Saturday, January 14, 2012

Adriana


painting by fernando botero

Adriana

He met Adriana in Los Angeles
on a warm spring day in 1946,
at the Hollywood USO.

She had young men encircling her
like a peppery garland of testosterone;
each one eager to dance with her,
to put their sweaty hands
on her shapely butt, and feel
her firm breasts pressing hotly
through their dress uniforms.

She danced to Glenn Miller
like an indefatigable sprite;
her long curled blond tresses
bouncing, barely held in check
by blue ribbons, her short black
pleated skirt swirling high enough
to reveal her silk stocking tops
with a flash of milk-white thigh
devastatingly sensual teasing
above her black garters, her tight
red sweater scoop-necked with just
a solid preview of her cleavage--
a dream girl.

Thirty years later she was asleep
beside him on their bright picnic quilt
in a warm meadow near an orange orchard
with fruits, bread, and cheese morsels
spread out deliciously between them,
as he sat upright staring thoughtfully
out at the Angeles Crest, barely poking
its peaks up out of the blue haze
hanging heavy in the California air.

Then he shifted his gaze west toward
the sea, remembering the Destroyer
that sank beneath him at the battle
of the Coral Sea in ’42, the fifty days
a tiny flotilla of life rafts had clung together
awaiting rescue, when he had a 32” waist
and could make love four times a day,

and the rapturous joy they had shared
with the birth of each of their three sons,
as they moved into the Valley, and
corpulence had become their permanent
profile, and smiling at how beautiful
his wife still was naked.

Glenn Buttkus

January 2012

Listed as #7 over on dVerse Poetics

Would you like to hear the author read this poem to you?

15 comments:

Brian Miller said...

glenn, i bow...that was just awesome...love your story telling giving us a bit of their history and bringing us forward...but the close def brings the warmth...hot piece man...

Laurie Kolp said...

I love the depth in this.

Claudia said...

enjoyed this a lot glenn... great story telling with all the details, that make it so tangible, woven in, and smiles at the fire still burning...maybe not that passionate but even warmer and deeper...nice...great reading as well..

Anonymous said...

Excellent content-wise and stylistically and technically (love the seamless assonance, consonance)

Reading it aloud it tip-taps right off the tongue wonderfully

Heaven said...

a love story you weave so skillfully...i like that he still found her beautifully naked even after all these years ~

kez said...

what a beautiful story of everlasting enduring love ...thank you x

Susie Clevenger said...

Love this..time had changed both of them, but did not change their love..the beauty of a happy ending.

Charles Miller said...

Backstory wonderfully told here! Totally believable with enough detail to make me wonder whether you knew the people or not. Very enjoyable.

zongrik said...

i feel like i heard this story sitting around the picnic tables at the hollywood bowl before a concert...

Brendan said...

You read the canvas so vividly, make the extra dimension of narrative so prescient it makes the picture seem the result of the poem and not the other way around. Seamless work.

Victoria said...

This is terrific, Glen. One of the things I love about Botero is the detail in his work. This painting is one of those that best illustrate that. One of my favorite lines in your poem is the peppery garland of testosterone. Great description.

Jannie Funster said...

Ahhh, I like this. Love how you flipped so quickly to 30 years later.

Thinking of getting a picnic together.

Xo

Dave King said...

Runs the gamut of emotions, does this one. A great tale well told.

Anonymous said...

I love this section:

"Then he shifted his gaze west toward
the sea, remembering the Destroyer
that sank beneath him at the battle
of the Coral Sea in ’42, the fifty days
a tiny flotilla of life rafts had clung together
awaiting rescue, when he had a 32” waist
and could make love four times a day,"

... The way his thoughts drift off in varying directions but return to making love. Excellent aside and return to the original topic of his lady.

~Shawna
(rosemarymint.wordpress.com)

Jean Sullivan said...

I love the ‘young men encircling her like a peppery garland of testosterone’ and the echoes later of ‘a tiny flotilla of life rafts’ and the ‘corpulence had become their permanent profile.’
You need to have a collection put together. Your poetry needs to be on smooth velum that would caress the readers touch as your words caress the ears.