lördag 29 november 2008

Monologue I 0.1

So I sold my soul and showed up here at last. Very well, it was to be expected.

I refuse to classify this as poetry or story, and have therefore settled for calling it a monologue. Screw structure and cross-rhyming -- I am as feeble at that as I am at painting; skiing; wind-surfing; calculating moles per deciliter; playing piano; or sculpting in marble. In some ways, that is what this one is about: trying to impress that Aphrodite incarnate that you saw by the bar desk, all while feeling that you, compared to her presumed demands, is little but dirt under a boot due to all the things you're not able to do. Now I am out before I spew out any more presumptions about it.


I don't look great
and how I got here I don't know.
But still, girl, is this seat taken?
My mates are all gone
and my jacket with them,
and girl you're radiating.

Well my hair reeks of hair gel,
but yours's shining like true gold.
Yes, I'm serious - sure, I mean it!
You look like taken from the seventh heaven.
Who, me, flattering?
I couldn't and I wouldn't,
I've never done much flirting.

No, I don't really do sports
and I'm a sucker at swimming.
Which I guess is a pity
considering I've been drowning in your eyes since I got here.
No, I know, I'm no poet:
I can't even find my own clichés.
But I swear, I do love your eyes, for real.

Yes, there's a lot that I can't do,
and much less that I really can.
But come on, girl, give me a chance:
I'll be your Romeo without lute,
or your Maverick without a plane.
What I lack in skill and possession,
I'll make up for with compassion.

I don't look great
and I can't fucking sing,
but at least I'm being fully sincere.
I think you're beautiful,
and you don't seem to mind me --
babe, my bed is cold. Can I follow you home tonight?


There is a possibility that this one will show up again, in a revised and hopefully more distilled version.


5 kommentarer:

Alex sa...

I liked it! if it had a chorus it would seem an awful lot like lyrics...

I love the sarcasm here and there ;P the part with drowning in her eyes was my favorite; funny!

Meng sa...

Yep, I agree with Alex, it very much seems like lyrics. Maybe it's the absence of rhymes, but then again there are a lot of non-rhyming poems that don't rememble lyrics. I can't think of the reason. If anyone could enlighten me, I'd be very happy.
My favourite line is definitely "I can't even find my own clichés".

O sa...

why do I think of an Irish pub? ^^

I loved it!

And I'm sure the lonely Aphrodite by the bar is just as unsure of herself as that nervous guy.

Meng sa...

Oh I think I just thought of it. The reason why this poem is so much like song lyrics. I think it's the casual tone, like a normal dialogue between two persons, which is much more common in songs than in poems.

Alex sa...

yeah, I think you're right there Meng, there's something about the casual tone and rhythm...