sometimes spilled milk deserves to be cried over

it’s the details, you remember,
often not the relevant ones but
those, that don’t
deserve attention really, things like
sun beams, breaking in
an angle of thirty degrees in a
rusty tin can or–

dandelions, puffed like
fluffy sheep the day i fell
into the ditch and landed in
a heap of nettles, lying
burnt and hot on grandma’s couch,
blistering parades marching my skin,
dust scent on the pillow, millions of
dried bread crumbs scattered
on the cloth & i collected them,
with quivering hands,
as if they were important, maybe also
to forget the pain, like on

that sun-scorched, rotten day–
composure crashed & something
hit me in the stomach,

BANG– BANG– BANG–
agAIN– AGain–
until

i crumpled on the road, a pale-faced
shadow, and the red-lipped lady
with the watery eyes asked if
there’s something wrong and
i just ran but it was merely shades

of me in winter, standing
on the corner on the street, i
touch you ’til you spill warm milk
across my fingers and i leave my hand,
enclosed around– you
resting in the warmth, and when
your breath calms down, i see
the school clock dial is broken &
the roman ciphers
far too bleached to read, it

always smells like heat and rubble
even if it rains and even if there is a pane
between– me sitting in the tram to
somewhere, in an undercurrent of
a certain loneliness– passing
Basel railway station and the clock
above the entrance, just a face with
streaks & dots and hands that move
in endless circles– without ever–
going anywhere

.

today we’re having Karin aka ManicDdaily guest-tending the dVerse Poetics bar.. that’ll be a lot of fun over there at 3pm EST.. and be careful of the streaming you may find below the surface…smiles

Advertisements

53 responses to “sometimes spilled milk deserves to be cried over

  1. the title hooked me good…excellent. I have been doing some reading about memoir and how to create a scene(not just exposition). you have included(almost every poem if I recall) most if not all the human senses to create a scene instead of just information. You are such a joy to read and often a challenge…you go girl!
    There are places that often leave my feeling like I am at a train station with no definition of time(often after the sun goes down and I am still delivering parcels). I get this.

  2. Strange how old memories can come from nowhere and be remembered as fresh as if it were just yesterday. Another amazing write from you. You have a way of capturing the finer details of life and putting it into your work with such an eloquence. 🙂

  3. I am a big believer in details…, I love this, Claudia. I love the details here and in all your poems. I feel the longing in this one and yes sometimes spilled milk deserves to be cried over. Have a beautiful weekend. 🙂

  4. Your poem moves eloquently from one detail to another. My favorite stanza is the last one; and I keep fixating on that clock!! Claudia, I also have experienced remembering what I thought were ‘inconsequential details,’ but in recalling an experience sometimes they ARE the most important of all as they give color and depth, as do the details in your poem!

  5. A wonderful poem, Claudia, details and moments beautifully stitched together–truly wonderful details–I especially like the picking up of the crumbs–and the smell of heat and rubble even through rain. It’s wonderful that you have enough confidence in the reader to let them ride along without filling in all the interstices.

    K.

  6. I’d never cry over spilled milk, just means I don’t have to drink the crap..haha…bang bang sure hit you like a brick as the memory gave a rang, warm milk is nasty too though, but I’m sure that you know.

  7. You’re such a good student of human nature. It means you know yourself well. Guess you have to, to write such crisp, clear, beautiful thoughts that are common to us all, but maybe we just don’t really focus on. Thanks for this moment of focus.

  8. But you sure went somewhere with this read, Caudia … which is straight to my heart … be well, my friend. Love always, cat.

  9. Claudia, I cried with you over every memory. The rhythms and broken grammatical patterns you use here are a very effective choice to mirror how we actually choke and cry and sniffle and snuffle, as we SHOULD, over times in the past that taught us much, that made us the caring souls we are today.

  10. those first lines grabbed me, I am forever remembering the small inconsequential details of life that my brothers do not remember, I hang onto these memories as if to keep a part of myself alive

  11. The details here illumine so much and break into that rusty can of memories. It is beautiful how you’ve spilled these together and end in the tram with an undercurrent of loneliness, circling like a blurry clock around your thoughts.

  12. As always, I feel I’m i a stutter stop existentialist cinema verite, along for the ride, then *in* the ride. Fine precise yet totally let loose writing, Claudia. Karin has selected my own favorite lines; I actually got a physical smell from the heat and rubble one.

  13. Again all the senses were engaged as I read the poem…the last stanza seemed representative of the lives some people live on a daily basis…excellent poem IMHO.

  14. “it’s the details, you remember,
    often not the relevant ones but
    those, that don’t
    deserve attention really, things like
    sun beams, breaking in
    an angle of thirty degrees in a
    rusty tin can or–”

    Hi! Claudia…
    You had me at…hello!…Because sometimes your poetic words jump out at me in the middle Of your poem, but today your first stanza(?) hit me in the…face!

    “it’s the details, you remember,
    often not the relevant ones but
    those, that don’t
    deserve attention really, things like:”

    The Golden Time Of Day:
    When I Enter My Parents’ Kitchen and the Sun Is Setting…and the rust colour [red/orange sunbeam(s) from their kitchen window] hit the side Of The Refrigerator door and the photographs on the door and the kitchen Magnet (s)…“sometimes spilled milk deserves to be cried over…” lol

    Thanks, for sharing your [very] beautiful [poetic] words that have their own rhythm and flow…I hope that you have a nice week-end…too!
    deedee 🙂

  15. This one is up there with myriads of others
    that you seem to have an inexhaustible
    supply of; a fantastic mind journey rife
    with randy nettles, long tram rides, and
    a poet’s mind wandering; lovely, fun.

  16. Intense, moving, sensual– beautiful and interesting poem, Claudia– I love your spontaneity and the risks you take with your images, the gathering in and weaving of them together but not too tightly– I loved this:

    i crumpled on the road, a pale-faced
    shadow, and the red-lipped lady
    with the watery eyes asked if
    there’s something wrong and
    i just ran but it was merely shades

    of me in winter, standing
    on the corner on the street, i
    touch you ’til you spill warm milk
    across my fingers and i leave my hand,
    enclosed around– you
    resting in the warmth, and when
    your breath calms down, i see
    the school clock dial is broken &
    the roman ciphers
    far too bleached to read, —

    …reader and fellow poet identifying…. xxxxj

  17. You bring back your things through your amazing amazing brain… and all I can say is how do you do it!?

    agAIN– AGain– reading your words is a bang! I must keep it simple- for this is too much information you give us- yet amazing- always…

  18. Love this so much! Feels like the memories are just whipping by, blending together, all their emotion just one continuous idea. And the title drew me right in, too! Thanks for sharing!

  19. The title is a great summation of this lament for the lingering shadows of old griefs. The sharpness of the memories is equated so perfectly with all those stilled clocks at the end.

  20. and herein lies the undercurrent of the undercurrent –

    even if it rains and even if there is a pane
    between– me sitting in the tram…

    very nice

  21. This is a really good write. Love the storytelling, the use of the senses clearly illustrated for the reader. Really nice job here. Thanks

  22. loved the title and the way you start the poem off – and I agree, those unlikely details of (eg)

    sun beams, breaking in
    an angle of thirty degrees in a
    rusty tin can or–

    dandelions, puffed like
    fluffy sheep

    (love those images!) – and who knows why we remember what we do, and forever after link the fluff (?) with the memory of what actually happened… (but if we’re lucky it becomes the bones of a really good poem… smiles)

  23. Your endings are always so strong. I love this:

    “just a face with
    streaks & dots and hands that move
    in endless circles– without ever–
    going anywhere”

    This section is so powerful:

    “i crumpled on the road, a pale-faced
    shadow, and the red-lipped lady
    with the watery eyes asked if
    there’s something wrong and
    i just ran but it was merely shades
    of me in winter”

    Now THIS is an undercurrent:

    “i touch you ’til you spill warm milk
    across my fingers and i leave my hand,
    enclosed around”

    I love this line: “blistering parades marching my skin”

  24. Your stories that wrest me in between reality and dream, fact or fiction, never cease to leave me in wonder. I am not sure exactly what “occurs” here, beyond pain and a desire to flee it. But that is important enough, I think, because life spills in at the rims of the rational consrtruct, doesn’t it? Buzzing beautiful life, even inside the pain as we relive and move beyond it – hopefully.

  25. very deep my lady! I love how your words flow and intertwine… throughout each line… it’s like each words is weaved to create this beautiful tapestry… You tell a story that fill imaginations… you pain a picture that pulls my curiosity in

    love this!

    ~L

  26. so many layers to this one claudia…i like the parrallel between your hands and the hands of the clock…some hard feelings in this one..and sharp imagery…its real and vivid and you engage us in it…all our senses…very well done poet

  27. i just ran but it was merely shades

    of me in winter, standing
    on the corner on the street, i
    touch you ’til you spill warm milk
    across my fingers and i leave my hand,
    enclosed around– you
    resting in the warmth,

    After this I was hooked.

  28. You covered everything here in this writing , vividly descriptive and a jolt to the memory for anyone who takes notice of the trivialities in life,
    great
    Emu

  29. What makes this so powerful is the way that you have managed to capture those intangible moments- those moments that are made up of sights,sound, a particular place – like the smell of the air- for example- ‘heat and rubble’. Personally, capturing these moments and making the reader feel them is nigh on impossible- yet you managed it. Awesome styles claudia- massive respect

  30. Very sharp images, Claudia. Brilliant story telling too. Technically stellar: loose and precise at the same time. Wakes and embraces all senses: sight, sound, taste, smell and touch. What more could a reader want? Seriously.

  31. I wrote a jazzy new poem that I know you’ll love. I thought of you while writing it and every time I’ve read it since.

  32. “…blistering parades marching my skin,
    dust scent on the pillow, millions of
    dried bread crumbs scattered
    on the cloth & i collected them,
    with quivering hands,
    as if they were important, maybe also
    to forget the pain…”

    Yeah, that’s good stuff for sure. I’m a fan.

  33. Claudia, you are blessed with *richness*.
    An abundance of thoughts, free flowing consciousness that shows us how important the journey is…
    Thank you for your inspiration.

  34. I love your writing! Your images and similes are soooo awesome: “things like
    sun beams, breaking in
    an angle of thirty degrees in a
    rusty tin can…”

    WOW…

    LOVE YOUR WORK… every time!

  35. This is really amazing. The details, excellent. You’ve said it all, your words are riveting as always.