(ver 2)
He asks her to stand before the window and take off her shirt. Without a smile, she unbuttons her blouse, slips the white cotton from one shoulder and then the other before letting it drop to the wood floor. Stand in profile he says. And look straight ahead. Her nipple grows erect in the chill. Light streams from the window casting her curve in silhouette. He sees not flesh but light and dark and the line, the curve between what was Em and what was not. He tries to draw the line, the curve. But nothing he draws looks remotely like what he sees. He tries again. And again. Paper balls upon the ground. He holds another sheet up. Compares curve to curve through the transparency of light and paper. Then he puts the paper down, takes a breath, his eyes fixed on her budding nipple. The smoothness of the curve. The creamy contrast between light and dark, sharply demarcated without any sense of demarcation. She is both separate and not separate and what he sees could not be drawn. Not drawn any more than a dream could be lassoed or the infinite understood. He notices his own breathing. He notices the quiet. How still she stands. How she has obey without question and how she looks in profile, of infinite curves, of shoulder and back, of thigh and calf. She is as sunrise and nightfall without being either. A tear falls from his cheek and he knows that some things do not need to be understood to be known.
__________
(ver 1)
He asked her to stand before the window and take her shirt off. Without a smile, she unbuttoned her blouse, slipped the white cotton from one shoulder and then the other before letting it drop to the wood floor. Stand in profile he said. And look straight ahead. Her nipple grew erect in the chill. Light streamed from the window casting her curve in silhouette. He saw not flesh but light and dark and the line, or in this case, the curve between what was Em and what was not. He tried to draw the line, or curve. But nothing he drew looked remotely like what he saw. He tried again. And again. Paper balled upon the ground. He held another sheet up. Compared curve to curve through the transparency of light and paper. Then he put the paper down, took a breath, his eyes fixed on her budding nipple. The smoothness of the curve. The creamy contrast between light and dark, sharply demarcated without any sense of demarcation. She was both separate and not separate and what he saw could not be drawn. Not drawn any more than a dream could be lassoed or the infinite understood. He noticed his own breathing. He noticed the quiet. How still she stood. How she had obey without question and how she looked in profile, of infinite curves, of shoulder and back, of thigh and calf. She was as sunrise and nightfall without being either. A tear fell from his cheek and he knew that some things did not need to be understood to be known.
24 comments:
a)Transcendent in its loveliness. I smile, I cry, if I could just stay here, even if it meant giving up everything else, my heart aches and swells with such beauty.
You commented before I changed the tense. Tell me if you like version one or version two. Here is the original version:
He asked her to stand before the window and take her shirt off. Without a smile, she unbuttoned her blouse, slipped the white cotton from one shoulder and then the other before letting it drop to the wood floor. Stand in profile he said. And look straight ahead. Her nipple grew erect in the chill. Light streamed from the window casting her curve in silhouette. He saw not flesh but light and dark and the line, or in this case, the curve between what was Em and what was not. He tried to draw the line, or curve. But nothing he drew looked remotely like what he saw. He tried again. And again. Paper balled upon the ground. He held another sheet up. Compared curve to curve through the transparency of light and paper. Then he put the paper down, took a breath, his eyes fixed on her budding nipple. The smoothness of the curve. The creamy contrast between light and dark, sharply demarcated without any sense of demarcation. She was both separate and not separate and what he saw could not be drawn. Not drawn any more than a dream could be lassoed or the infinite understood. He noticed his own breathing. He noticed the quiet. How still she stood. How she had obey without question and how she looked in profile, of infinite curves, of shoulder and back, of thigh and calf. She was as sunrise and nightfall without being either. A tear fell from his cheek and he knew that somethings did not need to be understood to be known.
It may very well be due to the fact that it is the original, while I love both versions and appreciate the differences in this newer version, my preference is for the first. Perhaps you could let both stand. Let your readers be treated twice as I was. :-)
I think I will. Each is the same, but different and I want to read them both to understand one from the other in the subtle ways of tense, of mood, of crafting an ambience that communicates with the language.
Oh. Creative writing. Is that what you do here, when you're not having a rough patch? It seems to me that's what you do.
Another vote for the first version, but your opinion will rule - it's your creative product.
Limes, this post may have more to do with my nipple obsession, something that has occurred since I started taking the meds, than creativity. ;-)
I think I'm liking the first version more too. There is just something more decadently languid about it that the present tense of version two lacks. Something a little more dreamy. :-)
It's unanimous, the original...
All I can say is, Em is a lucky woman, I hope she knows what she has and treasures it. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I envy Em. What woman wouldn't. sigh Not even in my dreams, is a relationship so wonderful.
Keep up the writing, it seems to be doing wonders for you.
:-)
Good to see you writing some more :) Version one is more gentle than version two - I read version two first and it was very intense. Choosing which is "better" is a tough call.
All right, if it's nipple-driven, then OK. Why wouldn't that obsession be just as acceptable a catalyst for art as anything else?
Version one: lace curtains stirred by a breeze.
WV - boossi. No, it was NOT a boossi evening.
LotL, Em is counting her blessings. This relationship has not always been so wonderful. :-D
Jenni, nothing I do feels as good as writing. It is going to come back to me even if I have to rewire my entire brain. :-)
Limes, I like the way you think. :-)
I thought you did! I really like "dumbassery", Tree. I'm going to find a way to use it soon.
Oh, boy! WV = clint. "Go ahead. Make my day."
Limes, I have a feeling it won't take you much effort. :-D
Break out that skirt. I'll bring some grape juice.
{clink}
Will do, my friend. It just came home from the dry cleaner. If I made it wine, instead, would I be an enabler? (WV is "abler")
Yes, I'll wrap my head around dumbassery very soon.
You know, sometimes wanting something is better than having it. ;-)
All my 'wantings' have happy endings. :-D
Oh, agreed, Tree. MANY times, "having" is a let down. Drum roll .. WV is wancou. I wancou to have all you need. I wancou to have as much as it's good for you to have.
Hey, Trée, if you're taking votes here, I'll cast mine for the present-tense version. Believe it or not, when I asked myself why, the answer was: Because it sucks me in. Sorry about the bad pun and the "nipple obsession," but sometimes that just happens. This kind of vignette just seems to work best when it gently unfolds in the mind's eye as it's happening. My opinion.
Interesting that you link it somehow with the meds. Perhaps they're freeing your imagination in some way, putting the censor to sleep ... which would be a good thing for any of us, I suppose.
Glad to see you back to creative exploration with your writing!
Greg, as I reread the two versions I am reminded as to why I felt the need to do a second, to go from past tense to present. Although the event is the same, the texture, mood, feel of the piece changes dramatically. The past tense version has a dreamy, melodic flow, like a lazy summer day on the levee. The present tense version has a different energy, something more immediate, more intimate, more heart-pounding in the unfolding. Whereas the first is like hearing a story, the second is more akin to the voyeuristic, as if we are there as the event is happening, as if the next sentence has not happened until we read it. The difference is perhaps similar to watching a sporting event live, in real time versus watching the same game taped--even if one didn't know the outcome, there is a different energy in watching a tape of a live event versus the watching of it live. After writing the first version (the taped version) I remember feeling I wanted more, something living, something more intimate, the experience of living it rather than listening to it.
As for creativity, I am starting to feel my mind work as it did premed, not completely, but more so than at any point in the last month. Each day seems as another step toward health, to a return to normalcy. I'm still waiting for music to return to me in all its premed splendor and I feel confident without knowing why, that in time, it will. Still, it feels good to be writing again and writing without a sense of forcing it.
i came back to it, i didn't have time to leave a comment the first time i read - and in the meantime it seems that everybody agreed on the first version - yes, indeed, the past tense is better to create that tension between now and then, to transform the light streaming from the window into the languid, melancholic light of recollection...
Roxana, it seems as if preference is breaking down along gender lines. Men preferring present tense and women past tense. Interesting. Something for more thought.
interesting indeed! could the "voyeuristic" feeling you relate with the present-tense explain that for male readers? :-)
I can only speak for myself, but the present tense has a greater urgency, the heart beats a little faster and the ability to see the event unfold seems clearer--again, as if there versus having someone tell you about it.
Post a Comment