H2O RECYCLED, about water... Options

[Psyche]

H2O RECYCLED

This morning, I cleansed garish make-up
that you forgot to wipe off your lips,
because you were stoned or drunk,
a loner in the silent metropolis.
You flushed me down fauces
of pestilent labyrinths that man conceals
in a maze of urban paradoxes,
forgetful of my sacred heritage.

I murmur, afraid of shields of glass
refracting noonday blaze towards parks
with rails and toil-worn sprinklers.

Unreal age ...

the rush and noise of city days,
when mums and lunch-hour dawdlers
unroll plastic mats or coats on grass,
to broil their skin with u.v. rays,
like sacrificial beasts on beer-can altars.

I would not go willingly into the bowels
of doomed cities, palaces, taverns,
but gravity pulls me down hollows,
with now and then a glimpse of sidewalks
above, of the homeless snoring
in a world of portals and thresholds,
legs curled mindlessly over iron gratings.

I flow past tatters, socks, foul jeans,
smegma of mangy bodies and cats,
I hear the squeals of mating rats
slinking in gutters, climbing and falling
                         
                           swish swish swish

into my sludge to reach the sea.
I spy a yellowish glow: a wedding-ring! Yours?
Your mascara was streaked with tears. Perhaps.
Further on a shoe-sole gasps and taps
at my oily edge, and is toppled over by a toad.

Chemically treated - H2O recycle mode -
I'm dumped in reservoirs and left to brew,
until breezy dawns spell hope
as I swirl into a realm of heavenly hues.
And yet - like Sisyphus - I must start over,
pushing not a rock but mammoth turbines
for city lights...  and the miracle of your tap water.

By Psyche


Copyrigh by Sylvia Maclagan, Buenos Aires, Argenina, 2004.
All rights reserved.

[Arnfinn]

Hi Sylvia,


Emotions personified in the journey of tap water. 'Dirty linen aired' in this sad and tragic story. The water, a cleansing agent has little to no affect in your poem. The only way to become pure in spirit again is to become sanitised and start a new life or journy.

Chemically treated - H2O recycled mode -
I'm dumped in reservoirs and left to brew,
until breezy dawns spell hope
as I swirl into a realm of heavenly hues.
And yet - like Sisyphus - I must start over,
pushing not a rock but mammoth turbines
for city lights...  and the miracle of your tap water.

You have done a fine job in painting the ebb and flow of depression.

Well, this how I read your piece.


Regards,


Arnie  :troy:

[Guest_Jox_*]

TAP WATER

(Neat, simple, honest title but not very inspirational. You choice but I wonder if the poem deserves better?)

This morning, I cleansed garish make-up
that you forgot to wipe off your lips,
because you were stoned or drunk{,} [;]
a loner in the silent metropolis.
You flushed me down fauces
(“fauces” - new word for me. Well used, apparently. Thank you)
of pestilent labyrinths that man conceals
in a maze of urban paradoxes, (Wonderful)
forgetful of my sacred heritage.

I murmur, afraid of shields of glass (“murmur” - great use of word)
refracting noonday blaze towards parks
with rails and {toilworn} sprinklers. [toil-worn]
Unreal age ...
the rush and noise of city days,
when {Mums} and lunch-hour dawdlers [mums]
unroll plastic mats or coats on grass,
to broil their skin with {U.V.} rays, [u.v. - not correct, just looks better]
like sacrificial beasts on beer-can altars.

I would not go willingly into the bowels
of doomed cities, palaces, taverns,
but gravity pulls me down hollows,
with now and then a glimpse of sidewalks
above, of the homeless snoring
in a world of portals and thresholds,
legs curled mindlessly over iron gratings.

I flow past tatters, socks, foul jeans,
smegma of mangy bodies and cats,
(I think that “and cats” detracts from the message if used on the same line)
I hear the squeals of mating rats
like tigers climbing and falling
(does “like tigers” convey a certain nobility which was not what you meant?)
slinking in gutters
swish swish swish
into my sludge to reach the sea.
I spy a yellowish glow: a wedding-ring! Yours?
Your mascara was streaked with tears. Perhaps. (Brilliant!)
Further on a shoe-sole gasps and taps
(Love the tapping shoe-soul - so many meanings. Amazing).
at my oily edge, and is toppled over by a toad.
(Great - this is a stunning verse, Sylvia)

Chemically treated - H2O recycle{d} mode -
I'm dumped in reservoirs and left to brew,
until breezy dawns spell hope
as I swirl into a realm of heavenly hues.
And yet - like Sisyphus - I must start over,
pushing not a rock[,] but mammoth turbines (wonderfully clever)
for city lights... and the miracle of your tap water.

By Psyche
Copyrigh by Sylvia Maclagan, Buenos Aires, Argenina, 2004.
All rights reserved.

Sylvia, I’ve read some excellent poems this year and this ranks with the highest. Few poems have the brilliant insight and the multiple-meanings which yours does. Few say so much in such an entertaining, yet brief way. There are few which I can relate to as this. I’ve read some very good work by you but I cannot recall any better (I have a bad memory but whatever the comparison, this is excellent).

Since writing the above, Arn has posted a comment and he and I have seen this differently. I see it as rejection (which I think he alludes to, rather than the depression as he sees). Now this is one of the marks of a good poem it seems to me - different people can read different things from it. I wonder if later critics will see anything else? Yea or Nay this is excellent.

[Psyche]

Hi Arnfinn !
First time anybody's done a psychological reading of my poems anywhere outside of Argentina. Are you a psychologist? Buenos Aires is supposed to be right after New York in the ratio of therapists per population. How about Australia, where does she stand?
So I'm quite used to it, but never on a website !!
Anyway, perhaps I'm jumping to conclusions and you just happen to be good at that sort of interpretation. Very interesting indeed. I believed at the time that I was just writing about water, but there are certainly many disguises and mechanisms by which we channel our dark moods (fortunately). So I've been on a journey through some sort of Dante's inferno, by way of my subconscious creeping into verse.... Wow !  :ghostface:
You're probably absolutely right, too. I took to writing poetry after a tragic period of my life. In fact, I gave up writing anything else but... Threw out all my philosophical theories as a pile of rubbish  :upside:
Well, you've been pretty helpful, Arnfinn, because you quoted the last stanza where I allowed for a spell of "brief hope", a peep at "heavenly hues".... and then I decided to be like old Sisyphus pushing that rock up the mountain, over and over... Food for thought, indeed  :cool:
I'm presently rather wildly seeking a way to break out of that closed circle, so thank you very much for your insightfull reading of my poem.
Many thanks over the waters to Australia,
Psyche  :pharoah2
PS: Sorry, going on... The other day I meant to take up Alan on his jocular reply in another forum that his children are his "power and glory"....(are you listening in, Alan  :oops: ), but decided against it. My question would have been: Then do people who have lost a child also lose their "power and glory"? I hadn't thought of it that way, or even felt it so, but one never knows. A loss is a loss, no way to define it.
Thank you, again  :)

[Psyche]

Hi Jox !
Thank you so much for dropping by and giving such useful advice. I'll start by putting some punctuation at the end of L3.
I agree that the title sounds a bit flat, and glad that you think the poem deserves better. Must think about it, perhaps it was because I was feeling "flat" as Arnfinn pointed out....  :)
Hey Jox, I've moved to a different cybercafé and have just been informed that they close at 9 p.m.... Had absolutely no idea, so I'm regretfully closing this now, so sorry. I'd also intended to view some of your work. Will do.
Thank you again, will be back !!
Psyche

[Guest_Jox_*]

No problem, Sylvia - I know it's difficult for you there. I look forward to seeing you again soon.

James.

[Cybele]

Good morning Sylvia.


Such a powerful piece, full of frightening. nightmarish images in your own inimitable style. This is so very emotive and is what poetry is all about ~ observation of the natural or human state.




This morning, I cleansed garish make-up
that you forgot to wipe off your lips,
because you were stoned or drunk,
a loner in the silent metropolis.
You flushed me down fauces
of pestilent labyrinths that man conceals
in a maze of urban paradoxes,
forgetful of my sacred heritage.

L3 because you were too stoned or drunk?

I murmur, afraid of shields of glass
refracting noonday blaze towards parks
with rails and toilworn sprinklers.


Unreal age ...


the rush and noise of city days,
when Mums and lunch-hour dawdlers
unroll plastic mats or coats on grass,
to broil their skin with U.V. rays,
like sacrificial beasts on beer-can altars.

I would suggest the above break for even more dramatic effect Sylvia.

I would not go willingly into the bowels
of doomed cities, palaces, taverns,
but gravity pulls me down hollows,
with now and then a glimpse of sidewalks
above, of the homeless snoring
in a world of portals and thresholds,
legs curled mindlessly over iron gratings.  Wonderful!

I flow past tatters, socks, foul jeans,
smegma of mangy bodies and cats,
I hear the squeals of mating rats
like tigers climbing and falling
slinking in gutters

                        swish swish swish

into my sludge to reach the sea.     Gruesomely great!

I spy a yellowish glow: a wedding-ring! Yours?
Your mascara was streaked with tears. Perhaps.
Further on a shoe-sole gasps and taps
at my oily edge, and is toppled over by a toad.

Again a break to emphasise the  sound of swishing

Love these last two lines and the final alliteration.


Chemically treated - H2O recycled mode -
I'm dumped in reservoirs and left to brew,
until breezy dawns spell hope
as I swirl into a realm of heavenly hues.
And yet - like Sisyphus - I must start over,
pushing not a rock but mammoth turbines
for city lights...  and the miracle of your tap water

I agree with James about the title Sylvia. How about using your own words H2O Recycled ?

Love

Grace

[Arnfinn]

Thank you for the flattery,

Nah! I'm an old man, who finds solace twisting a fork in alphabet soup sorting the peas from the beans. First thing that sprang to mind, is, that water is a short commodity in your country. Did a bit of sifting through your poem and deducted that you had an emphasis on a vital element of survival...clean tap water. But you polarised the natural qualities of water. 'To cleanse' whether the inner or outer body or the enviroment or material objects. So, reading your poem, I became depressed. A gushing rush of purity...was having no affect on all dirt and squalor. The last stanza gave hope or renewal ...a new life perhaps or a cleansing of the soul.

I agree with James, an easy to read poem that does not have any lumps or bumps. Some forums say 'nits', which I think is an unattractive term that should be done away with. I think there is an underlying sadness in your piece.

 :detective:

I agree again, James, a very well put down on paper piece of poetry.


Arnie    :troy:  :troy:

[Aggiel]

Sylvia,

I have just spotted this lovely piece of work and have to tell you that.



Aggiel

[Ephiny]

Hi Sylvia

This is marvellous..I was drawn into the whole journey of this poem and find it hard to find a favourite part, it's brilliant!!

As I've seen in some of the other comments, I also found some wonderful metaphors in this and it's so true that the beauty of such a great poem is that the reader can find so many interpretations and pieces to identify with.  I liked your occasional referrals to "you", something very powerful and poignant about that.

I would not go willingly into the bowels
of doomed cities, palaces, taverns,
but gravity pulls me down hollows, beautifully powerful, and I'm reading so much more into a lot of this poem than the journey of water..it seems to represent so many different things

Also love

And yet - like Sisyphus - I must start over,
pushing not a rock but mammoth turbines
for city lights...  and the miracle of your tap water. thought-provoking..and great imagery

I could read this over and over, and find something new each time!

[Psyche]

Hi Jox, again !
As you can see, I've edited my poem in accordance with some of your observations. Even removed the tigers ! Can't fathom how they crawled down there...
I always have a problem with "Mum" or "Mom", this being a U.S. website ! But I removed the capital letter, it was so right of you to point it out.
And thank you for toil-worn, as well, and the aesthetics of u.v.....
It's wonderful to have such detailed crits, I really don't know how to thank you for going to all that trouble. Well, yes, I'll be returning the favour (tho' not so expertly) as soon as I have my wide band installed at home. I've finally decided that I deserve it ! But it'll take a week, at least, since there are details to smooth over.
I am wordless regarding your praise of this poem  :blush21: I know you disabled emoticons, but I've just clicked on a "blush" one.... ha...ha.... And yes, I wrote it as rejection, but still I appreciate the other interpretation of depression.
Must use my alloted time to answer Grace and Ephiny and Aggiel.
Thank you very much !
Psyche
PS: I've not added a comma after rock, down at the bottom, since I've personally adopted that kind of non-punctuation many times. My poem right or wrong !! Pig-headed, that's me...

[Psyche]

Good evening, dear Grace !  
I've already followed your suggestion for the title ! Thank you so much for the idea !
And, as you can see, I've put spaces where you suggested, you're so right, it looks better that way. This is a wonderful site to learn in, lots of eyes spotting nits all over the place !
I'm delighted with your comments  :blush21: and hope to go on picking up tips from you wonderful poet friends. As soon as I have wide band at home I shall try to retribute properly, as it is I now have to leave off and answer the others another time...  :)
Love'n hugs,
Sylvia  :cloud9:

[Guest_Jox_*]

Sylvia, Hello.

Thank you very much for your kind comments.

You have absolutely justification for calling yourself "pig-headed". This is your poem and, as long as someone reads and thinks about the suggestions on offer, that is reward enough for critics. I don't actually want you adopting everything I say; it's your work, not mine.

I'm delighted that you've decided to install broadband (hope it's not too expensive). Mind you, it will save you money in those Net cafes. This means we'll see more of you on MM, which is an excellent thing.

mum / mom - well, had you put "mom" I would have not said anything but "mum" is the British word, yes. (In fact, I hadn't even heard "mom" until a few years ago.)

Thank you for your blush - I don't mind anyone using emoticons to me; I just use very few myself.

I'm no expert critic... experts use grids, formulas and so on. I can't work like that. I simply bring some experience from teaching for twenty years - and marking billions of exercise books. OK, a slight exaggeration but it seemed that many.

Besides, I enjoyed you poem in particular and am really much more comfortable with free form, in general (my crits of form poems frequently get all sorts of things completely wrong).

Thank you for your comments.

And, yes, those pesky tigers seem to get everywhere.

Take care, see you soon.

James.

[Cybele]

Good morning my friend,

Hooray! At last you will have the luxury of working from home. Think how soon you will recoup the cost on the saving you make from using the cybercafe!!

       

I have taken the liberty to change the title of the tile for you Sylvia.

I expect that once you have your computer installed there will be no stopping you. Great!

Love

Grace

[Psyche]

Hi Arnie, again !

Nah! I'm an old man, who finds solace twisting a fork in alphabet soup sorting the peas from the beans.

That's really great, what you've said ! Ought to go in a poem or story or something  :pharoah2

Thank you for writing in with your thoughts, they have been very valuable to me. As for water, no, there is no shortage of water in Argentina. Trouble is, it goes to all the wrong places and the infrastructure is a disaster. That water that I wrote about actually drives turbines for the city lights of Buenos Aires, 2000 Kms. away, whereas whole regions of Patagonia are underdevelopped and lack water for stupid reasons.

But never mind, better get back to poetry ! The protest kind, in my case...  :ghostface:

Shall seek you out soon on this site !
Psyche  :wave:

[Psyche]

Hi Ephiny !
A rather belated thanks to you for dropping by and commenting on my poem.
I'm so very glad that people have made several different interpretations of what I wrote. It's been an eye-opener for myself !!
Yes, now and then I like to include a personal "you" or "me" into my poems, I feel it brings the reader closer to the theme, makes it less
objective, less cold. At least, that's what I attempt.
Again, thank you for your encouraging words, hope to pay you a return visit asap !!
Hugs,
Psyche  :lovie:  :dove: