by Ann Bogle
I guess let's just talk about it: hope. I guess let's just think about it: money. I guess let's just cut up for an hour or two: nine laughs. Let's agonize about church issues.
I was so steadfastly there, not charging, not nagging, not expecting, not asking, never needing to beg (paid by work), charitably giving out thoughts and words and listening to one at a time for two decades. Now I'm old. Men are just starting out on the path of the parasite, the manly collection plate, to increase them, to buy them, to get one, to buy one and take one home, a divorce nuptial, their gaining a girl (again) or this time a hen with a little purse on a little strap or an industrial doctor's bag or a clicky set of equals, King Care.
Ah so, I look better than I aged. I'm not a cheap date, as I once made proud of being. I need steak or a doctor's drug to keep my weight from shredding. The Jews eat cattle but not pig; the Catholics eat a bone slice of Him. I try to talk with Him, but he's crowded by insiders. I was a loser. I mention it. I mention liking meals at chain diners as much as meals at good Italian restaurants. The sign of the prostitute is her diamond engagement ring. Gays' "marriage is love" intrigues Greek men upstairs.
I loved without marriage and the men loved without divorce and we loved a twenty-four-year-old eating and how gracious she shone over a tame bottle of beer. Yours is yours, mine is mine.
What did they want the favored ones for? Good mothers. What did the favored ones pay? I was thinking that the feminists pounding the city pavement had increased rent with every footstep, not that I was not one, but we had not earned our money at it or put our money together: "Women" was too broad a category. The favored were coming to buy our men from us, without our sad work we put into it, without the love we showered on them, without the lost decisions we left up to them, as we were practicing, always practicing.
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Second of two versions, chosen as a finalist by Ann Lauterbach in the Summer Literary Seminars poetry competition in 2009.
"Bitter Tide":
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A note about these paired stories, if story is what they are, or prose poems:
I wrote "Bitter Tide" on Feb. 12, 2006 and "'Bitter' Revision" on Feb. 18, 2006.
In talking with people I know about dating, I tell them I go dutch.
This one is different, clearer, sharper, as though unfiltered ... I'm probably not making sense with 'unfiltered,' but it's definitely sharper, conceptually clear, in focus.
But I like the other one too.
It was so interesting to me when I hit the words 'feminists pounding the city pavement' in this - reading it, prior to those words I'd been (oddly) thinking that the rhythm of this reminded me somehow of feet stamping pavements.
- "Women" was too broad a category.
Yes. And
- I try to talk with Him, but he's crowded by insiders.
I do like it, but feel that I want to reread it a few more times - which I think is probably the case for everything of yours I've read so far - there's too much going on in them to get a proper feel for them from surface impressions.
Minor corrections, Jan. 14, 2011, 7:14 a.m.
Thanks for reading, James, also for considering both versions. I appreciate it. Roberta, thanks for letting me know how rhythm works in the piece leading up to that line. Interesting!
Wow. Okay, I think both versions are really good and this one was the finalist, but I miss the wild flow of the first version, particularly the bracketed rush of word play of the first version. "Favored ones" is gentler than "fat ones" but when compared, gives this one a censored feel. I do agree with James that this feels sharper, which you want probably in this (I'd say prose poem), but I really appreciate the looseness of the first. At any rate, great work.
As a writer, I admire the conceptual clearity of the revision which reads like a prose poem. As a reader, I prefer the longer, Bitter Tide, which reads like a story, to me: I find the voice more compelling, the character more intriguing, the relationships more complex, in my imagination.
Kathy, your reading is very helpful to me. I saw it in a similar way, yet I am the one who censored for art, for rhythm, for concision, and I needed to learn from posting here that what I took out of the first version could be appreciated and perceived. J. Mykell, thanks!
i also miss some of what the first version had. this is still good but (perhaps by comparison but i dont think so) appears too thought out too controlled. i especially miss the physicality of the "[squeels on her heels, vooz,...]" part. this one seems to have less heart. maybe i care less about sharpness than sincerity and the other one felt more sincere. consider your topic: it's messy it's gotta bleed on the page. the only bit i could live without (i thought at first) was the "c-word" bits but in hindsight i miss the 'c' thing, what you say there expressing a multi-layered-ness, multi-folded-ness that's missing from other people's verbally touching their own 'c' is unique and important. another way of putting it: this one is spoken on a platform. the other one: in bed, partly under the covers, in the crook of the arm of a man. it's anders, different. 'nuff said. much enjoyed both my being here and my being there.
ps. i had been curious not for a revision (i hadn't really taken the title in) but for a twin piece. also, the quotation marks in the title put me off.
This has some power to it...I enjoyed the form and am now going to seek out the first one to compare...
Good story. Hey, I noticed you are a fiction reader at Drunken Boat. One of my MFA professors is Ravi Shankar. Do you know him?
Matthew, yes, I met Ravi last year at AWP.
I find this one more poetic. The rhythm is less clenched than the other. There's a lilting beauty here.
High marks.
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