I breathe, closing my eyes
listen to scents, memories
wrapped in urine-ammonia,
cabbage and chlorine
cigarettes, a fistful of blood
and testeroneous snicker.
school —
my face pressed into concrete
unyielding. the rain
as defenseless my tears
turn into marbles
knowing its cinders
build manhood in boys.
Victor Hugo
Today we have a guest host, Jo at dVerse and she inspires us to write about scents and how it may evoke memories. I think that some of the strongest memories are unpleasant for many of us.
June 23, 2022
Björn Rudbergs writings 
No child should be subjected to this type of bullying. Awful.
This is a traumatic experience and scents of urine-ammonia,
cabbage and chlorine, cigarettes, a fistful of blood, are strong images. Unpleasant memories indeed specially growing up.
Oh Björn, this is indeed dark. I’m not sure what is worse, the nasty smells of boyish bullying or the sweet-scented, spiteful girl bullying. At least, that’s how I remember it. I can’t say I love the phrase, but I think ‘testeroneous snicker’ is an expressive metaphor.
I think I remember the nasty floral of bullying girls as well….
This is incredibly hard-hitting and poignant, Bjorn. I agree with Misky, no one should be subjected to bullying while growing up.. sigh …
One of those that makes one go silent at first. So, so sorry it happened to you. The last line is devastating – it’s meaning layered. I do hope no adult told you that at the time.
My first comment landed in answer to Sanaa’s! Apologies! I wanted to add though, the tears that hardened to marbles: the metaphor of how you could’ve hardened to become what hurt you, but didn’t: it’s a choice often.
One of the worst lies we tell ourselves is that it’s for our own good. The mind likes to rationalize away the most horrible bits. I remember the trigger in childhood of getting close enough to an adult to smell the alcohol reek. Lots of bad memories around that.
That is unfortunately it, isn’t it….the traditional “character building,” just shrug it off, take it on the chin….
This had real impact….
I really love your poem with those small scents of hope… but the oily darkness is always close I think… (not on Telegram)
Thanks Bjorn — I elected to use Telegram as is so quick to post, and have trouble finding time to reply to appréciation at the moment, so thought was idéal for a while, thanks very much & all the best.
I can still leave a comment this way ..
Some survive better than others, thank God. Still, when the bullies get their comeuppance (as they so rarely do) it makes me jump for joy. Nice work, Bjorn. Thanks.
Wow! This is powerfully sad and gritty, Bjorn. Such strong smells leading to such terrible reminiscing. As a.h. starlingsson said, this poem has real impact!
Yeah, the scents are unkindly when your face is mashed to the concrete. I remember all of them too. And to think, those rank maces made men of us. (Or we became men to spite them …)
Brought a laugh!
Geez…a terrible experience. Hope they all didn’t amount to much.
Pat
Strange what builds and destroys. So sorry you have these memories. They made a poet out of you and that is priceless!
Glad to read you again, Bjorn.
The poem evokes unsettling memories; the imagery is strong fearful – wrapped sadly by the closing lines.
Many of us will relate to this. Not just boys either;
thank you Bjorn. Shudder, squirm, quake, grind.
And yet you became the man you are. I salute you
Dear Bjorn, this was difficult to read, and masterfully conceived. As a mother of three sons, recalling how I worried about them as adolescents …I know your mother did as well. Some scents are hard to erase, yes.
Gosh! These scents smell of fear and trauma. I don’t think one can ever erase such horrifying memories.
Swallowing us up in a yawning pit of sensate anguish — these words overpower not just our senses but our emotions with their immediacy.
~Dora