By Prospero Dae
A red ribbon from Claire’s sunhat writhed in the warm breeze and the ocean sparkled. The wind performed a few more cartwheels and then complimented our puppet on her youthful face. She took it in stride. The sand joined the conspiracy and praised her lithesome limbs, and she laughed delightfully, demonstrating maturity and poise.
A rainbow-hued parasol toppled and a child was pretending to be lost.
A man, evenly bronzed, with good teeth, brushed past her and implied with darksome eyes that she had a fine figure, and she dissolved into nothingness, a vast abyss from which she would never escape.
I had a suspicion about this on first reading. I wrote it out—with pen on paper—playing with economy of “line,” both metric and image . My suspicion was right. This is not just a flash fiction story, Prospero. It’s a poem. And a gorgeous one.
I think my chaotic scribbles are proof that language, at least for me, comes before thought. First the word, then the meaning. I think you said something similar while discussing a poem of yours. This composition started with the word ‘writhe.’ Then came a ribbon. Red, alliteratively, of course. And so on.
But you are the poet. I’m too lazy to master prosody or to adhere to anything having the connotation of form, so I write long, Byzantine sentences, probably to the dismay of many readers.
People have emotional reactions to certain foods ( ‘comfort food’ as a way of dealing with stress, for example). But I think it’s possible to have an emotional connection to words. Scriabin would intuit sounds as color. Perhaps it’s a shared madness.
Still, I thank you for allowing yourself to be charmed by my unregimented use of language and to pretend that these words function, live, and breathe in the same realm as poetry.
🙂
Beautiful piece of writing Prospero – literally took my breath away! I’ll go with Cynthia on the poetry – whether planned or not on your side the piece has more poetic devices and techniques than many of the poems I read and the effect is emotive, evocative and a downright good read. Thank you!
Ah, another accomplished poet chimes in. Thank you, Rob.
I would love to read this story…how do I download it? I don’t really wish to be sent many stories, but rather wish to read this story….is that okay?
Lance, I’m afraid that’s the whole story, but thanks for stopping by. And while I have you here, I want to say that I’ve tried several times to leave a comment on your blog–but it always seems to disappear into the ether (WordPress gremlins, no doubt).
Same here Lance, I’ve left numerous comments on your blog – but they have all disappeared. I just figured you were blocking my comments and have since moved on. Beautiful art though.
Who “took it in stride”? The sea or the puppet?
Hello, Tisa. Claire is ‘our puppet,’ a reference to Vanity Fair, where Thackeray considered his characters to be puppets : “Come, children, let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out.”
I think you will find it less confusing like this: The wind performed a few more cartwheels and then complimented Claire on her youthful face. She (Claire) took it in stride.
Thank you for commenting.
This is a great piece of writing Propsero – great imagery through your words as I can see the whole scene. I’m pretty intrigued by these two characters, perhaps you’ll bring them to life a little in a next writing. Reminds me of a french impressionist setting, by the sea.
Yes, I can see it now, Mary–a drama unfolding near the cliff at Fécamp. Monet, if his loft has internet access and can read this, would surely be spellbound by Claire’s vanity. The icing on the cake, or the glinty sparkle on the sea, as it were, would be for him to recognize in equal measure the narcissism of the muscular beach rogue.
My daily dose of Vit. D. I really feel as though I’m there. Beautiful!
I’m partial to vitamin E myself (‘E’ for Elena, naturally).
A lovey piece of evocative writing, Prospero: the writhing red ribbon, sparkling sea and rainbow-hued parasol. You are, indeed, a wordsmith. You show very well how Claire succumbs to her vanity.
Having never read Thackeray’s ‘Vanity Fair’ (oh, the shame of admitting that!) I found your explanation re. the ‘puppet’ both useful and interesting.
I like the tone of Vanity Fair. Thackeray is fairly brusque with his readers, never quite letting them forget they are reading fiction, cutting open that cherished illusion as easily as a fisherman might gut a speckled trout.