AsphodelElysium wrote:Yes, and the content needs a great deal of work as well. It seems choppy and repetitive to me. My metaphors aren't tight enough and I'm explaining too much where I should be giving the reader more credit.
But then its always the way with a new poem. I agonize with it, go without sleep, on and on, until its in some semblance of poetry. I usually have a title in mind before I start but this one was different.
I was often told that poetry, well, writing in general was never finished, it was abandoned. Do you think that holds true?
Your metaphors, madam, are bastardly sturdy and strong here--tight enough to wind up a kite in mid gale. Here's what I mean:
But always
threatening,
forever the breath on the nape,
an inky, black fog.
Rolling, upwards
twisting,
choking the
fleeting delights
so that even sorrow
balks at it.
A vengeful beast
panting
sticky sweet malice and
suffocating rage,
thirsty for blood and misery.
Slow, subtle poisons
more fatal than that
which
killed Socrates
block the sky,
brew a storm,
raise an army,
to
destroy my brief blisses.
Forced changes
turn my mind to a maelstrom,
my heart, to a weighted Sisyphean stone.
Lightning
strikes.
All that trembling poetic action! Many times poems have great adjectives and descriptives, but lack a certain extraordinary
impact--ever notice that when you read someone's poetry who may be sort of a dilettante, or someone just starting out with verse? I don't mean that in an elitist way, I mean that to prove a point with regard to more seasoned poetry--like that of yours and Stephen's...that action is palpable, tangible and stalwart...it almost knocks you aside a bit as if to say, "Feel that!" or "Sense this!" It ferries the bang or the blow alongside "images beautiful and strange..."
That, my dear AE, is
poetry...

I'm a bit embarrassed, I have to say, for jumping in here--I've been reading all of your great conversations (feeling a bit pouty and aloof) while I'm so busy wrapping up the school year this week and writing my last paper for an independent study class this semester--the last one before I will officially finish my Keats thesis. I just haven't had time to post much and I miss the hell out of everyone.
I have a few poems brewing (nothing of greatness) so, hopefully, the Muse will bite my neck soon.
oh! I have something to share with everyone--will do it in another thread...
Bravo on the gorgeous poem, AE. Your style is reminiscent of Stephen's--you are both extremely brilliant poets...I am honored to be in your company!!
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the Truth of Imagination."