A Glosa for You

I was doing a little cleaning up this weekend when I found that I had some old files that I had not read or even thought of for many years. One of those files was a glosa, a poetic form where each stanza ends with a line taken from another poem or song. I kept to some of the standard rule - eg. ten-line stanzas - and then strayed beautifully to tell a story.

My particular discovery of this file made me reminisce over my time as an undergrad. I wrote this one for a particular creative writing class and chose, not a poem, but a song by Elvis Costello. He recorded it with the Brodsky Quartet and the theme involved letters received and answered by a professor who took it upon himself to respond to people writing to Juliet Capulet of Romeo and Juliet. The letters were never saved and read, and Costello and the Quartet used their imagination to create an entire album devoted to this correspondence.

Please let me know what you think. I have included a clip of the song and the original lyrics I used to create my poem. And if you want to send in your examples, please do!

But even at this distance it’s not easy to accept

This vision that I chase returns when I least expect it.

I’ve fallen from your tired embrace.

I kiss the air around the place that should be your face.

- “Who Do You Think You Are?” (Elvis Costello and the Brodsky Quartet)

*

Time takes up too much time.

I can feel it in my chest, behind

My eyes (the wine and the bill won’t help),

And in this seat, on a cold rain-heavy

Night, we will share words.

I wanted everything to be perfect,

Before the waiter took our orders,

And our glances became colder in the

Candlelight and music, I hope to forget,

But even at this distance it’s not easy to accept

*

Your face in another life

Without some sort of time to be shared,

Something that we once filled with work,

Pride and a few words. Nothing

That I could have said would have mattered.

None of my words fit.

We’ve already finished a bottle

And maybe that is why my mind is fixed on

Your tense eyes and your brow, now knit,

This vision that I chase returns when I least expect it.

*

But I can’t admit as much,

Just too damn giddy and dumb with wine,

And feeling better than I thought I could.

I ignored your anger, not letting it put me

Into the real world, or back in my past

- an obscure and missed place.

Time is said to heal all wounds and your smile

May help. You still carry it well

And it has some sort of sweet-tempered grace,

Yet, I’ve fallen from your tired embrace.

*

And you said, “It’s getting late,” looking for the time.

I said nothing, just glancing at

An empty glass, a dirty plate,

And I never responded to

The shift of a chair, the fall

Of a white crumpled lace

Napkin on the floor. I

Remember taking this cab,

And in this cold space

I kiss the air around the place that should be your face.

*

Thank you for reading!

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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