Elegy**, ... To the only woman on a Spanish Conqueror's galleon Options

[Psyche]

Elegy

Shadow of a woman outlined
in a time not her own,
halo of joy traced
in many men’s yesterdays.
Crystal skeleton,
transparent bones gnawed at by years.

Musings in other’s memories,
requiem of resonant tone
borrowed by spirits flown to oblivion.
She is debris hurtling down a toboggan.

Weary of her body’s barren husk,
she wanders bleak pathways,
seeking solace in stillness.
Shadowy spheres unfurl into rainbows,
cascades of raindrops
intone a dirge over her ragged form.

Kneeling by secluded seas,
she pledges precepts to wind and salt,
where eons transmute wraiths
into pearls of infinite worth.

Silhouettes stoop to rebuild her,
hold her to their heart
in a mantle of myrrh and tenderness.



Sylvia Evelyn, Bariloche, Argentine Patagonia. 2016

[greenwich]

I am picturing a stature of a female in a Victorian cemetery. The described condition of the stature is the elegy- crystal frailty, wondrous witness to rainbows ,projected insights.

[Psyche]

Hello Antony,
Thanks for dropping by and commenting. Do you mean stature as in prestige, eminence? Or height and build?

I misspelled the title, but I think it was a typo. Hope so.

I'm always interested in how the reader understands poems once I've put them "out there". It's said they don't belong to the author any more, in an exegetic sense.

I was not trying to express this woman from a Victorian point of view, and not by her prestige in a cemetery...LOL. In Buenos Aires we have an extraordinary old cemetery, where eminent people were placed in enormous walk-in family tombs. I don't know what they're called in English. Tourists are invited to take a tour of this fascinating cemetery.

Never mind, if it's OK with you, we can leave it that way. Otherwise, I'll explain my intentions.

Syl

[Eisa]

Hi Syl,

This has beautiful imagery and a touch of mystery. I really enjoyed. I don't think there is much , if anything, to nit.


Elegy

Shadow of a woman outlined
in a time not her own,
halo of joy traced
in many men’s yesterdays.
Crystal skeleton,
transparent bones gnawed[at] by years.

I keep wanting to say
in a time not of her own
Not sure that I'm right though

Could the 'at be deleted in last line?

Musings in other’s memories,
requiem of resonant tone
borrowed by spirits flown to oblivion.
She is debris hurtling down a toboggan.

Wonderful descriptions

Weary of her body’s barren husk,
she wanders bleak pathways,
seeking solace in stillness.
Shadowy spheres unfurl into rainbows,
cascades of raindrops
intone a dirge over her ragged form.

Kneeling by secluded seas,
she pledges precepts to wind and salt,
where eons transmute wraiths
into pearls of infinite worth.

Silhouettes stoop to rebuild her,
hold her to their heart in a mantle of myrrh and tenderness.


Love the last stanza - a wonderful finale

I will be back to read again! I'm using Mike's computer.

Hugs
Eira

[Psyche]

Hello Eira,

Thanks so much for your critique. I believe I'll be tweaking my poem in exactly the ways you've suggested.
Sometimes I remove 'little' words to be more concise, or add them when not necessary...LOL.

There's some mystery in this poem, because it's really a tribute to the only woman who sailed on a ship to these South Atlantic shores, along with the first Spanish explorers. There are a few myths surrounding her. She used to be despised because she was a prostitute brought over for the sailors, some say for the captain and officers only.
The Spanish conquerors didn't come with their families, as the pilgrims who landed in North America.
But it turned out that she was a brave woman, who worked alongside the sailors in terrible storms, learning all the seamen's duties, as well as getting worn out when they landed and had to fend for themselves in the wilds. The southern Atlantic seashores were extremely cold and windy. Food was scarce.
Now there's a street in Buenos Aires named after her. Not without enormous opposition at first, as she was a prostitute.
But she's been redeemed, at least in collective memories as well as history books.
Tx again,
Syl