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10Beatrice Boyle

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my life is not yours to live -
when I die, it will be me
who is in the casket,
who wears the cutaway suit -
you will send no flowers
you will read no obituary
the cemetery will be out of view -
oh, to die with grace
like the lean gray boards
of a barn in Indiana,
to fall apart in the soft weeds, just so

(this poem per Bea's request)

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The following comments are for "AFTER THE BARN DANCE"
by gomarsoap

barn yesterday

I've never been to Indiana but some local barns deteriorate beautifully. Succinct imagery and symbolism.

( Posted by: drsoos [Member] On: April 23, 2005 )

Thanks Gomar!
For posting this. It was great...just as I had expected it to be...however...I kept wanting to read more.

On one level I agreed with you (my husband had the same philosphy) but on another level, because I was brought up in a funeral home...I'm crying "!"'d put us all out of business!!! We need that circus atmosphere to make a buck, don't you know! lol

( Posted by: Beatrice Boyle [Member] On: April 25, 2005 )

barn death

This is really well written, Gomar -- I love the way the words suit, view, and so correspond so that the poem gels into a stable form yet not so constrictively as to underscore your final sentiment.

And this is probably an extraordinarily nitpicky quibble, but I was a little thrown off by your first line -- because you jump from the expression that your life is yours to live into a description of something which happens after your demise, giving rise to the notion that your life is not only yours to *live*, but that the whole structure of your life, from beginning to end, is yours to tend to.

And like Bea I found myself wanting this poem to go on -- there is something about it which reads like a prologue, the setting of a stage. Still, as Bob said, this is a graceful and elegant read, as is -- lovely work.

( Posted by: hazelfaern [Member] On: April 25, 2005 )

Geez Gomar
You can really,really write, Gomar. This is the real thing. I have caressed the boards of the falling barn,heard them as they rested in the weeds, picked them up to use again someplace else.(reincarnation) I could go on about it. This poem of yours brings back a lot of memories from this demolition expert. This is one of the very best poems I have ever read anywhere.


( Posted by: williamhill [Member] On: April 25, 2005 )

Mr. gomar's view...
this is one of those writes that can leave a person speakless, left to their thoughts...
Compliments to you, and my pleasure...


( Posted by: Robinbird [Member] On: April 25, 2005 )

I am visiting this again. I was wondering when you wrote it? I thought the title prefaced the first line of the poem perfectly. There are no wasted words in this piece. I can find no fault. I know you write for yourself, but you should consider publishing this with someone,like Atlantic Monthly or another good mag. It is too good too only sit here. No offence to Lit.


( Posted by: williamhill [Member] On: April 25, 2005 )

Old silver-grey boards.
There is nothing to say really. It's all been said gomar, but I keep coming back in awe. so - this is one lovely image and a poem rich in metaphor. The kind that a persons mind can run with. Maybe that's what feels unfinished to some - the sense that it keeps going on in our minds long after we finish reading. love it -warm regards huni.

( Posted by: huni [Member] On: April 25, 2005 )

Gomar's Barn dance,
Well your readers have left me nothing to say, other than: Personally Bob, I found this to be one of my favorites of yours. Very well written. (Sometimes I WISH I could rate your comments, that one on the jawbreakers is priceless!!)

Can't wait for more....


( Posted by: Dareva [Member] On: April 25, 2005 )

To all who commented
Well, I'm quite overwhelmed and humbled by all of your comments. I never thought this piece would get such a positive reaction.

williamhill: Your comments really bowled me over. It's pretty obvious you have not only a special affinity for those wonderful structures, but also a hands-on, intimate relationship with them.

I love to fish small lakes and ponds in the country and while driving to and from, I always keep an eye out for old farms and barns. I'm surprised I haven't driven off the road and killed myself while rubber-necking at them.

This is an old poem that was published in 1978 in a chapbook of mine. It's never been published or posted anywhere else. I had quoted the last 4 lines in a comment, and Bea Boyle asked me to post it so she could read the entire piece.

As far as getting any poem published in magazines like the Atlantic, New Yorker, etc., you almost have to know somebody or be recommended by someone influential with the editor. Or be incredibly lucky. Maybe I'll take a shot and if I get rejected, I can post the rejection at - at least I think there's still a category for that.

There isn't any money to speak of in poetry and just doing it is its own reward. All of your comments here made me feel like a million bucks.

If I ever have a barn dance, you're all invited.

Darlene: Vodka got me good. Talk about a fish!

( Posted by: gomarsoap [Member] On: April 26, 2005 )

Was browsing about, and this struck a nerve in me that resounded a good long while. Very nice. It's just right - just so.

I see why Bea asked to read it. It's a lovely poem.


( Posted by: GibsonGirl [Member] On: May 18, 2005 )

First rate, Bob

Excellent. You really are a Buddhist. And a poet.

Just so.

Congratulations on your publication of the Barbecue piece in the latest issue of Poesis.


( Posted by: johnlibertus [Member] On: August 5, 2005 )

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