PAD Day 3: Summer Memories

 Today's dual prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "smell" poem, and (2) write a "glosa." A glosa is a poetic form of Spanish origin, where the poet takes a quatrain from one of their favorites works by another poet, then uses the four lines in order as the final line for each of four ten-line stanzas. It therefore becomes a 40-line poem. There is no strict set of rules for rhyme or meter, though the length of the source lines may dictate the length of  lines in the new poem. Also, some follow a rule that the sixth and ninth lines of each stanza should rhyme with the tenth, "borrowed" line. It was interesting to see Maureen Thorson referring to Robert Lee Brewer's Write Better Poetry blog for an explanation of the glosa - it felt kind of "meta" to me. Robert wrote his sample glosa with the aforementioned rhyme scheme but didn't mention it in his explanation of the glosa. I have only written one other glosa in the past, and it too used that rhyme scheme, so I will stick with it.

Also, I used another poetic project for today's prompt. I am currently working on a cycle of poems based on the songs and lyrics of the British rock band Elbow. I've been using lines from their songs as epigraphs, and occasionally even incorporating some lines of lyrics into the poems, so this seemed a perfect fit for writing a glosa.

Return Visit
 
And my sister buzzes through the room
leaving perfume in the air
And that's what triggered this
I come back here from time to time....
―Elbow, "Scattered Black and Whites"
 
Some memories are olfactory―
some say that deep recall remains
the longest in the sense of smell.
These days I rarely sense tobacco
from a pipe, but when I do
it wakes me up, it cuts the gloom
and ricochets me back six decades
to my grandfolks' bungalow―
my grandmom sweeping with her broom,
and my sister buzzes through the room,
 
while in his study, Grandpop puffs
on his meerschaum as he toils
at his desk with paperwork
for clients, their insurance policies,
and he'd go door-to-door collecting
premiums, but always fair.
(Some were just a nickel.) Everyone
in town would know this little man
who puffed along without a care,
leaving perfume in the air.
 
Summer weeks we spent with them,
my sis and I, and we would help
Grandmom tend her roses, feed the squirrels,
Grandpop growing rhubarb, feeding birds.
Friday night was TV on the davenport
and one more smell we couldn't miss,
Jiffy Pop, its silver dome expanding,
the steam escaping from ripped foil,
the popcorn smell a buttery kiss―
and that's what triggered this,
 
the scents of summer with the grands,
popcorn, roses, pipe tobacco.
Not all the memories are sweet―
the bathtime scrubs behind the ears,
the time they force-fed lima beans.
But back when candy cost a dime,
and TV shows were black and white,
there still was innocence around.
The everyday is such a climb―
I come back here from time to time.