Broken Record
I have worked on this poem for a long time now. I worry about it, gnaw at it like a dog gnaws at a bone or a cat plays with an insect trapped beneath its feet. Francisco Quevedo (1580-1643) rewrote one of his poems (Miré los muros de la patria mía) six times between his first version (1603) and his last version (1643) two years before his death. Are we condemned to dance attendance on those poems that haunt us? I don’t really know. Here is the link to my first version of Broken Record. Is it the best one? The only one? The one I should keep? Here is my link to This Old Man. Is this a better version? Does the change of photo change the context of the poem?
Like Francisco de Quevedo and his long history of Miré los muros … I can no longer tell. That said, here is the latest version of my poem. I hope you like it. Do some clicking (it’s also called research) and let me know what you think. I look forward to your comments.
Broken Record (?)
A vinyl disc going
round and round,
the diamond-tipped needle
stuck in a groove:
me and my broken-
record memories.
I stop old friends
in the supermarket
and, when I start to talk,
they stand there,
tapping their feet,
trapped in a doldrum
where no winds fill
their sails to move them on.
Caught in multiple mirrors
surrounding the barber’s chair,
my tongue is an open razor
constantly stropped.
I have turned into
a babbling book of hours,
life’s moribund albatross
necklaced,
a hot towel round
my reluctant throat.
rogermoorepoet 
Oh wow that was really good. I have to check out the other versions when I’m not at work.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much for visiting, reading, enjoying, and commenting! You are my hero for today: congratulations.
LikeLiked by 1 person
😊😊
LikeLiked by 1 person
I like this, Roger. Your inclusion of the barbershop metaphor makes it very creepy to me since I hate the idea of the razor.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’ve never liked the image of a razor since the film “un chien andalous” … I’m sure it’s available on YouTube. Don’t watch it. Thanks for being here, Jane. Sorry to miss Sunday.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I won’t watch it. I missed too. We went to our camp instead and heard a barred owl and our loon.
LikeLiked by 1 person
We Skyped with our daughter then went to Mactaquac and walked. I needed some solitude. I envy you the loon! “Our loon”, eh? Very possessive. I love Neil’s manuscript. You, me, and Neil, eh? Wonderful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Neil has been listening to a Hermit Thrush from the gazebo ( twitter).
LikeLiked by 1 person
Their song is so beautiful.
LikeLike