1st Revision ~~tweaked (thank you Liz and Snow)
Somewhere--
where chimney smoke dots the distance
in synaptic gaps, like memory loss in warm rolling meadows, I tango
with the sun matching my every step.
Our growing heat--a fever un-indexed on any chart--
warms my neck as meadowlarks
sing warnings to intruders. I pause
in rehearsed mid-curve of a dip
to slip myself off; upside-down, the blue sky
becomes a cloudy skipping stone path
along a zen azure river bed.
Someone crosses that rarefied stream; meadowlarks
scatter and soar into those rapid currents to drown,
as the timothy grass above
bows and parts like hair yielding to watery eyes. He arrives
hunkered and stalking; the sun
returns to its rightful place; released,
I twist and fall onto my knees.
The wind offers burning incense:
cherry-wood and ripened blackberries
from the undergrowth of his kinky hair.
His indefatigable arms,
with sun-kissed skin, gather me up--
wildflowers bunched to his bare chest
in one motion; I stare at thin scars on his stomach
while his breath--
a Snowy Owl's stuttering wingtip-- brushes me.
My trembling fingers crawl inside his hands: hands
dewy and deathless as the Earth
that receives us all in our due turn.
We spin.
Where did you come from, O Beautiful One? The ancient capital
of Nineveh, by way of Lesbos and Sappho's revered verse,
only to descend into my arms...maybe...
pivoting, his dark myrrhic eyes betray his intentions,
and I feel my breasts heave and sigh, as our rush
blurs grass and sky,
until colours fracture, fall
and form iridescent steps to Aphrodite's throne. We ascend the clouds;
I half expect feathers to tear from his back, during our dance.
We drift.
I kiss him before he condenses and falls like rain,
returning back to the soft ground.
His blood slowly thickens into a bed of red roses
that are plucked
by young, barefoot maidens in flowing, virginal dresses
who have come far to worship our passing beauty.
I wake.
The sun bestows me red rows through my window in consolation;
I grin at those fresh flowers filling the kitchen vase,
while my husband, awake early, smiles coyly
and burns myrrh incense.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Original
Somewhere--
where chimney smoke dots the distance
in synaptic gaps, like memory loss in warm rolling meadows, I tango
with the sun matching my every step.
Our growing heat--a fever un-indexed by any chart--
warms my neck as meadowlarks
sing warnings to intruders, while I pause
in rehearsed mid-curve of a dip
to slip off myself; upside-down, the blue sky
becomes a cloudy skipping stone path
along a zen azure river bed. Something
crosses that rarefied stream; I see
the meadowlarks scatter and fly into those rapid currents to drown,
as the timothy grass above
bows and parts like hair yielding to watery eyes. He arrives
hunkered and stalking; the sun
returns to its rightful place; released, I twist and fall onto my knees.
The wind offers burning incense:
pine needles and ripened blackberries
from the undergrowth of his kinky hair.
His arms,
indefatigable, with sun-kissed skin, gather me up--
wildflowers bunched to his bare chest
in one motion; I stare at the thin scars on his stomach
while his breath--
a Snowy Owl's wingtip brushing a white rabbit--surrounds me.
My shaky fingers crawl inside his hands, hands
dewy and deathless as the Earth
that receives all of us in our due turn.
We spin.
Where did you come from, O Beautiful One? The ancient capital
of Nineveh, by way of Lesbos and Sappho's revered verse,
only to descend into my arms...maybe...
pivoting, his dark myrrhic eyes betray his intentions,
and I feel my breasts heave and sigh, as our rush
blurs grass and sky,
until colours fracture and fall
like iridescent steps to Aphrodite's throne. We ascend past the clouds;
I half expect feathers to tear from his back, during our dance.
We drift.
I kiss him before he condenses and falls like rain,
returning back to the soft ground.
His blood slowly coagulates into a bed of red roses
that are plucked
by young barefoot maidens in flowing virginal dresses
who have come far to worship our passing beauty.
I wake.
The sun offers me red rows through my window in consolation;
I grin at those fresh flowers filling the kitchen vase,
while my husband, awake early, smiles coyly
and burns myrrh incense.
**Inspired by Nina's poem: I Want to Disappear **
Well, this one leaves me breathless and without words...
except...
masterful
limpin' away Lightly, Daniel 8)
Daniel,
That's very generous of you. i wouldn't go that far...really.
Thanks for stopping in, sir.
~tim
As you may be able to tell my my own meagre attempt at fv that incites little interest, I'm so intimidated by it... I obviously don't know how to critique it; there are not bounds and it just soars beyond my reach.
It's masterful to me... or I wouldn't have said so.
deLightin' to read you, Daniel
Ooooops I forgot to start off with a big hello and smile-before going right into my critique! LOL But I was at work and first wanted to finish my thoughts on the poem, then I would worry if I had time to shoot the breeze! So here I am shooting the breeze! ... *duck
No shoe throwing...
On a more serious note. This is absolutely powerful poetry-the way it is sort of a montage of various levels of conscious, as I felt the mixture of mythology, realization, and the dreamy spiritual aspects are woven in that none seem to dominate, but rather have their own part, as within ourselves. I really enjoyed this-
Best Wishes, and Big hugs, Liz
Hi Tim
I'm absolutely out of time now, but had to call and say I'll be back to this asap as I absolutely love the imagery here and feel it is a very poweful poem. It's brought me out in goosebumps!
I'll be back!
Snow
Snow,
i look forward to your helpful thoughts.
Liz,
i am putting my boots on right now to go back to work (and am running late at that); i will respond late tonight, when i return. Thank you for your helpful insight,
Cheers!
~tim
Hi Tim
I have returned with a few thoughts, although there is little to pick at here. I just have praise and admiration!
Somewhere--
where chimney smoke dots the distance
in synaptic gaps, like memory loss in warm rolling meadows, I tango
The beginning has a dreamy feel that draws me in.
I keep feeling I’d like to see ‘I tango’ on a new line here, but I like the feel of movement on the narrator’s part.
with the sun matching my every step.
Our growing heat--a fever un-indexed by any chart--
warms my neck as meadowlarks
Perhaps ‘unindexed on any chart'
sing warnings to intruders. I pause
in rehearsed mid-curve of a dip
to slip myself off; upside-down, the blue sky
Great sonics in this st. which fits in nicely with the birds singing.
becomes a cloudy skipping stone path
along a zen azure river bed. Something
crosses that rarefied stream; meadowlarks
scatter and fly into those rapid currents to drown,
as the timothy grass above
bows and parts like hair yielding to watery eyes. He arrives
beautiful imagery in these 2 stanzas. I felt that meadowlarks might work better beginning the following stanza and also miss the ‘and’
meadowlarks scatter, flying into …
in fact I think swoop or dive would fit better – perhaps dive would fit well with the water below.
hunkered and stalking; the sun
returns to its rightful place; released, I twist and fall onto my knees.
The wind offers burning incense:
perhaps original position for L2
pine needles and ripened blackberries
from the undergrowth of his kinky hair.
Now some added interest – you introduce ‘he’ -- and the sudden change to a 2 line stanza is interesting
His indefatigable arms,
with sun-kissed skin, gather me up--
wildflowers bunched to his bare chest
Perhaps ~
Indefatigable, his sun-kissed arms
gather me up
wildflowers bunched against his bare chest
in one motion; I stare at the thin scars on his stomach
while his breath--
a Snowy Owl's wingtip brushing a white rabbit--surrounds me.
I feel like saying
while his breath like ….
My shaky fingers crawl inside his hands: hands
dewy and deathless as the Earth
that receives all of us in our due turn.
L1 I think shaking fingers sounds better here – or trembling
L3 receives us all …….
We spin.
Where did you come from, O Beautiful One? The ancient capital
of Nineveh, by way of Lesbos and Sappho's revered verse,
only to descend into my arms...maybe...
pivoting, his dark myrrhic eyes betray his intentions,
and I feel my breasts heave and sigh, as our rush
blurs grass and sky,
until colours fracture, fall
and form iridescent steps to Aphrodite's throne. We ascend past the clouds;
I half expect feathers to tear from his back, during our dance.
I love the introductory short line ‘we spin’. Hereon this becomes mystical. You have added so much interest with reference to poetry and ancient goddess. Excellent!
We drift.
I kiss him before he condenses and falls like rain,
returning back to the soft ground.
His blood slowly coagulates into a bed of red roses
that are plucked
by young, barefoot maidens in flowing, virginal dresses
who have come far to worship our passing beauty.
Perhaps ‘his blood flows into a bed of red roses?
This has a wonderful mystical feel of dream-like fantasy.
I wake.
The sun offers me red rows through my window in consolation;
I grin at those fresh flowers filling the kitchen vase,
while my husband, awake early, smiles coyly
and burns myrrh incense.
I was wondering how this would end and have to applause!
You have the incense and roses from earlier to tie it all together.
I really love this Tim. it is one of the most unique poems I have read in a long time
I have a feeling I shall be back again to digest this even further.
Snow
Hi Liz,
Hugs to you as well. Thank you, in advance, for the thorough reply to my offering; i greatly appreciate.
i don't want to over-explain this poem, in its history or mythology, but keep in mind that the thrust of this poem is derived from a poem by Nina. Simplified, her poem is about an N who sheds her old, slightly damaged flesh, for a new body. Afterwards, she dances naked in a field of bluebells, until her tall, dark Adonis comes to her. She climbs an iridiscent stairwell and entwines with her lover as they jump off the top of the steps onto the clouds.
i could go into a great detail of my research regarding the figure of Adonis, but let me offer a couple of points, only. If you want i'll message you further details.
Adonis is figure that the Greeks received from the Assyrians (modern day Syria, Lebannon, etc). The myth of Adonis is that his mother (Myrrha) is cursed by Aphrodite, for some offense, to incestuously lay with her own father (a king whose know escapes me) through duplicity, until the king discovers her identity and then attempts to kill her. Pregnant, she flees wishing not death, nor life and Aphrodite takes pity and turns her into a Myrrh tree. A blow delivered either by her father's arrow or from a boar tears open the bark and Adonis is born from it. Aphrodite sees his beauty and whiskes him away to Persephone. Later, the two fall in love, until Adonis is slain by a boar during a hunt. Aphrodite sprinkles a nectar on his blood and Persephone takes his shadow into the underworld. This changes him to becoming a "lesser' god of perennial vegetation. Birth-life-death-rebirth are his attributes.
Additionally, Sappho created a cult of the Undying Adonis where maidens worshipped him regularly. Thus going from Ninevah-to-Sappho-to-the N (in the Midwest) is part of the theme.
Okay enough of this...on to your responses.
Hello Snow,
Thank you so much for coming back to this poem. Let me address your thoughts first.
Hi Tim
Your explanations of your message and why you have written certain lines has been helpful to me.
The message is no matter what our dream lover may be, something of that love/lust/interaction can be manifest in the real world. Elements of mythology: Adonis and Aphrodite, etc., losing oneself (zen reference and slip off myself) and a sense of nature's participation can all make up a real love, imho.
I like your thinking behind your message.
scatter and fly into those rapid currents to drown,
as the timothy grass above
bows and parts like hair yielding to watery eyes. He arrives
---yes, dive might be better; i was looking for something like that, but a word that might address both 'up' and 'down'
I wonder if zoom might fit your intent better. Although its meaning does mean rising up, I feel it can indicate the speed rather than direction.
pine needles and ripened blackberries
from the undergrowth of his kinky hair.
---i do not like the 2 line stanza break. Unable to address that weakness, i decided to workshop this.
I have to agree here Tim and feel to keep to a 3 line stanza is visually more appealing. I suppose you could always cut back the previous stanza and bring the last line down to the next ~
hunkered and stalking; the sun
returns to its rightful place;
released, I twist and fall onto my knees.
The wind offers burning incense:
pine needles and ripened blackberries
from the undergrowth of his kinky hair.
Just a few more thoughts *smile*
Snow
Hi Tim
I'm short on time, but will come back to read your revision properly and let you know what I think.
I am going to nominate this for next months IBPC as I think it is outstanding.
Snow
I'll be back!
Snow,
That's very gracious of you to say. Let's just wait and see what the rest of the month has to offer, shall we?
~tim
Hey Tim,
I just read the revised draft and will be back later this evening with some feedback, but for now I wanted to give a thumbs up for several new word choices, such as adding 'rehearshed' excellent choice word. There is some very powerful changes and I will be going through them on return.
Hugs, Liz
(Lauren wants breakfast so Grandma must abide her wishes) LOL
Hello Tim,
This is my first reading of your work and U must say, WOW! This is definitely an incredible intro. Your imagery is captivating!
I've always loved mythology, and this reminded me why.
An incredible read.
Dani
Siren/Dani,
thank you very much for the read. i am in no hurry about this poem, so don't you be either. It'll be here when ever you want to come back.
Liz,
Grandma's work always come first. Most of the changes are from either Snow or your suggestions, so i have both of you to thank, really. Okay....thank you.
~tim/azurepoetry
Hi Tim
I agree with Liz -- thumbs up to your revision.
You say about the nomination~
That's very gracious of you to say. Let's just wait and see what the rest of the month has to offer, shall we?
Don't forget you can have more than one nomination put forward to the vote each month.
A couple of thoughts ~
in the firts stanza, I am wondering if 'where' is really necessary in L2. Also I would prefer the line break slightly different.
Somewhere--
chimney smoke dots the distance in synaptic gaps,
like memory loss in warm rolling meadows, I tango
... but this is probably a personal preference!
scatter and soar into those rapid currents to drown,
as the timothy grass above
I remember you saying you had used fly in the first line here, as it could mean 'up' or 'down'. I feel 'soar' does not fill that meaning and to me only means rising. Has your intent in this line changed?
The wind offers burning incense:
cherry-wood and ripened blackberries
from the undergrowth of his kinky hair.
Nice additional line here, making the stanza up to 3 lines to correspond with the others.
That's all I can say for now -- if I think of any more I'll be back!
Snow
I also prefer 'blood thickens' to 'blood coagulates' -- somehow it has a softer feel.
[quote name='azurepoetry' date='Feb 26 07, 10:20 ' post='91887']
1st Revision ~~tweaked (thank you Liz and Snow)
How are ya Tim,
Whatta Got.
Hmmm....
[b]By the way I haven't read any crits.
Somewhere--
where chimney smoke dots the distance
in synaptic gaps, like memory loss in warm rolling meadows, I tango
Hmmm... they're not rhyming lines, but for convenience sake I'll call them triplets. Mate, I like your poetry because its pure: original in structure and sense. Again, this is poetry, (nothing predictable) intellectual mindscape. Who could not understand and delight in this first stanza. ' Somewhere-- in a mind pause, in warm rolling meadows, I tango. Mate, an illustration of me after...say, six beers. However, the stanza is open to everyone's translation. I think any serious poet must appreciate the opening three lines of your poem.
with the sun matching my every step.
Our growing heat--a fever un-indexed on any chart-- <<< good and original.
warms my neck as meadowlarks
sing warnings to intruders. I pause <<< Ha, love the sentiment.
in rehearsed mid-curve of a dip
to slip myself off; upside-down, the blue sky
becomes a cloudy skipping stone path
along a zen azure river bed. <<< a path along a tranquil (blue Universe) Someone crosses that rarefied stream; meadowlarks <<< a warning, meadowlarks beautiful song
scatter and soar into those rapid currents to drown,
as the timothy grass above <<< What's timothy grass? Is it you?
bows and parts like hair yielding to watery eyes. He arrives
hunkered and stalking; the sun
returns to its rightful place; released,
I twist and fall onto my knees.
The wind offers burning incense:
cherry-wood and ripened blackberries
from the undergrowth of his kinky hair.
His indefatigable arms, <<< 'indefatigable' don't think so! Rudyard Kipling may have used such a word in defence of the Raj and the British Empire and the English navy also have use of the word. Mate, how about 'busy.' with sun-kissed skin, gather me up-- <<<
wildflowers bunched to his bare chest
in one motion; I stare at thin scars on his stomach
while his breath--
a Snowy Owl's stuttering wingtip-- brushes me. <<< Hey, great imagery, wonderful poetry.
My trembling fingers crawl inside his hands: hands
dewy and deathless as the Earth
that receives us all in our due turn.
We spin.
Where did you come from, O Beautiful One? The ancient capital
of Nineveh, by way of Lesbos and Sappho's revered verse,
only to descend into my arms...maybe... <<< Good stanza the cradle of Greek literature/love.
pivoting, his dark myrrhic eyes betray his intentions, <<< Myrrhic colour. Resin of the Camphora (Camphor Laurel etc) hmm... eyes of dark gold? Yeah, I like that.
and I feel my breasts heave and sigh,
as our rush
blurs grass and sky,
until colours fracture, fall
and form iridescent steps to Aphrodite's throne. We ascend the clouds;
I half expect feathers to tear from his back, during our dance. Good , mate. wonderful imagery.
We drift.
I kiss him before he condenses and falls like rain,
returning back to the soft ground.
His blood slowly thickens into a bed of red roses <<< Again, what imagery, it's like an old fable.
that are plucked
by young, barefoot maidens in flowing, virginal dresses
who have come far to worship our passing beauty. <<< love the originality.
I wake.
The sun bestows me red rows through my window in consolation;
I grin at those fresh flowers filling the kitchen vase, <<< red roses? while my husband, awake early, smiles coyly
and burns myrrh incense. [/b] <<< Hah, does the husband have golden eyes?
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Good poetry, mate.
I think the transformation from new to old. The change in the translation from modern to greek mytholgy is well done.
Very enjoyable.
Regards,
John
Hello John,
That is some pretty high praise you've given about this piece and i appreciate it. i'm not sure what i want with this poem. i'm thinking of moving out of crit for now; i feel indifferent on this for some reason.
Nonetheless, thank you very much for stepping in. i believe now i owe you two....give me a couple of days to repay the favour mate.
~tim/azurepoetry
Hi there Tim.
WOW - this is awesome! I enjoyed the attention to detail, the drama building as your MC's dreams are retold through such impressive imagery. You've brought the Ancients back to life - if only we could live in that fantasy world, between the daily grind and our dreamworlds..... Sigh.... I would find it hard to get up when that alarm goes off!
I only made a few alternate suggestions as I find this one very polished on my first read. I am unaccustomed to the longer lines and the placement of line breaks but it works and that's what counts.
Are you going to give this one a go in our IBPC Poll coming up on the 21st? If so, best of luck! This is a very original, wonderful poem.
~Cleo
[+] {-}
Somewhere--
where chimney smoke dots the distance
in synaptic gaps, like memory loss in warm rolling meadows, I tango
with the sun matching my every step. (How about silhouetting instead of matching)
Our growing heat--a fever un-indexed on any chart--
warms my neck as meadowlarks
{sing} [intone] warnings to intruders. I pause
in rehearsed mid-curve of a dip
to slip myself off; upside-down, the blue sky
Cleo,
My absolute apologies on my tardy reply. Since time has expired, I will send a permission e-mail for next month if that is an option. I have had my time absorbed outside of the virtual world.
Silhouetting is a great suggestion. Intone I will have to consider, since meadowlarks actually sing warning songs to other possible intruders (esp. other meadowlarks, when mating is intended).
Thanks you again for your kind comments and suggestions, I promise to try and come to a concluding version on this poem. I have just written one poem, between this and now...if that tells you my loss for creation. On the other hand, reading has been my best friend.
~Tim/azurepoetry
Hi Tim.
Yes, please DO send me back the permission PM when you can so I can add it in for the May nominations.
I look forward to seeing if you use 'Silhouetting' as an option as I think it will add a bit more movement in that line visually.
I hope your muse treats you kindly this month!
Cheers
~Cleo
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