further further further work on after the movie

ok, final version. went to a formal triplet structure.  David brought up the uneven system for stanzas and the indents.  I was resistant to that at first but a comment from Geoffrey O'Brien on my thesis brought that into focus for me.

"feels like a charged repudiation of “order” or tidiness and it too can have its place. But two things about it: 1) its frequency also begins to slacken its expressivity in that it tapers to ONLY expressing this commitment to asymmetry and 2) as a dissipation of traditional form it joins up with the reverse Haibun effect to form a double assault on the expressive capacities of ruled lineation—in other words, I think you have to pick (for the most part) either this variability of line or line’s dissipation into prose because they duplicate the same principled undoing rather than complicating and informing each other. "

I took from this some of this results in a feeling of sloppiness rather than deliberate design.  At any rate I decided to structure the poem more strictly.  Here it is.

After The Movie
(After Marie Howe’s After The Movie)

My friend Michael & I cross King Street West, dodging
traffic, arguing about the movie. He says he believes success
& happiness are tied— you can only have one if you have

the other. I say, No they don’t have anything to do
with each other,  that’s like saying shoes are necessary
to have a coat. He says  But that is true,

no point having a coat to go outside if you don’t
have shoes. There’ll come a day you’ll stay inside
for good if you don’t have both.

I say,  That sounds like you had happiness before that day.
He says, You might have thought you were happy but
then you realized you were unsuccessful.

I say, What you mean by happiness sounds more like
a business arrangement. I say, Happiness isn’t conditional.
He says, It’s conditional on what it takes to be happy.

We’re now standing in front of the Snooty Fox—
the old Westdale Theatre’s marquee blinking
half on & mostly off across the street— & I hear my voice

saying what I say to myself all the time— Most
everyone’s life is pretty well mediocre at best
& really should anyone ask for more?

Michael takes hold of my elbow.  Yes, he says, They can
& fucking well should. Inside we order Barking Squirrels
from our bartender, burly & bearded.

The beer is dark, rich burnt orange. I sip it like
I have never seen beer before. Hey, I say, Didn't
this conversation feel kind of like Marie Howe’s

poem, After the Movie? I was just thinking that,
says Michael, Though this sure isn’t New York City
and you aren’t nearly as smart as the speaker

in that poem.  Funny, I say, I was just thinking
how you aren’t nearly as smart as her Michael.
We both sip our beer some more.

What are you up to tomorrow? says Michael.
But what I think he is saying is—
“You are a failure, you should stay in your house forever.”

Then I think “Does he know I want to remain
bewildered?” The noise level is rising, laughter
coming  from somewhere, glasses clinking

somewhere. Although we just got to the bar
we both have been here a very long time.
I say, Try not to be a man of success said Einstein.

Michael says, Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre
said Camus.  Our bartender jumps in, Stupidity
lies in wanting to draw conclusions said Flaubert.

Outside the marquee still blinks no-blinks,
blurred red tail lights pass by on King St West,
I know down the side street

my perfectly squat house sits perfectly
darkly quiet, at the end of that street is the trail
into the woods where nocturnal beasts wander.