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[Cyn]

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[JustDaniel]

Greetings, Fair Maid of the Mountains!

Just last evening I wondered aloud where my friend has been... whether she's taken her horses to the far north, leased a cabin on the ice to spend cool evenings looming decorative rugs... or paint the sunset... or take up a completely new interest... or join her husband to become traveling troubadors...

but knowing that at some time you'd wander in off of the Arctic...

so what a joy to see you today!

Gone Like Ghosts

Day three on the Dempster
the land before us opens, wide
and wild, lichen-lined.

I'd never heard of the Dempster Highway before, so I had to do a bit of research.



Nor was I familiar with the Gwich’in "people of the caribou" either, so you again forced me to do a bit of reading, which I always appreciate. I'm running out of time to learn things... and a lot of them just keep running out of me!

... and we're gonna look forward to seeing your pictures too, according the the next lines!

My camera clicks, clicks
again, the shutter stutters. Futile.
We scan the vast taiga. A raven
laughs.

Again your words force me to do some research to see the coniferous northern forests. I can now see the raven laughing from one of those slender, ice-gnarled trees. Nice pictures.

And you say this: Come back in April,
then you will see the caribou, drive
the ice-road to Tuk.

I'd never heard of Tuk before, either, but I'd seen a couple of things over the past month about trucking on the ice road, on the History Channel. Your words here bring us back to the people of the caribou... as they are always, I'm sure, on their minds.

Your face is a tundra-map, the trails
of a million hooves etched there, tanned
as the land for which your Gwich’in are named.

Great description, Cyn!

Great-grandaughter, gap-toothed, grins,
shows us the martin’s pelt, the mink,
the fur-lined, caribou-hide hut,

I didn't know what a martin or marten was, so you expanded my search a bit more, my friend, and I'd never thought of lining a hut with fur... and I've never seen that. I'd love to. Thanks for taking us there with your words!

tells us she’s never seen a wolf,
though her cousins have; three
ran right in front of them

Again, you use the words of a conversation to take us into reality of living in the wild. Good job.

at winter hunting grounds, gone
like ghosts, before
she looked to see.

You here drive home [I think ?] maybe the brunt of your theme, indicated in the title ? Though these people are still living in the wilds, some of their hunting grounds have disappeared as ghosts ?

You smile a toothless smile,
jingle the loonies in your pocket,
politely wait for us to go.

deLightin' in yer writin'... and the opportunity to take a look for myself in absence of your accompanying photos

(hint, hint) , Daniel 8)

This post has been edited by JustDaniel: Jul 30 07, 11:02

[AMETHYST]

Hello Daniel,
I moved our discussion posts from this thread so not to disrupt it with unrelated posts. For our discussion, I've merged them into a separate thread in the Sylabus ... Click Here ~

Now for Cyn's Poem ...


Hello Cyn,

Good to see you. Hope all is well. This has some stark images, some seem fragmented to me but connecting at the end to my minds eye and making the use of fragmented still phrases stronger. Although I don't know if this is what you intended, it came through to me that way and I found it a good aspect to the poem.

some further thoughts ...

Best Regards, Liz

Gone Like Ghosts

The title interests me. It seems strangely drawing, 'gone' like ghosts. I like that aspect of ghostlike thoughts... What I am trying to say is most often when we write about ghosts or read about them in any aspect, even as a metaphor it is usually how the appear, but the unique twist of 'Gone like Ghosts' I felt a nice pull into the poem. Interesting.

Day three on the Dempster
the land before us opens, wide
and wild, lichen-lined.

My camera clicks, clicks
again, the shutter stutters. Futile.
We scan the vast taiga. A raven
laughs.

... wide and wild, lichen-lined. Is an excellent image-striking. Suggest placing ' A raven laughs. apart from this on its own, to show the how it contrast to the picture taking and the moment - bringing attention to itself.

And you say this: Come back in April,
then you will see the caribou, drive
the ice-road to Tuk.

"And you say this:" feels weak, perhaps - You say:

Your face is a tundra-map, the trails
of a million hooves etched there, tanned
as the land for which your Gwich’in are named.

Another striking image "Your face is a tundra-map," I would omit 'the' before trails. A good end enjambment in L2.

Great-grandaughter, gap-toothed, grins,
shows us the martin’s pelt, the mink,
the fur-lined, caribou-hide hut,

Good images. Stark.

tells us she’s never seen a wolf,
though her cousins have; three
ran right in front of them

at winter hunting grounds, gone
like ghosts, before
she looked to see.

Again. This is strong. The title works its magic here. "gone/like ghosts,' I really think that has such profound meaning. Perhaps

like ghosts, before
she turned to see.

You smile a toothless smile,
jingle the loonies in your pocket,
politely wait for us to go.

Nicely ended. Adds such character, filling in detail of the narrator and her/his subject. You've chosen strong details to bring to life the personalization of the ways of the subject.


Much enjoyed. Liz

[Terocon101]

Hi Cyn,

A pleasure to meet you.

Ummm, yummy, the awe and inspiration in this piece is palatable. Encased in concrete as I am, I long for such an experience with my very essence, so I thank you from the bottom to the top for sharing this with me/us.

I hope you wont be disappointed but I cant find much to suggest improvement, but I'll go through it nonetheless.

Gone Like Ghosts

Day three on the Dempster
the land before us opens, wide
and wild, lichen-lined. As an alliteration-aholic I'm drooling right now, lovely intro.

My camera clicks, clicks
again, the shutter stutters. Futile. Yup, photo's cannot compare, I know this experience.
We scan the vast taiga. A raven
laughs.

And you say this: Come back in April,
then you will see the caribou, drive
the ice-road to Tuk. At first I wasnt sure of..'And you say this...' but it adds to a sense of burgeoning awe, unsure.

Your face is a tundra-map, the trails
of a million hooves etched there, tanned
as the land for which your Gwich’in are named.

Great-grandaughter, gap-toothed, grins,
shows us the martin’s pelt, the mink,
the fur-lined, caribou-hide hut,

tells us she’s never seen a wolf,
though her cousins have; three
ran right in front of them

at winter hunting grounds, gone
like ghosts, before
she looked to see. gone like ghosts..got me thinking of the balance of nature and our age of extinction and dominance, well done, even if it was not intentional.

You smile a toothless smile,
jingle the loonies in your pocket, loonies/money ???
politely wait for us to go.

Ok, great stuff, how could a photo compare.....?

[Cyn]

I thank you ALL for your helpful comments. I will ponder them.
I am happy the ghost thing worked for some of you. So much is disappearing....
I'll comment on some of the fine writing I see here, that I have missed reading since I have been gone, as soon as I get a chance. I wanted to get this poem out there (the only one I wrote during the entire 6 weeks on the road!) for feedback as soon as I could. Thanks for not disappointing me!
Welcome to those of you I have not met here before. I hope to contribute more shortly.
Cyn

[Kay]

This is wonderful. I think it's tight and well writtten.

I found this stanza what I feel is the strongest but I like the revision very much:

And you say this: Come back in April,
then you will see the caribou, drive
the ice-road to Tuktoyaktuk.

[Guest_Xanadu_*]

I really enjoyed the conversational tone of the poem, as well as the message.

However, I would like to see it tightened up a bit. Just a little editing, not much.