Ancient Moorings, Second revision Options

[Psyche]

SECOND REVISION

Ancient moorings

Behind the farmhouse,
peach blossoms blend their scent
with freshly picked strawberries.

On the west side,
a faint smell of manure
from the corrals.
Horses neighing,
rubbing noses.
Stallions stamping.

Blue-bottle flies, potential
foes, buzz round the obsolete out-house
my father is dismantling.

My childhood memories signify,
stubbornly, forever.
Sounds, smells and wondrous aromas
are anchored in my mind's time-frame.
The regular scurrying
during farming sunlight hours
is air-brushed on my sentient self.

I feel glued to a painted kitchen tray
full of invisible signs,
from which mother's fresh coffee,
the brown sugar-bowl
and cow's milk straight from the bucket
-left at dayspring on our back doorstep-
have been excluded.

Mnemonic pathways crowded with phantoms.

I must debunk habit,
habit and inertia,
wistfully reckoning my father’s brown beret
will materialize
like a mythical rose.

I still yearn for familial moorings,
but today I shall barter his battered beret
for an uncertain rose.

By Psyche


Thank you, Steve, for not understanding! I've filled in many gaps...hope the meaning is a little clearer...LOL...



FIRST REVISION

Ancient moorings

Behind the farmhouse,
peach blossoms blend their scent
with freshly picked strawberries
from our orchard.

On the west side,
a faint smell of manure
from the corrals.
Horses neighing,
rubbing noses.
Stallions stamping.

The buzz of flies, potential
foes, around some old shacks.

Everything, even foes and wondrous aromas,
in its proper place.
Our regular scurrying
during farming sunlight hours
is fossilized in my mind's time-frame.

Childhood memories signify,
non-interchangeably, forever.

Glued to a kitchen tray
full of invisible signs,
from which real fresh coffee
and sugar
and warm cow's milk straight from the bucket
-left at dayspring on our back doorstep-
have been excluded.

I must debunk habit,
habit and non-change,
always wishing my father’s brown beret
to materialize
like a mythical rose.

I want him, but today
I shall barter his battered beret
for an uncertain rose.

I'll unshackle my ancient moorings...

By Psyche


Ancient moorings

Behind the farmhouse,
a smell of manure
from the corrals.

The buzz of flies, potential
foes, has started.

Everything, even foes,
............ in its proper place
amidst temporary disorder
of farming sunlight hours.

Childhood memories signify,
non-interchangeably, forever;
like a tray full of signs,
............ from which the coffee
............ and the sugar
............ and the fresh cream
have been excluded.

I must debunk habit,
............ habit and non-change.
I want my father’s black woolen cap
to materialize,
like a mythical rose.

I want him, but today
I shall barter his black cap
............for an uncertain rose.

Ancient moorings.

By Psyche

© Sylvia Evelyn, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2009.
All rights reserved.

[Guest_ohsteve_*]

Sylvia, this looks potentially interesting, my problem is I don't understand it. Maybe my skull is extra thick today. Your title had me thinking of ships in a harbor... then you started off about farms, manure and buzzing flies which all sort of relate together, then you change...

Childhood memories signify, What do memories signify? the farm? then 'non-interchangeably' are you saying that memories in general are not changeable or that the farm memories are not changeable with other memories in your head; and is there a better way to say this?
non-interchangeably, forever;

like a tray full of signs, this reads very awkwardly in context to me, I have a empty tray, that usually carries coffee, sugar, and cream. that tray represents my memories? Again are these still memories of the farm?
............ from which the coffee
............ and the sugar
............ and the fresh cream
have been excluded.

I must debunk habit, here you again change subject matter, to habits, then to your fathers hat, what does one have to do with the other and then back to memories and the farm?
............ habit and non-change.
I want my father’s black woolen cap
to materialize,
like a mythical rose.

I want him, but today
I shall barter his black cap
............for an uncertain rose.

Ancient moorings. now you mention your title, again a change of subject, again how does it tie in? I am thoroughly confused...

I am not sure where you were going with this, there must be something that I am missing...help...

Steve

[Psyche]

Dear Steve,

It's gotten awful late...LOL...so I just posted my revision without answering your frantic questions in the regular fashion. Please forgive!

I hope the new version is clearer.

Note: The title, Ancient Moorings, is metaphorical. Not at all nautical.! In Psychology it means being moored to one's past, or childhood, or past loves, whatever. I'm not exactly ancient...haha... but in the collective subconscious words like ancient or archaic are quite regular in Jungian schools.

The rose has too many symbolic meanings to mention all of them. In the Middle Ages, at least in Christianity, it symbolized a bowl that caught the blood of Christ, and because of this relation the mythical rose symbolized rebirth, new beginnings. Nowadays red roses are, of course, associated with love, but originally it was the Love of Christ. (I've extracted bits from The Herder Symbol Dictionary)

In my poem, it symbolizes 'rebirth' or 'new beginnings'. And the uncertainties thereof.

Thank you so much for pointing out the gaps in my poem. Hope I've filled in a few!
Syl***

[Guest_ohsteve_*]

Sylvia, definitely a vast improvement... now I understand a lot better than before... I did a very quick read and I will be back for more as I caught a couple of glaring nits that I wondered about and to see how much more I can get from this. I understood the metaphor of the moorings, I did not know about the symbolism of the rose... my little tidbit of learning for today. I was just doing some reminiscing and daydreaning and all sorts of poetry images popped into my head of things that I had forgotten and wonder why I had not thought of them before so I will be trying to do some more writing before they all vacate the empty spaces in my skull...LOL.
Take care...
Steve

[vessq]

Hi Sylvia,

I can enjoy this poem without a complete understanding. I caught the moorings of childhood memories.

I would suggest only technical changes. I would drop (from our orchard) in the first verse.

I would drop (some) from the second verse.

I would leave the rest of the poem alone. To attempt too much clarification might well shred the gentle curtain that hangs over childhood memories.

Nice. I like this.

Vess

[Psyche]

Thank you, Steve & Vess, for your comments.

I've made a couple of tweaks thanks to Vess's suggestions. I've got my stallions stamping now...LOL...

Steve, I look forward to your further remarks. I corrected a spelling mistake!

I'll post a proper revision if and when I get more crits.

Cheers and thanks,
Syl***

[Marc-Andre Germa...]

I think the revision is quite an improvement

FIRST REVISION

Ancient moorings

[color="#000000"]Behind the farmhouse,
peach blossoms blend their scent
with freshly picked strawberries
from our orchard.

On the west side,
a faint smell of manure
from the corrals.
Horses neighing,
rubbing noses.
Stallions stamping.

The buzz of flies, potential
foes, around some old shacks.

>>I like the first three stanzas, how it's filled with texture, taste, smell and sounds. One suggestion: a more active "Horses neigh and rub their noses" might enliven the poem.

Everything, even foes and wondrous aromas,
in its proper place.
Our regular scurrying
during farming sunlight hours
is fossilized in my mind's time-frame.


>>Strictly a matter of personal taste here: after three sensually vivid stanzas, a "telling" tone creeps in. The part that throws me off are its first two lines, which merely states the obvious. The following three lines are very good, besides perhaps "fossilized" which has become rather cliche lately; alright here, but we'll have to think of a new one for our future poems.


Childhood memories signify,
non-interchangeably, forever.

Glued to a kitchen tray
full of invisible signs,
from which real fresh coffee
and sugar
and warm cow's milk straight from the bucket
-left at dayspring on our back doorstep-
have been excluded.

>>Very good, but do we need "warm" in L5, considering that the cow's milk is straight from the bucket? This stanza could lose an adjective or two. I'd also lose "real" in L3.

I must debunk habit,
habit and non-change,
always wishing my father’s brown beret
to materialize
like a mythical rose.

I want him, but today
I shall barter his battered beret
for an uncertain rose.

I'll unshackle my ancient moorings...

>>I love the last two stanzas but I would ditch the last line. I hope this helps.

Mark

[Guest_ohsteve_*]

Hi Sylvia, I think Mark just caught everything that I saw and maybe a little more. Sorry for coming back so late... I just spent a half hour trying to fix my computer wondering why I couldn't access anything when I discovered the phone line unplugged...just goes to show when all else fails go back to the basics...like is the AC plug pushed into the AC socket, and is the on/off switch in the on position...LOL.
Steve

[mayo]

I hope this is the poem we are to be looking at now... I am quite drawn to it. I love nostalgic poems that leave the reader wanting to know what really happened. This is one of those. I think that it needs a little cutting, trimming. I got out my scissors and went to work. I don't want to change your voice, but there were a couple places that felt awkward. Take or leave any suggestions. This poem made me miss my dad and the smell of peach.

Ancient moorings---->loved the title

Behind the farmhouse,
peach blossoms blend their scent
with freshly picked strawberries
from our orchard.------->I don't know if this line is necessary. I would cut.

On the west side,
a faint smell of manure,---->I'd add comma
from the corrals.------>also, don't know if this is really necessary.
Horses neighing,
rubbing noses.
Stallions stamping.

This next few lines I had a hard time with. They made me stumble when reading and I wonder if you really need it all. I might suggest some further cuts. If I may?

The buzz of flies.
Everything
in its proper place.---->It would end up like this...

On the west side,
a faint smell of manure,
horses neighing,
noses rubbed,
stallions stamping,
the buzz of flies,
everything
in its proper place.
Our regular scurrying
during farming sunlight hours
is fossilized in my mind's time-frame.---->you might want to use "anchored" instead of "fossilized here to strength your mooring theme.

I am not sure what "non-interchangeably" means in this next part? Maybe you are meaning to say..

Childhood memories
glued to a kitchen tray
which once held hand-ground coffee
and sugar
and warm cow's milk straight from the bucket
-left at dayspring on our back doorstep-
now excluded.

I must debunk habit,
habit and non-change,
always wishing my father’s brown beret
to materialize
like a mythical rose.----->loved this stanza!!!!

I want him, but today
I shall barter his battered beret
for an uncertain rose.---->I am not sure that rose works so well so close to the previous "rose", perhaps you could think of another symbol that means the same for one or the other?

I'll unshackle my ancient moorings...----> "unshackled" doesn't work so well with me. One releases a mooring, "let's go", etc

[Psyche]

Marc & Mayo!

Thank you both for your highly insightful suggestions. I've read them all carefully and will definitely do some trimming and a few changes, following your pointers.

I do apologize for not answering separately and providing some answers of my own, but right now I have to abandon ship....which reminds me to say that I agree with removing 'unshackle', I wasn't comfortable with it. And I'll incorporate 'anchoring' in the corresponding line.

Steve, I'm sorry about your techno glitches! Hope all's well now.

Back asap, cheers,
Syl***

[Eisa]

Hi Syl - at last I've got round to commenting on this poem. I like this very much and the feeling of nostalgia it gives.
Great title & revision.


Behind the farmhouse,
peach blossoms blend their scent
with freshly picked strawberries
from our orchard.

On the west side,
a faint smell of manure
from the corrals.
Horses neighing,
rubbing noses.
Stallions stamping.

The buzz of flies, potential
foes, around some old shacks.

Everything, even foes and wondrous aromas,
in its proper place.
Our regular scurrying
during farming sunlight hours
is fossilized in my mind's time-frame.

Wonderful descriptions in these starting stanzas - I can everything & smell all the aromas too.

Childhood memories signify,
non-interchangeably, forever.

Yes, this st is telly & might not be needed

Glued to a kitchen tray
full of invisible signs,
from which real fresh coffee
and sugar
and warm cow's milk straight from the bucket
-left at dayspring on our back doorstep-
have been excluded.

real & warm are not needed in your descriptions.

I must debunk habit,
habit and non-change,
always wishing my father’s brown beret
to materialize
like a mythical rose.

Love this st - but agree that rose is not quite right -- where has it come from?

I want him, but today
I shall barter his battered beret
for an uncertain rose.

I'll unshackle my ancient moorings...

This poem brings back memories of my father's flat cap that he wore everywhere. Lovely nostalgia.

Hugs Snow

[Psyche]

Oh my, thank you Snow!

I'll really try to revise on the weekend. So glad you like it.

My mythical rose seems to trouble people....LOL...and I don't want to part with it!

I did explain a little about the symbolism of the rose, but there's too much.

The 'mythical rose' in Western civilization dates back at least as far as Dionysios, who wore a garland of roses around his head. Therein its 'uncertainty' as opposed to the 'mystical rose' that represents the Love of Christ, which for the church is, of course, unfailing and certain (the church had a habit of adapting 'pagan' symbols or dates to suit Christianity's dogma. The best known is Christmas, of course, which was really the date on which the Romans venerated their god Sol, in the Winter solstice, and the church decided it would be Jesus's birth date).

Anyway, in my poem I want to stop clinging to 'my father's beret' (my own metaphor for my childhood), and move on towards the uncertain future, as represented by an 'uncertain rose' in the pagan sense. Our world is, according to the science of Physics, full of uncertainties and chance. Therein its Beauty....

Oh my, I suspect it's too high-flying a thought for my 'umble pome...LOL...
Hugs, Syl***

[mayo]

i understood your use of the rose. My only issue with it was where the first and second were so close together. It is the sound of the placement not the meaning to me. It doesn't sound quite right when read. I just think it needs a bit of a tweak.

mayo

[Eisa]

Hi Syl - I understand about the rose now - wonderful thinking! I'm really looking forward to your revision. This one is getting better each time I read.

Hugs Snow

[Maggie]

Hi Syl,

I really enjoyed your explaination and intentions that underlie the poem. I do feel your execution, especially the last few stanzas, needs a bit of clarification and re-wording. I am of the opinion, perhaps wrongly so, that a poem should be able to stand alone without any ancilliary explanation whatsoever.


Syl, I re-worked a bit below. I've changed a few words. The new words are the result of reading your explanations. Perhaps this might be a bit of help. Perhaps not.


I must debunk habit,
habit and stagnation.
I will stop wishing my father’s brown beret
to materialize
like a mythical rose.

I still want him, but today
I shall attempt
to barter his battered beret
for an even older symbol,
the less-personal,
but even more ancient,
uncertain rose.

Perhaps I can unshackle my familial moorings...


Just a few suggested changes. Take or toss!

Peggy

[mayo]

That is a fine suggestion from Peggy. For me it distances the two roses a bit which helps me as a reader. It also gives the "roses" a context.

[Psyche]

Sorry, all you kind folks, but my daughter is arriving in about one hour, on her way to France, and I also have my stepdaughter here for much longer, so interruptions follow on one another. Will post revision soon!

Hugs and thanks, Syl***

[Guest_ohsteve_*]

Sylvia, I just reread this and some of the comments, lots of stuff here to think about. one little more nit that caught my eye...

Horses neighing,
rubbing noses.
Stallions stamping.

Aren't stallions horses too? Would just the stallions be stamping? Maybe if you eliminated stallions and put in vigorously????

Horses neighing,
rubbing noses,
vigorously stamping.

Again a use of lose idea for you.

Steve

[Psyche]

Now, Steve, stallions are certainly horses, but not all horses are stallions. A stallion has not been castrated and is therefore more prone to stamping and other vigorous behaviors than the more gentle castrati...LOL...

Stallions are kept apart from other horses, not only coz they'll cause unplanned pregnancies in the mares, but also coz they might harm the male horses. Altho' I'm no expert, race-horses are stallions for the extra speed they'll put on, and they can be difficult to handle, ask the jockeys. Not a rule, but mostly it's that way.

When the race-horse stallion comes to the end of his career on the race-tracks, he'll continue to be used for breeding purposes and, hopefully, allowed to pasture peacefully until death (this is not a general rule either, unfortunately; mostly they end up in the slaughter-house).

Hey, you must be a little more thrifty with your ?????????????, OK? You're going to run out of them...

Hugs, Syl***
PS: And yes, the other horses do a little stamping as well, but mostly when they're hungry, and not so spectacularly.

Sylvia, I just reread this and some of the comments, lots of stuff here to think about. one little more nit that caught my eye...

Horses neighing,
rubbing noses.
Stallions stamping.

Aren't stallions horses too? Would just the stallions be stamping? Maybe if you eliminated stallions and put in vigorously????

Horses neighing,
rubbing noses,
vigorously stamping.

Again a use of lose idea for you.

Steve

[Guest_ohsteve_*]

Sylvia, Thanks for the info update. I know what a horse looks like most of the time...lol. but that is the limit of my knowledge about horses, basically. I knew that bulls when castrated are called steers, but I didn't know about stallions...didn't know they castrated them...ow!?! lol With that in mind the way you have written it is fine. Take care...
Steve