The Mag 130 – “An Evening at the Triton Club”
Image by Francesca Woodman
Below are two short and rather silly poems posted for The Mag, a writing blog hosted by Tess Kincaid with a picture prompt each week. I tend to do my own pictures, but found it very hard to do my own version of this image by Francesca Woodman, a young woman photographer who sadly took her life at a very young age. I actually found it rather hard to write about this image at all – perhaps the reason for the comic direction. (Do not feel obligated to read both – first very silly, second a revised sonnet.)
*********************************
An Evening At The Triton Club
Okay, they were gits with swollen–um–noses–
but they’d paid top price for these very poses:
a girl with a shell in a brown paper wrapper,
a girl (without shell) still managing dapper–
Better than cake-jumping–(gooey as hell;
frosting and hair–euewww–didn’t mix well)
Besides this big conch could double as club,
perfect for either a grope or a (s)nub.
She’d sneak it home too when her shift was over
her taxi becoming the white cliffs of Dover,
her couch, the sea side, her bed the far shore,
as she kept by her head the caught oceans’ roar,
************************************************
Different Tastes in Mythical Creatures
Some go for vampires, caught by the idea
of themselves archly pursued, the notion
of life as the personal cup of tea
of the ruthless. Others look to the ocean,
scanning fantastic waves for gleam of gleam,
twist of twist, the well-hipped curve of tail;
their magic’s found in the muscular seam
between breast and flipper, flesh and scale.
They crave submergence, the dive to the unknown,
an elegance clothed in its own wet skin–
Eve and the serpent combined–slicked hair let down,
finding their idyll in the dare, plunge, swim.
But some (aforementioned) fear to go headfirst–
we’ll just wait, dryly, to slake another’s thirst.
**********************************
Explore posts in the same categories: poetry, UncategorizedTags: An Evening At The Triton Club, Better paper than Cake, Conch doubling as club, Francesca Woodman, manicddaily, The Mag 130, vampire mermaid sonnet
You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.
ManicDDaily 
August 16, 2012 at 1:54 pm
“…her taxi becoming the white cliffs of Dover” made me giddy…
August 16, 2012 at 2:34 pm
Thanks – I’m sorry such a long post. I think I should take out sonnet, but all should feel free to ignore! k.
August 16, 2012 at 5:56 pm
i would hope she club the swollen…nose…men…smiles….i like the feel of the end of that first one…in how she has a bit of escape in it…and that taxi line is def very cool….
August 16, 2012 at 6:15 pm
I really like both your poems and that picture is amazing and haunting. I need to look up the story of the photographer.
I love how you can get two different perspectives fo r the same image — I’ve never been good with prompts but you handle them excellently!
August 16, 2012 at 6:54 pm
Sorry to be so late getting here, k. I detest this picture, but I knew you’d do something with it I would like, and you did, twice. The snark in the first becomes a sort of pathos without bathos(pardon the pun) and the second is visually rich with mermaids and sea and the shape-shifting nature of our psyche. For some reason I really chortled over ” perfect for either a grope or a (s)nub….” then felt a sort of serenity in the resilience of the character, taxi becoming the white cliffs, etc. The healing, transforming power of the imagination, for me, in both, takes some of the depersonalizing cruelty of the corpsewoman in the shot away, especially since they’re long enough so I don’t have to look at her. ;_)
August 16, 2012 at 6:58 pm
I also really do not care for the picture–but the idea of the woman not jumping out of a cake caught my fancy and kept swirling around there.
August 16, 2012 at 9:53 pm
Nothing silly about either of these, Manic, a lot of wisdom packed into them both i would say . I loved the dichotomy in the second one between egotism and narcissism . How many of us lean to one or the other, or lurch hopelessly between the two. The path through the abyss is razor thin, so the buddhists say , ill send you a postcard when ive managed to successfully walk it ! . “someday i might become a highwayman again, or i might simply be a single drop of rain, but i will remain, and ill be back again and again and again…..” – The Highwaymen .
August 16, 2012 at 10:30 pm
Yes, you are so right. I’m not sure that was in the poem (you are a very good reader) but narcissism can certainly be found even among Buddhists! k.
August 17, 2012 at 11:35 am
Both poems deserving of our reactions, thoughts. I always look forward to your creative writing.
August 17, 2012 at 6:45 pm
Better than cake jumping – wonderful words!
I enjoyed them both. Thank you.