Printable Version of Topic

Posted by: Psyche Jul 23 13, 00:41

I've changed the name of the poem to Typhoon because that's what cyclones are called in the Philippines. I was recently reading about the differences betweem these catastrophes, and it turns out the names are more geographical than anything else. Except when a tsunami also occurs, or earthquakes under the sea, etc. This disaster in the Philippines was caused by incredibly high winds that hit the islands' shores with immense force.
My first poem was about the 1991 cyclone in Bangladesh, when about 138.000 people died and millions went homeless. One can't keep up with the rising number of gigantic storms worldwide.
As human development thrives, and global temperature continues to rise, natural protection from tidal waves and cyclones is being degraded at alarming rates. This will inevitably lead to species loss in richly bio-diverse parts of the world, if nothing is done to stop it.


New version of poem I wrote in 2007. That one was specifically about a cyclone in Bangladesh, called "Sidr". Due to recent giant waves destroying and flooding various areas of the world, this poem could be about any of them, excluding, maybe, countries with early-warning systems. But not necessarily. Chile suffered vast destruction in 2010 in spite of sofisticated early-warning systems all along the Pacific. The poor, as usual, were worst hit.


REVISION


Devilish winds blow fierce,
carving visceral death, watery death,
death of unknown souls;
blazing bitter death, branded by
splintered wood and hurtling sails.
Life pulped by bamboo death-traps.

Awesome becomes awful.

A malodorous and malign monster
wraps devastation in primal silence.
Verdant land vanished long ago:
hunger on hunger on hunger,
unforgiving.
Slapped by cyclones, brightness
is eclipsed in bouncing bays.
Airports, seaports,
ferries awaken warily.
‘Copters fling food packs.

Unclaimed corpses, victuals for vermin.
Dogs slink in shattered huts,
sniffing at clueless cadavers.
A woman picks a path over branches
and slush, lifting torn skirt, legs
battered and bleeding. She shakes
huddled children awake.

Drowsiness threatens defeated,
O seductive sleep of slaughter!
To die, to die, almost pleasing
in wake of catastrophes.
Soldiers overload stretchers
to nowhere hospitals.

Moans knife my heart, foul waters
steep my eyes… eyes of our distant
cultures celebrating sacred seasons.
We feast on ignorance.
Does our living god bear their cross too?
The world haphazardly heeds
wails of faraway isles empty of joy,
their villagers adrift in skulking lunacy
as they pray to diverse divinities.

The winsome children
are gone and a few folks
return to routine starvation.
Bounteous islands, your mangrove swamps
degraded, traded, jaded. How do your harvests
fare, milenial barriers blasted?

Did man or nature create the beast?

By Psyche
Copyright: Sylvia Evelyn, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2014.



ORIGINAL VERSION



Devilish winds blow fierce,
carving visceral death, watery death,
death of unknown souls;
blazing bitter death, branded by
splintered wood and hurtling sails.
Life pulped by bamboo death-traps.

Awesome becomes awful.

A malodorous and malign monster
wraps devastation in primal silence.
Verdant land vanished long ago:
hunger on hunger on hunger,
unforgiving.
Slapped by cyclones, brightness
is eclipsed in bouncing bays.
Airports, seaports,
ferries awaken warily.
‘Copters fling food packs.

Unclaimed corpses, victuals for vermin.
Dogs slink in shattered huts,
sniffing at clueless cadavers.
A woman picks a path over branches
and slush, lifting torn skirt, legs
battered and bleeding. She shakes
huddled children awake.

Drowsiness threatens defeated,
O seductive sleep of slaughter!
To die, to die, almost pleasing
in wake of cyclones.

Moans knife my heart, foul waters
steep my eyes… eyes of distant
cultures celebrating their sacred seasons.
But the winsome children
are gone, and a few folks
return to routine starvation.
Soldiers overload stretchers
to nowhere hospitals.

The world haphazardly heeds
wails of faraway isles empty of joy,
their villagers adrift in skulking lunacy
as they pray to silent gods.

Bounteous islands, your mangrove swamps
degraded, how do your harvests fare,
natural protection gone?

Did man or nature create the beast?

I know no living god bearing your cross.
We feast on ignorance.

By Psyche

Copyright: Sylvia Evelyn, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2013.

Posted by: saore Jul 24 13, 08:59

I like your opening lines Sylvia. But I am not sure you need: Awesome becomes awful. It becomes kind of obvious in the following stanzas.



I like these lines also. I think the closing could be stronger.

Sergio

Posted by: Psyche Jul 26 13, 23:46

Hi Sergio,

Thanks for stopping by and making great suggestions.

Posted by: galoutofdixie Oct 21 13, 20:07

Nice piece

I love the alliteration and the imagery. The only thing I didn't like as much was the ending. It almost seems as if it should end on a stronger note. With that being said, however, I'll be the first to admit I don't have a solid suggestion as to HOW to do that. Not yet, anyway...I am going to think about this one a few. I really do like it!!

Posted by: Psyche Oct 23 13, 01:04

Hi Leigh Ann,

Thank you for commenting on my poem. At least two people have suggested a more powerful ending, so I'll really do something about it.

I don't think we've met before, but I understand you're not a new member. Glad you've returned and I'm looking forward to reading your poems.

I've been absent lately due to personal problems, but I hope to be back soon and will comment on a poem you posted and I just took a peek at it now!

Sylvia aka Psyche

Posted by: Cleo_Serapis Nov 22 13, 15:55

Hi Syl,

I really LOVE this! I'm not dancing coz of the topic, but because of the alliteration and imagery. My suggestion is to simply remove the last line:
I know no living god bearing your cross.
We feast on ignorance.

so the poem ends with:
Did man or nature create the beast?

Enjoyed the read!
~Cleo

Posted by: Psyche Dec 1 13, 23:53

Posted by: Eisa Jan 2 14, 19:04

Hi Syl,

I love the images you have skilfully woven into this one and I look forward to reading your new ending.

Hugs
Snow

Posted by: Psyche Feb 20 14, 00:56

Hi Eisa, Lori, Leigh Ann, Sergio and all who made suggestions!

At last I've found time to revise this poem. I've been moving house, hubby and cat, with all that that implies. Have to adapt to mountains and lakes, having lived for about 30 years in a big city. I actually miss my neighbourhood, some friends, the easy access to shops, all the movement...
I'm still open to suggestions, thank you!!
Syl***