Brilliant use of the II-V-I structure as emotional scaffolding. The progression maps perfectly onto domestic tension cause the V section (the drowning man) functions exactly how dominant chords do in jazz, building unresolved presure before the return. Using Blakey's rhythms in the opening adds a layer too since his drumming style was all about controlled chaos. Structuring narrative around musical form without it feeling gimmicky is tough to pull of.
That’s exactly the tension I was hoping the form would carry. I’m glad the V section read as pressure rather than explanation, and that the musical logic came through without becoming the point.
I appreciated your poem very much, and I must say it was strange for me because I have been considering submitting a small book of poetry to the press you've just started up (I believe it is you, I'm sorry if I'm mistaken) and the first lyric poem in the book is strikingly similar to the one you've written here, similar in tone, narrative and composition. I enjoy this kind of poem, but I'll be damned if I could structure it as rigorously, or explain my process as clearly, as you have in the intro to this piece.
Yes, it is the press I am involved in (Ink & Ribbon) - and please do submit, we look forward to reading your work. On the kind words on my piece, thank you so much :)
This picture reminds me of the work of the late Japanese artist Taiji Arita, particularly his First Born photography collection. It’s different, yet the memory of Arita’s images resurfaced.
Thank you. There’s a subtle difference in the way both of them approach the subject of depiction — if there is any in Arita’s work at all.
Your poem reminded me, in a way, of Michael Ondaatje’s Coming Through Slaughter — the jazz, the color, the improvisatory energy, and that elusive sense of the ‘I.’ I know I shouldn’t be comparing prose and poetry, but the jazz and the colors collide in a way that feels remarkably similar.
Color-jazz reading of an exquisite poem. I wondered if it could be done. I started with a long critique, and condensing it back into a short, essayistic form proved a subtle, difficult endeavor.
G. K. Allum’s II–V–I flows like a jazz combo moving through a house lived in. The blue rain outside: brush strokes of snare and ride cymbal, hitting face and chest with syncopated insistence. Buddleia bends, white roses mildew — minor chords in the garden, small domestic motifs layered with tension and tenderness.
The II chord: the setting, the pulse, the expectancy. The V chords: restless legs, restless mind, waiting, the little humiliations that drum through news reports, through body, through time. And the I chord: it lands — not with closure, not with comfort, but with recognition, a cadence that says: this is how life arrives, full and unresolved.
Color becomes instrumental: blue, white, rust, bruised green — each a note, each a sustained tone. They linger, rebound, pull against each other like improvisers listening, breathing, reacting. Temporal and bodily, the hues mark rain, the garden, the interior and exterior of living. There is no neat resolution, only rhythm, only swing, only the way moments press against and release each other.
And “I.” That “I.” Return, root, home — muted, neutral, rusted — the melody softening into the everyday, fading, familiar. Like jazz, it does not answer; it inhabits. And in inhabiting, it allows us to feel time, care, and life itself.
It’s exquisite jazz. And exquisite poetic language. Thank you for this.
Thank you. This is such a generous and attentive reading. I am deeply moved by how carefully you listened to the poem and how fully you inhabited its logic and music. You articulated things I felt intuitively while writing, especially the unresolved landing of the I and the way color carries time and care. I am grateful.
Thank you, perhaps its layered for different reasons. Not being elitist in any way shape or form, for those who understand the 2-5-1 chord progression (and resolve) in jazz it may give them a different experience - but I hope the poem stands alone without that knowledge and judging by your response it does :) Yay!
I felt this as a deep reaching poem, even if I could not comprehend the II-V-I structure. The line that touched me deepest was this: "There is calmness in the inevitable". There is. But what I sensed was the pain behind the calmness. The pain accompanied by the rain. I react to energies, that's why. The following two lines added to what I sensed: "At forty-eight,/ I renounce my sexuality." My very personal perspective on this might sound strange, but for me sexual energy/sexuality and spiritual energy/life force are two aspects of the same ONE energy, the creative energy. I have experienced what it was like living for a long time in a sex-less marriage, when my husband withdrew. I had to a accept that he did. It wasn't easy. Yet, our love remained. Still, I never even considered renouncing my sexuality. How could I – it's an integral part of who I am. Now I am a widow for the last couple of years. Years that have been my most creative ever. And my sexuality is as alive as ever – despite my old age and no partner – but even deeper and more integrated with my creativity. With love, Maria
Brilliant use of the II-V-I structure as emotional scaffolding. The progression maps perfectly onto domestic tension cause the V section (the drowning man) functions exactly how dominant chords do in jazz, building unresolved presure before the return. Using Blakey's rhythms in the opening adds a layer too since his drumming style was all about controlled chaos. Structuring narrative around musical form without it feeling gimmicky is tough to pull of.
That’s exactly the tension I was hoping the form would carry. I’m glad the V section read as pressure rather than explanation, and that the musical logic came through without becoming the point.
I appreciated your poem very much, and I must say it was strange for me because I have been considering submitting a small book of poetry to the press you've just started up (I believe it is you, I'm sorry if I'm mistaken) and the first lyric poem in the book is strikingly similar to the one you've written here, similar in tone, narrative and composition. I enjoy this kind of poem, but I'll be damned if I could structure it as rigorously, or explain my process as clearly, as you have in the intro to this piece.
Yes, it is the press I am involved in (Ink & Ribbon) - and please do submit, we look forward to reading your work. On the kind words on my piece, thank you so much :)
This picture reminds me of the work of the late Japanese artist Taiji Arita, particularly his First Born photography collection. It’s different, yet the memory of Arita’s images resurfaced.
I do love his work, it was definitely inspired by Francesca Woodman so you should check her out as well (if you don't know her already)
Thank you. There’s a subtle difference in the way both of them approach the subject of depiction — if there is any in Arita’s work at all.
Your poem reminded me, in a way, of Michael Ondaatje’s Coming Through Slaughter — the jazz, the color, the improvisatory energy, and that elusive sense of the ‘I.’ I know I shouldn’t be comparing prose and poetry, but the jazz and the colors collide in a way that feels remarkably similar.
Color-jazz reading of an exquisite poem. I wondered if it could be done. I started with a long critique, and condensing it back into a short, essayistic form proved a subtle, difficult endeavor.
G. K. Allum’s II–V–I flows like a jazz combo moving through a house lived in. The blue rain outside: brush strokes of snare and ride cymbal, hitting face and chest with syncopated insistence. Buddleia bends, white roses mildew — minor chords in the garden, small domestic motifs layered with tension and tenderness.
The II chord: the setting, the pulse, the expectancy. The V chords: restless legs, restless mind, waiting, the little humiliations that drum through news reports, through body, through time. And the I chord: it lands — not with closure, not with comfort, but with recognition, a cadence that says: this is how life arrives, full and unresolved.
Color becomes instrumental: blue, white, rust, bruised green — each a note, each a sustained tone. They linger, rebound, pull against each other like improvisers listening, breathing, reacting. Temporal and bodily, the hues mark rain, the garden, the interior and exterior of living. There is no neat resolution, only rhythm, only swing, only the way moments press against and release each other.
And “I.” That “I.” Return, root, home — muted, neutral, rusted — the melody softening into the everyday, fading, familiar. Like jazz, it does not answer; it inhabits. And in inhabiting, it allows us to feel time, care, and life itself.
It’s exquisite jazz. And exquisite poetic language. Thank you for this.
Thank you. This is such a generous and attentive reading. I am deeply moved by how carefully you listened to the poem and how fully you inhabited its logic and music. You articulated things I felt intuitively while writing, especially the unresolved landing of the I and the way color carries time and care. I am grateful.
🕊️The gratitude is entirely mine 🕊️
Brilliant work! The form, chosen word, rhythmic weight. Theme. The inevitable.
Also really love presentation and photograph.
Exquisite art, truly.
I love jazz, though I don’t understand any of the musical theory or rhythms behind it. I love how it makes me feel. I love this poem too.
I know enough to be dangerous, not enough to play jazz well! But jazz (and music, and poetry) is more about feeling than theory in my opinion.
GK Allum consistently produces strong poems. This is no exception.
Such a delightful compliment - thank you David
You'll forgive me, I hope, for not understanding the II-V-I structure of this. Truly, it went, it GOES, right over my head.
But...
I adore this poem. Incredible. Good stuff. Loved it!!
Thank you, perhaps its layered for different reasons. Not being elitist in any way shape or form, for those who understand the 2-5-1 chord progression (and resolve) in jazz it may give them a different experience - but I hope the poem stands alone without that knowledge and judging by your response it does :) Yay!
It’s exquisite jazz. And exquisite poetic language. Thank you for this.
The photo lingers…
I felt this as a deep reaching poem, even if I could not comprehend the II-V-I structure. The line that touched me deepest was this: "There is calmness in the inevitable". There is. But what I sensed was the pain behind the calmness. The pain accompanied by the rain. I react to energies, that's why. The following two lines added to what I sensed: "At forty-eight,/ I renounce my sexuality." My very personal perspective on this might sound strange, but for me sexual energy/sexuality and spiritual energy/life force are two aspects of the same ONE energy, the creative energy. I have experienced what it was like living for a long time in a sex-less marriage, when my husband withdrew. I had to a accept that he did. It wasn't easy. Yet, our love remained. Still, I never even considered renouncing my sexuality. How could I – it's an integral part of who I am. Now I am a widow for the last couple of years. Years that have been my most creative ever. And my sexuality is as alive as ever – despite my old age and no partner – but even deeper and more integrated with my creativity. With love, Maria