GAIA [revised 20 Mar 08], SECOND REVISION Options

[Psyche]

SECOND REVISION

GAIA

To unwind, to dream,
beneath the canopy of a willow-tree!
I wander your prairies, Gaia,
picture sunflowers smile
at summer skies,
charting the sun’s orbit till nightfall.

Vast terrains pretend to slumber,
guarded by languid owl-eyes
stalking slinky felines
and other unseen creatures of night.

I sleep beneath my leafy umbrella
as frogs croak the onset of dawn,
heralding showers flirting with rainbows.
In dreams I circumnavigate
mountain lakes, sight naissance of rivers.

I recite poems that nobody wrote,
wondrous words dormant in memories of the dead.
I gaze at Gothic cathedrals, the Taj Mahal,
Roman aqueducts dominating Italic olive groves,
Alexandria’s library perished beneath the sea.

Libelious lies and carnage disrupt my trance.

Where has love gone,
where the chubby toes of children?
Why does blossom wither by waysides?
Nuclear submarines inflame sapphire seas…

I've shared hope with shipwrecked migrants,
blending homage and heartache.
I am a refugee seeking a fresh life,
or just life...
I dream the dreams of all men.

I conjure up dust-bowls on Austral steppes,
Amazonia gutted by russet roads,
thawing glaciers thunder Andean slopes.

Ice cubes tremble in my crystal tumbler,
as I offer a toast to Gaia,
to mystery, unreason, riddles,
the paradox of her existence in space-time,
to reality.

Reality is the destruction I have caused her.
It is mourning a death foretold,
though Death is not her death
but mine.

By Psyche

Copyright: Sylvia Maclagan, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2007.




REVISION


GAIA

To unwind, to dream,
beneath the canopy of a willow-tree!
I wander your prairies, Gaia,
picture sunflowers smile at summer skies,
charting the sun’s orbit till nightfall.

Vast terrains pretend to slumber,
guarded by languid owl-eyes
stalking slinky felines
and other creatures of night.
I sleep on beneath my leafy umbrella,
even as frogs croak the arrival
of dawn showers flirting with rainbows.
In dreams I circumnavigate
mountain lakes, sighting naissance of rivers.

I recite poems that nobody wrote,
wondrous verses dormant in memories of the dead.
I gaze at Gothic cathedrals, Taj Mahal,
Roman aqueducts dominating Italic olive groves,
Alexandria’s library perished to the sea.

Libelious lies and carnage disrupt my trance:
Where has love gone,
where the chubby toes of children?
Why does blossom wither by waysides?
Nuclear submarines inflame sapphire seas…
I share dreams with drowned sailors,
blending homage and heartache.
I am a refugee seeking a fresh life,
or just a life...
I dream the dreams of all men.

I conjure barren austral steppes,
Amazonian forests fissured by red roads
and far-flung thawing glaciers.

Uneasily rattling ice-cubes in a crystal tumbler,
I offer a toast to Gaia,
to mystery, unreason, riddles,
the paradox of her existence in space-time,
.................................to reality.

Reality is the destruction I have caused her.
It is mourning a death foretold,
though Death is not her death
.................................but mine.

By Psyche

Copyright: Sylvia Maclagan, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2007.


ORIGINAL


GAIA

To unwind, close my eyes, to dream,
beneath the canopy of a willow-tree!
I wander your prairies, Gaia,
picture sunflowers smile at summer skies,
charting the sun’s orbit till nightfall.

Vast terrains pretend to slumber,
guarded by languid owl-eyes
stalking slinky felines, hares
and other creatures of night.
I sleep on beneath my leafy umbrella,
even as frogs croak the arrival
of dawn showers playing at rainbows
with the sun. In dreams I circumnavigate
mountain lakes, sight naissance of rivers.

I recite poems that nobody wrote,
wondrous verses dormant in memories of the dead.
And then I gaze at Gothic cathedrals,
at Taj Mahal, at Roman aqueducts
dominating Italic olive groves,
at Alexandria’s library perished in the sea.

Libel, lies and carnage disrupt my trance:
Where has love gone, where the chubby toes of children?
Why does blossom wither by waysides?
Nuclear submarines inflame sapphire seas…?
I share dreams with drowned sailors,
blending homage and heartache.
I am a refugee seeking a fresh life,
or just a life...
I dream the dreams of all men.

I conjure barren austral steppes
gasp at far-flung thawing glaciers,
Amazonian forests fissured by red roads,
while I uneasily rattle ice-cubes in a crystal tumbler.
I raise my tumbler and offer a toast
to Gaia, to mystery, unreason, riddles,
the paradox of her existence in space-time,
.................................to reality.

Reality is the destruction I have caused her.
It is mourning a death foretold,
though Death is not her death
.................................but mine.

By Psyche

Copyright: Sylvia Maclagan, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2007.

[Guest_Xanadu_*]

IMO this could use some editing. Kind of "less is more".

I loved the idea of a homage to Gaia, but when man`s architecture entered the scene,Gaia got lost. Man or nature?

[Psyche]

Yes, Linda, less is more... in this year and age! You're probably right.
I confess that I read classical literature in preferance to new stuff; just finished Dostoviesky's The Brothers Karamazov and now started The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, by Anne Brontë!!!
The same goes for poetry, not that I'm going to compare myself with classical poets...haha...I'll see what I can do, Linda, thanks for dropping by.

HA. Man or Nature? That is the question.

Hugs, Sylvia

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hi Sylvia,

Love the title and content here! I agree to an extent that perhaps a few snips here and there will make this lovely poem stand out even more in a more concise way. I’ll make some notes below. You’ve painted such a lovely image in my mind that I want to research this character so I thank you very much! Glad I had a chance to stop in and read this – the ending is spot-on as it’s poignant reversal of such beauty lies in the death of reality and the hopes that maybe our dreams can change the future.

Enjoyed!
~Cleo

[add] (comment)

To unwind, close my eyes, to dream,
beneath the canopy of a willow-tree! (what kind of canopy : verdant, lush?)
I wander your prairies, Gaia,
picture sunflowers['] smile at summer skies,
charting the sun’s orbit till nightfall.
(Lovely opening!)

Vast terrains pretend to slumber, (delete comma)
guarded by languid owl-eyes
stalking slinky felines, hares (delete hares and comma since you mention other creatures in next line)
and other creatures of night.
I sleep on beneath my leafy umbrella, (suggest changing ‘sleep’ to ‘dream’ for consistency to S1, we know the umbrella is leafy so suggest changing to a color word here)
even as frogs croak the arrival
of dawn showers playing at rainbows (maybe 'flirting' with rainbows followed by an endstop?)
with the sun. In dreams I circumnavigate (suggest deleting ‘with the sun.’ as it is redundant to ‘dawn showers’)
mountain lakes, sight[ing] naissance of rivers.
(Beautiful images carried through!)

I recite poems that nobody wrote, (maybe ‘no-one’)
wondrous verses dormant in memories of the dead. (change to semi-colon or emdash?)
And then I [then] gaze at Gothic cathedrals,
at Taj Mahal, at Roman aqueducts
dominating Italic olive groves,
[and] at Alexandria’s library perished in [to] the sea.

Libel, lies and carnage disrupt my trance: (suggest change to ‘Libelous lies’)
Where has love gone, where the chubby toes of children? (not sure second half of this line is necessary, at least move it to its own line to stand alone?)
Why does blossom wither by waysides?
Nuclear submarines inflame sapphire seas…? (delete the question mark here)
I share dreams with drowned sailors, (delete comma)
blending homage and heartache.
I am a refugee seeking a fresh life, (delete comma)
or just a life...
I dream the dreams of all men. (suggest moving this line to next stanza)

I conjure barren austral steppes (add comma)
gasp at far-flung thawing glaciers,
Amazonian forests fissured by red roads, (move up as L2)
while I uneasily rattle ice-cubes in a crystal tumbler. (delete endstop)
I raise my tumbler and offer a toast
to Gaia, to mystery, unreason, riddles,
the paradox of her existence in space-time,
.................................to reality.

Reality is the destruction I have caused her. (How about: Reality is her destruction?)
It is mourning a death foretold,
though Death is not her death (maybe change the second death to ‘end’?).................................but mine.

[Psyche]

Hi Lori!

Thank you for your detailed crit of my poem. I'm sure I can improve it with your suggestions.
Can't right now, as it will entail some studying...

I like to make poetry concise, but that doesn't mean 'short', as many people prefer nowadays. Never mind, it's just that I'm a hopeless admirer of such poets as Eliot, Sylvia Plath, Seamus Heaney, Walt Whitman et al. I just opened a page, at random, of Sylvia Plath's collection "Ariel", and found her poem "Tulips"... wow.... more than 2 pages of wondrous ramblings. We could snip out dozens of bits, but for me, it's masterly!

Well, I guess I can admire & admire, but it's hard to reach such heights!
I'm off now, hugs,
Sylvia ***

[Psyche]

Hi Lori!
At last I've done my homework on Gaia, following most of your suggestions and making some tweaks of my own. Thank you!

I'm still mulling over the last lines, the finale. I sometime use the first person singular
in a universal sense. It doesn't mean that I alone destroyed Gaia!
But I can understand that it might sound misleading to many people. Hmmm....

Bye for now,
Syl ***

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hi Sylvia,

I foind it again! I had wanted to nominate this and it slipped down the page!

One more option might be to change reality as follows;

Uneasily rattling ice-cubes in a crystal tumbler,
I offer a toast to Gaia,
to mystery, unreason, riddles,
the paradox of her existence in space-time,
.................................to reality;

Reality that which, not-withstanding is the her destruction. I have caused her.
It is mourning a death foretold,
though Death is not her death
.................................but mine.


Check your PM!
~Cleo

[AMETHYST]

Oh my Sylvia,

I adore the visuals and the context of this poem, very nicely done. I haven't taken the time to read through any other replies, however I am focusing on the revision so hopefully I won't repeat too much. :)


Hugs, Liz

GAIA

To unwind, to dream,
beneath the canopy of a willow-tree!
I wander your prairies, Gaia,
picture sunflowers smile at summer skies,
charting the sun’s orbit till nightfall.

The first few lines are strikening images and start to immediately shape the view for the reader. I thought perhaps L4, might work well if 'at summer skies, was brought down to its own line. There is a very pleasing sound blend through out and I find it works well in all stanzas.

Vast terrains pretend to slumber,
guarded by languid owl-eyes
stalking slinky felines
and other creatures of night.

I would suggest a stanza break after 'creatures of night' ... Perhaps there is a way to make this more active. I love the use of 'pretend' to imply that it's sleepiness can be deceiving - L2, perhaps switching the words around. 'languid owl-eyes guard' (this to my ear makes it more active) as well as including another word to sharpen the 'other creatures' perhaps 'and other unseen creatures of night'

I sleep on beneath my leafy umbrella,
even as frogs croak the arrival
of dawn showers flirting with rainbows.
In dreams I circumnavigate
mountain lakes, sighting naissance of rivers.

I would suggest omitting 'on' and in L2, omit even
I would bring up 'of dawn' to end of line 2 and add like before showers.

I recite poems that nobody wrote,
wondrous verses dormant in memories of the dead.
I gaze at Gothic cathedrals, Taj Mahal,
Roman aqueducts dominating Italic olive groves,
Alexandria’s library perished to the sea.

Would you consider ;

I recite unwritten poems,
wondrous verses dormant
in memories of the dead, I gaze
at Gothic Cathedrals, the Taj Mahal,
...

Libelious lies and carnage disrupt my trance:
Where has love gone,
where the chubby toes of children?
Why does blossom wither by waysides?
Nuclear submarines inflame sapphire seas…
I share dreams with drowned sailors,
blending homage and heartache.
I am a refugee seeking a fresh life,
or just a life...
I dream the dreams of all men.

I would put an end stop after carnage and bring down disrupt my trance; down 1 line
then where the narrator begins questioning the changes perhaps bring it to a new stanza ...

I would also suggest omitting 'or just a life' as I felt '...seeking a fresh life,' has stronger meaning an intent. Actually the last line ... " I dream the dreams of all men.' would be an excellent ending line of the poem.

I conjure barren austral steppes,
Amazonian forests fissured by red roads
and far-flung thawing glaciers.

Uneasily rattling ice-cubes in a crystal tumbler,
I offer a toast to Gaia,
to mystery, unreason, riddles,
the paradox of her existence in space-time,
.................................to reality.

Reality is the destruction I have caused her.
It is mourning a death foretold,
though Death is not her death
.................................but mine.

By Psyche

I really would take that line 'I dream the dreams of all men -" and leave it on its own after ... though death is not her death .... but mine. / I dream the dreams of all men.

It has a very serious context and can leave the reader feeling intrigued.

Anyway. I hope I've helped some I think this poem is exciting and mysterious. A wonderful read and I will be reading it again!

I second Lori's Nomination to IBPC! :)

Hugs, Liz

[Psyche]

Hi Lori!

Here I am, so happy to be nominated for IBPC. I should thank you in another thread, but I'm a slowbee so if I don't do it now, it might take ages. Anyway, I have some revisions to do that are more important, thanks to you and now LIz. Thank you, Lori, and Liz for seconding your nom...

I think I'll have to remove those light yellow dots that I used to push some words forward. They won't do if this poem is printed elsewhere, will they? I think I'll use italics...mmm....

Hugs and I'll also study this new suggestion,
Syl ***

[Psyche]

Oh my Liz...LOL... I'm always so pleased when you crit my poems, because you come up with really great ideas.

I won't comment on them right here, as I need to save on energy (FMS, ya know...), so I'll go straight to revising and hope it'll flow nicely.

I am fascinated by your suggestion of moving that line to the finale.... hmm... my only worry is that there are plenty of bad men who must 'dream' horrid things.... rather complex issue, I'll see what I can come up with...

Many thanks, Liz,
hugs, Syl ***