of a glimpse
before the dog disappeared
to another wall out of sight. It looked black,
scrawny and protracted. I think I heard a bark. - i really like the action of the dog here. but for the brief glimpse the narrator and reader share, a lot of language seems to be spent on it. plus, we "see" the dog looking back even though it's out of sight. i tightened it up below (just an example):

"....He chased a loose dog
behind a wall. I only caught
a stealing glimpse
before it disappeared.
Out of sight, I thought I heard a bark."

I turned and faced my own green door.
I felt it would swallow me
like the gulp of an anesthetic. Inside,
the air conditioner would sing
a continuous, one-note melody. Inside,
the edges of my glasses would fog,
for just a few moments,
as the air trapped beneath them cooled,
and my vision would turn tunneled.
I wondered if it was right of me
to limit the world to my eyes.
Hadn’t I limited them enough? So much so,
the time was beyond a clock’s measure.
I was part
but apart of the collective mesh - i think you could replace "but" with "and", part and apart, that way it feel like they are sharing the same place
of jade colored doors – some closed,
some ajar. Some dissolving like salt in water;
some painted new
early that day by the cleaning crew.

I could open my green door
and step inside to drink green tea
and lay on my plywood bed. I could close the door
and when I opened it again
the pool would be a pool again –
just a ditch in a rainstorm. Ada and Ely
would not caress the poles they leaned on.
The beautiful boy would not chase his pup.
There would only be the Econolodge
and across the street a gas station,
and beyond that the trees and my parents
and land – people stamping out the final embers
that blazed inside their living room fireplace
because night has come,
and it’s time to go to sleep.

again, i really like this. i love the element of the green door and all the subtle transformations you built around that. this has a strong voice, great images, great movement. one of your best i think

I did enjoy Bishop's piece, yes. She's not one of my favorite poets, but then, I haven't read a lot of her work, so I'm probably judging her too soon. She IS on my list of poets to do a more in-depth study of; however, I've been focusing on Dylan Thomas recently and I was planning on checking out either Anne Sexton or Amy Lowell next. But I'll get around to Bishop by-and-by.

Chief - thank you so much for the kind words, friend.

Olly - clever suggestions. I have made the changes.

wood - I love your critique and have made changes where I felt them appropriate. With the image of the boy, I was hoping to make it a little creepy and weird. I like breasts there because it saves the image that maybe this boy isn't a boy after all (:

Bachelorette - Thomas is great, of course, and Lowell is strong. Haven't read Sexton. But I would continually highly recommend Bishop. She's one of my favorites.

Here is the edit:

--------------------


The Econolodge
(After Elizabeth Bishop)

Bachelorette - Thomas is great, of course, and Lowell is strong. Haven't read Sexton. But I would continually highly recommend Bishop. She's one of my favorites.

Yeah? In that case, I'll have to bump her up on the list, won't I?

Inside,
my glasses would momentarily fog
as the air trapped beneath them cooled,
and my vision would turn tunneled

Reading through the revision I was suddenly struck by the mechanics of this, I don't have much experience of air conditioning so I may be completely wrong, but this seems like the wrong way round. The temperature change of the glass takes a moment or two, that of the air is almost instant. So when I walk in from outside on a cold day the air cools against the glass and water condenses out of the air on to the glass, in the situation you are describing I would expect the cooler air to be warmed slightly by glass that had been outside in the heat, and dry out if anything, I can't imagine the glass cooling through from the front quickly enough that there would still be warm, damp, air trapped behind it to deposit moisture. But like I say this is only theoretical conjecture, we don't have that sort of climate and air conditioning.

PS, double N, double L, tunnelled.

I agree about the first line, the poem should start at On a balcony or something stronger as On a balcony does sound a bit Once upon a time 'ish.

I worry about the word diddle in relation to children, it can have sexual connotations:

verb informal

• 1 [with object] cheat or swindle (someone) so as to deprive them of something:he thought he'd been diddled out of his change
  
• deliberately falsify:he diddled his income tax returns
  
• 2 [no object] chiefly North American pass time aimlessly or unproductively:I felt sorry for her, diddling around in her room while her friends were having a good time
  
• 3 [with object] vulgar slang , chiefly North American (of a man) have sexual intercourse with. [originally in Scots dialect use in the sense ‘jerk from side to side’, apparently corresponding to dialect didder ‘tremble’]

on a balcony with green doors
and seventy-five cent Cokes –
Eleanor and Ada stood in towels
fondling chipped paint

I always find that with names, the 3 syllable following the 2 syllable one trips better off the tongue...

Clutching seventy-five cent Cokes,
wearing nothing but towels,
Ada and Eleanor picked at
chipped paint on the handrail
of the balcony with the green doors