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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/action/view/entry_id/920741
Rated: 13+ · Book · Educational · #1300042
All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know.
#920741 added July 31, 2018 at 5:14pm
Restrictions: None
Elinor (I Wonder, Too)
Raw and unedited....my feelings on my first writing mentor...an instructor at a community college in 1984...she lived a wealthy, charmed life...I believe her husband was a paper mill executive. She doesn't pen environmental poems...but loves her flowers.

What's Going On With Elinor
(A Cryptic Poem of Suffering)

He wanted to write lines like Elinor -- break
them, cut them up just so, crop precise
symmetry -- leave a preposition on that cliff, but
What followed below didn't flow like his
Stream of consciousness. He realized they thought
Differently
Never saw eye to eye. He was taught to respect
A future poet laureate (nominee), his writing instructor
At a community college
Her accolades wouldn't come until white came
To her hair. He was gray now, too.
But wiser? Crafting thoughtful those sharp edges
So elinor could see? No.
He wrote what was in his heart, about
The rejecting fire that consumed him
The endless pursuit of respect, moving on
To the next one, find walls of indifference
Arrogance, unable to ignore the shame
That consumed him, for trying something
Original at a poetry reading she coaxed him to attend
A young poet of 25 in suede jacket, a rainy night
Rusty, foul-pipe smell of an antiquated library
To recite words he just penned about loss and
His darkest secret, cryptic, told to strangers
In front of a mic -- dark blend of blocked memory
Mockery, turning away from Elinor, her
modulated Southern admonishing accent
punishing a name given to him by his mother --
one fellow instructor spared further tongue lash.

Brian had a new secret. He failed the woman
Who encouraged his writing, encouraged him
To risk his love of words. He would hide
20 more years. Heart repeatedly jabbed by
Her blue editing pen years after. Couldn't construct
Any more visions on his closeted journals.
Couldn't see the point of the publishing dream
Maybe fiction? Her white hair make her forget
Him? Is her dark secret also a forgotten memory
Of the last time they would share a molecule of air
Together? Elinor is celebrated for words that
Bend just so on even lines, and she wonders
Naively about the world and future at 78. The
Woman who reminded him of his mother, outlived
her, still thriving at 86. As of three years ago,
according to Poets & Writers, Elinor travels to
Give readings, splits time between her homes
In Upper Michigan and Florida. Is photographed
Spending time with her well attended flowers
But does not return emails from a former
Student still waiting for approval of his latest
Poems. Not her style? She could never see the
World through his eyes. Though, she wonders
About it. We will all die, except Elinor who will
Muse and we will sigh at her thoughts of white
Birch and blue waters from their shared origins
Calling her, unlike Chattanooga, Tennessee,
Her birth home. She must like trains? Or
Has she rejected engineers, hot, dry weather,
Hill people, racists and rapists because they
Do not exist in Elinor's world?

I wonder, too.


Her use of 'turned' was uninspired

I reveal: http://elinorbenedict.com/excerpts.html

https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/911252808124518400

© Copyright 2018 Brian K Compton (UN: ripglaedr3 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Brian K Compton has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/action/view/entry_id/920741