The Goatherd ** Revised*, Plight of original dwellers Options

[Psyche]

THE GOATHERD


An old Mapuche*, head bowed
against the biting breeze,
drives his last goats down the hill,
not bothering to shut
the slatted door of his adobe hut,
since there is nothing left
for prowlers to scent.

Rumbles of stones break his solitude:
an elegy of un-love sung by centuries.
When evening glooms icy paths on slopes,
he’ll be a shadow of shades
in the glimmer of wasted moons -
maybe a little salted meat
will warm his aching guts.

The sombre Mapuche, in harsh sackcloth,
weeps tears of pebbles on ancient dawns.
His face, a mistrustful grimace,
lips sealed by alliances
and countless betrayals.
Vain hope and wishes
prevail in his muted soul.

Pilgrim of hoarfrost gendered in glaciers,
he believes in spirits of trees and snow.
There’s no heart that dreams him
nor is there a love in his memory.

Mother Rock, Father Sky,
Lanín -his dormant fiery god-
and brown Patagonian steppes
feast his mind and timeless eye.

*Mapuche: Original dwellers of Patagonia.
Mapu=earth; che=people;
i.e.: Earth People


Changed:
L1: ...head bowed (instead of head bent)
L2: ...against the biting breeze (added 'the')
S3, L1: The sombre Mapuche (instead of old Mapuche)
S3, L4: lips sealed by alliances (instead of spectral embraces)
S3, L5: and countless betrayals (instead of 'of endless betrayals).
S5, L2: Lanín -his dormant fiery god- (instead of Lanín -his sleeping Vulcan god-)


Sylvia Evelyn, Bariloche, Argentina Patagonia, 2016.

[Eisa]

What a sad tale, Syl. You have expertly written about how difficult life was for the old Mapuche.

An old Mapuche*, head bent
against biting breeze,
drives his last goats down the hill,
not bothering to shut
the slatted door of his adobe hut,
since there is nothing left
for prowlers to scent.

You've drawn this reader in - I want to find out more about this man

Rumbles of stones break his solitude:
an elegy of un-love sung by centuries.
When evening glooms icy paths on slopes,
he’ll be a shadow of shades
in the glimmer of wasted moons -
maybe a little salted meat
will warm his aching guts.

Very vivid! Like the use of glom as a verb - unusual

The old Mapuche, in harsh sackcloth,
weeps tears of pebbles on ancient dawns.
His face, a mistrustful grimace,
lips sealed by spectral embraces
of endless betrayals.
Vain hope and wishes
prevail in his muted soul.

Pilgrim of hoarfrost gendered in glaciers,
he believes in spirits of trees and snow.
There’s no heart that dreams him
nor is there a love in his memory.

Should it be 'heart dreams of him' - not sure. I'm loving it anyway.

Mother Rock, Father Sky,
Lanín -his sleeping Vulcan god-
and brown Patagonian steppes
feast his mind and timeless eye.

Syl, I've read this masterpiece twice and really cannot nit anything. I'll see what others say.

Hugs
Eira

[Luce]

Very colorful but I think you can cut it down.

THE GOATHERD


An old Mapuche*, head bent
against biting breeze,
drives his last goats down the hill,
not bothering to shut
the slatted door of his adobe hut,
since there is nothing left
for prowlers to scent.

The Mapuche drives his goats
down the hill, not bothering to shut
the door to his hut. There is
nothing left for thieves to scent.

Rumbles of stones break his solitude:
an elegy of un-love sung by centuries.
When evening glooms icy paths on slopes,
he’ll be a shadow of shades
in the glimmer of wasted moons -
maybe a little salted meat
will warm his aching guts.

When evening glooms icy paths
on slopes he'll be a shadow of shades
in the glimmer of wasted moons.

The old Mapuche, in harsh sackcloth,
weeps tears of pebbles on ancient dawns.
His face, a mistrustful grimace,
lips sealed by spectral embraces
of endless betrayals.
Vain hope and wishes
prevail in his muted soul.

The Mapuche, his smile a mistrustful
grimace his lips, sealed by spectral embraces
of endless betrayals, vain hope and wishes
prevail in his muted soul.

Pilgrim of hoarfrost gendered in glaciers,
he believes in spirits of trees and snow.
There’s no heart that dreams him
nor is there a love in his memory.

He believes in spirits of trees and snow


Mother Rock, Father Sky,
Lanín -his sleeping Vulcan god-
and brown Patagonian steppes
feast his mind and timeless eye.

"feeds" instead of "feast"

Luce
*Mapuche: Original dwellers of Patagonia.
Mapu=earth; che=people;
i.e.: Earth People

Sylvia Evelyn, Bariloche, Argentina Patagonia, 2016.

Sorry for the cut job but I felt the goatherd was getting lost in the scenery.

[/b]

[Heather]

I swear I posted a reply to this, but I can't see it now....my mind must be going!

I loved this song to a troubled Earth. Beautiful.
I think my favorite lines are:
hen evening glooms icy paths on slopes,
he’ll be a shadow of shades
in the glimmer of wasted moons -


The biggest nit I have is the removal of the article before:
Biting breeze

It's unnecessary and it's not part of a greater technique throughout the poem.

Such a small nit, really.

Heather

[RC James]

Syl - A deeply felt paen to the original people of the earth. I agree with Luce on the cuts, I think they open up the essential Old Mapuche. This is stunning though. Richard

[Psyche]

Hi Luce!

Yep, the cut job is far too big for my liking. Perhaps you could use tweezers or small pincers instead? You know, for tweaking...

I do realize I've used 'old Mapuche' twice, so I'll fix that in the second instance.
I want readers to know that he's old, as that's part of his solitude.

I see no reason to change prowlers to thieves.

As to the rest, this aboriginal man blends in with the landscape. He's part of it. He's not lost in it, though he's been made cruelly invisible. He knows his way around the arid reduction where he's been pushed to by heartless generals.

The idea is to show what original dwellers were subjected to. In the case of Patagonian aborigines, the Spanish conquerors never got even near them. They were not bothered until after Argentina gained her independence in 1816. They resisted several campaigns into the 'desert', which is not a desert at all, but an immense region with stunning mountains, lakes, waterfalls...and steppes.

Thanks all the same, Luce! Very few people know much about our far south. That's why Pope Francis said he'd come from "the other end of the world" in his inaugural speech. Just sayin'...

Syl

[Psyche]

Hi Heather,
No, it happens quite often, your mind is fine! Nowadays I always copy before sending, so if it disappears I can paste it back again...LOL.

So glad you like my poem. Fact is, these particular original dwellers are bouncing back again. Obligatory education has made younger generations curious about their ancestry and language. They've gained the right to fly their own flag alongside the national one (only in Patagonia, which includes 5 provinces), as well as being taught their own language in many schools. Two generations never learnt it, they were made to feel ashamed of their origins.

I've taken note of your nit and will apply!

Tx a lot, Heather.
Syl***

I swear I posted a reply to this, but I can't see it now....my mind must be going!

I loved this song to a troubled Earth. Beautiful.
I think my favorite lines are:
hen evening glooms icy paths on slopes,
he’ll be a shadow of shades
in the glimmer of wasted moons -


The biggest nit I have is the removal of the article before:
Biting breeze

It's unnecessary and it's not part of a greater technique throughout the poem.

Such a small nit, really.

Heather

[Psyche]

Richard, thanks for your comments. I like 'stunning'...LOL.

As I've already explained to Luce, I won't be cutting much, if anything, out of this poem. The essential old Mapuche can't be opened up without his surroundings and mode of living, so different from so-called civilized people's.

Syl

Syl - A deeply felt paen to the original people of the earth. I agree with Luce on the cuts, I think they open up the essential Old Mapuche. This is stunning though. Richard

[Psyche]

Hi Eisa,

Thanks for your understanding comments. The old generations of Mapuche dwellers had a tough time surviving. They still do, because their fertile lands were stolen from them. They feel the great injustice.
But the younger generations are well-educated and have formed quite powerful groups. They go to university. Discrimination is still rampant. It's weird, because it was recently calculated that 50% of the Argentine population has a certain amount of aboriginal blood in it.
That's because the Spanish Conquerors were all men, so they sowed lots of wild oats with some lovely native girls in northern areas! But only a few explorers reached Patagonia. They were welcomed, given food and lodging in the huts...and even offered the Chieftains' women to sleep with them...LOL.

I've taken note of your nit and will revise, tx!

Hugs, Syl***

What a sad tale, Syl. You have expertly written about how difficult life was for the old Mapuche.

An old Mapuche*, head bent
against biting breeze,
drives his last goats down the hill,
not bothering to shut
the slatted door of his adobe hut,
since there is nothing left
for prowlers to scent.

You've drawn this reader in - I want to find out more about this man

Rumbles of stones break his solitude:
an elegy of un-love sung by centuries.
When evening glooms icy paths on slopes,
he’ll be a shadow of shades
in the glimmer of wasted moons -
maybe a little salted meat
will warm his aching guts.

Very vivid! Like the use of glom as a verb - unusual

The old Mapuche, in harsh sackcloth,
weeps tears of pebbles on ancient dawns.
His face, a mistrustful grimace,
lips sealed by spectral embraces
of endless betrayals.
Vain hope and wishes
prevail in his muted soul.

Pilgrim of hoarfrost gendered in glaciers,
he believes in spirits of trees and snow.
There’s no heart that dreams him
nor is there a love in his memory.

Should it be 'heart dreams of him' - not sure. I'm loving it anyway.

Mother Rock, Father Sky,
Lanín -his sleeping Vulcan god-
and brown Patagonian steppes
feast his mind and timeless eye.

Syl, I've read this masterpiece twice and really cannot nit anything. I'll see what others say.

Hugs
Eira

[Luce]

Hi Luce!

Yep, the cut job is far too big for my liking. Perhaps you could use tweezers or small pincers instead? You know, for tweaking...

Syl - your topic heading had two ** and not one or none or else I would have given a superficial crit. However, it had two and so I gave you a deep crit. As far as using tweezers, if it was warranted I would have just tweaked. However, if it calls for a machete, then girlfriend, machete it will be.

I do realize I've used 'old Mapuche' twice, so I'll fix that in the second instance.
I want readers to know that he's old, as that's part of his solitude.

My big objection to this is that you're telling us he is old and not showing us. In the end it doesn't matter considering the rest of the poem. I don't think your subject has to be old to experience discrimination or a hard existence. This can begin very early in life.

I see no reason to change prowlers to thieves.

Prowlers loiter around to see what petty crime they can get away with. There're opportunists. Thieves are more focused. The fact that the goatherd left the door to his hut open is saying, I have nothing left of value to steal. That's why I thought thieves was more telling then prowlers. The word "thieves" also has more sonic appeal than "prowlers".

"Nothing left for thieves to scent" sounds more pleasing because of the repeated vowel sounds of "e" as compared to "nothing left for prowlers to scent".

As to the rest, this aboriginal man blends in with the landscape. He's part of it. He's not lost in it, though he's been made cruelly invisible. He knows his way around the arid reduction where he's been pushed to by heartless generals.

The idea is to show what original dwellers were subjected to. In the case of Patagonian aborigines, the Spanish conquerors never got even near them. They were not bothered until after Argentina gained her independence in 1816. They resisted several campaigns into the 'desert', which is not a desert at all, but an immense region with stunning mountains, lakes, waterfalls...and steppes.

Unfortunately, the displacement/discrimination of the original inhabitants of a region is a long, often repeated, cruel story. It has its counterparts in North America, Australia, Africa, etc. Therefore, you need to bring something new to the table. Right now, it's just preachy. The goatherd is painted in a one dimensional color, as something to be pitied. Yet, despite everything they have endured - haven't they. There's endurance and courage in that face and also a deep faith. You've touched on the faith part but I wished there was more to the portrayal.

In the end, I regret critiquing your poem the way I did. You deserved a fuller explanation of why I made the cuts.

As always it's TOT.


Luce

Thanks all the same, Luce! Very few people know much about our far south. That's why Pope Francis said he'd come from "the other end of the world" in his inaugural speech. Just sayin'...

Syl


[/b]

[Psyche]

Thank you Eisa, Heather, Richard and Luce for helping me to revise this poem.

I've made a list of the changes as a footnote. I also noticed a stupid mistake where I'd put 'Lanín -his sleeping Vulcan god-' !! Vulcan is a Roman god...oops!!

It now reads '-his dormant fiery god-...OK? Can't remember the correct name.

Just a friendly note to Luce: * means light crits, ** means moderate crits, and *** asks for deeper crits. Having said that, here at MM we never use a machete on anybody's poems. Critiques shouldn't be harsh or preachy, as if the author knew nothing about his subject (even if you think he/she doesn't). No hard feelings, Luce!

Just above this forum, anybody can read MM's standards for critiquing. We aim to maintain a friendly atmosphere by commenting, suggesting, asking or pointing out changes that can be made if the author wishes.

Hugs and best to all,
Syl

[Luce]

Syl,

I’m very aware of the MM guidelines on giving and accepting critiques and even posting revisions in the way MM prefers them. I give critiques the way I would like to receive them, in an honest constructive manner with suggestions. However, I do have a tendency to give a deep crit when someone wants a light to moderate crit. Therefore, I’ll be more mindful of these requests. But, that doesn’t mean I’m putting away my machete. It’ll just be in the shed, oiled and ready for those very rare occasions.

Hhhhmmmm….maybe there should be a fourth crit level? It can be labeled “watch your back, hot crit coming through.” It can be symbolized by four lasersword emoticons: .

Okay! Now about your revision.

I saw the changes and your note about saying Vulcan. Actually, I personally didn’t mind that part. The goatherd is being seen by the N, who, I assume, is not an aborigine. Therefore, it makes sense that the N equates Roman gods to the goatherd’s earth god of fire.

Another suggestion - Instead of aching guts, I'd put aching joints. Another way of showing that he's old without actually having to say it. It can also reflect that he's very cold. One of the ways you fight off being too cold is to eat.


Luce

[Psyche]

Wonderful, Luce! May I put a padlock on your shed?
We sometimes have posts by people who've never written a poem in their life. We aim to encourage and accompany, even tho' we may have our own published poems.

Anyway, I want to move forward now, so to your question about gods, I prefer to respect other people's when I'm writing about them. All the aborigines you mentioned in a previous post are absolutely different, in the same way that a Frenchman is different to an Englishman.
Imposing our religion and language on original dwellers is exactly what made them invisible. In my country, we're helping them gain back their individuality. That's our view nowadays.

I'm leaving 'aching guts'. Joints is OK, but more cliché.

Tx for all your interest, Luce!
Syl

Syl,

I’m very aware of the MM guidelines on giving and accepting critiques and even posting revisions in the way MM prefers them. I give critiques the way I would like to receive them, in an honest constructive manner with suggestions. However, I do have a tendency to give a deep crit when someone wants a light to moderate crit. Therefore, I’ll be more mindful of these requests. But, that doesn’t mean I’m putting away my machete. It’ll just be in the shed, oiled and ready for those very rare occasions.

Hhhhmmmm….maybe there should be a fourth crit level? It can be labeled “watch your fingers, hot crit coming through.” It can be symbolized by four lasersword emoticons: .

Okay! Now about your revision.

I saw the changes and your note about saying Vulcan. Actually, I personally didn’t mind that part. The goatherd is being seen by the N, who, I assume, is not an aborigine. Therefore, it makes sense that the N equates Roman gods to the goatherd’s earth god of fire.

Another suggestion - Instead of aching guts, I'd put aching joints. Another way of showing that he's old without actually having to say it. It can also reflect that he's very cold. One of the ways you fight off being too cold is to eat.


Luce