#1
It is a night of resurrection, a territorial end.
An odyssey through the fatherland,
my heritage between the marshes.
The infrastructure of the tethered soul;
a reservation beyond hope- I have no beginning.
The traditional threshold of meditation,
a familiar pursuit through the coastal plains,
a progression through the formless labyrinth
in terror. “Take heed” my mother would say,
“it will be over soon.”
I shivered with reproach;
no thought is random-
our prayers will never be answered again!
I sowed the ashes of mutability
towards the higher ground
and unraveled the symmetry
of decadence marching;
a spectrum of synthetic harvest-
the miasmic season, vacant;
it takes a while to grow anything.
“I ask of you”, the people from my village would say
“is it in you now to gaze at the imperial coalition,
the peripheral revolution?
Don’t believe what you hear, don’t believe what you see.”
They pulled me under the disheveled fabric
of time, brittle as the wind is brittle.
On arrival there were no release,
no shelter.
The spatial communion, the mutual dialogue
between the things behind the chirping colony
of skewed dimensions and morals;
the inner resources
beneath the farmyard.
The unseen forces
toiled and caressed
the strange tongue of the herbalist,
the voice of injustice.
We listened:
“Do you feel like you have found your past
little boy? Outside
is a flute, a trumpet and a horn-
let me play it for you,
the ancient compositions
of deprivation.”
And he played
the howls of the primal drone.
Its very foundations,
its courtship and tension,
its bewitchment and salvation
were torn to the ground.
The gesture then ceased and the howling
faded.
“You see what you have done?
You peasant! You coakroach!”
I knew
as surely I knew
the holy spirit has departed
and the human race is enclosed.
I know there’s an answer
and I will wait, shrivelled
by the mist of lamentation and haze
that is gathered on this foreign land.
The echoes of my father’s last words
finally sang to me:

preserve your determination,
you have come a long way
Last edited by Bleed Away at Aug 30, 2010,
#3

It is a night of resurrection, a territorial end.
An odyssey through the fatherland,
my heritage between the mashes.
The infrastructure of the tethered soul;
a reservation beyond hope
- I have no beginning.

Epical without being pretentious. I'm guessing 'mashes' in line 2 is a typo (marshes?), but that's no big deal.

There's an interesting landscape here. This bit focuses less on creating a precise image than tying thoughts and feelings to impressions, which lets the audience apply those thoughts to the image in their own heads. I've always enjoyed poems and such that give room for the reader.



The traditional threshold of meditation,
a familiar pursuit through the coastal plains,
a progression through the formless labyrinth
in terror. “Take heed” my mother would say,
“it will be over real soon!”

Flows nicely from the previous section. Feels formal without being forced or silly. The only thing that bugged me was the final line, "it will be over real soon!" 'real' seems an odd choice of words in context.


I shivered with reproach;
no thought is random-
our prayers will never be answered again!
I sowed the ashes of mutability
towards the higher ground
and unraveled the symmetry
of decadence marching;
a spectrum of synthetic harvest-
the miasmic season, vacant;
it takes a while to grow anything.


Thoughts abound, particularly in the last half of this section. The line, "it takes a..." would make a stronger point if 'a while' was changed to something else. Like the thing I mentioned above, it seems slang-ey amidst formality.


“I ask of you”, the people from my village would say
“is it in you now to gaze at the imperial coalition,
the peripheral revolution?
Don’t believe what you hear, don’t believe what you see.”
They pulled me under the disheveled fabric
of time, brittle as the wind is brittle.
On arrival there were no release,
no shelter.
The spatial communion, the mutual dialogue
between the things behind the chirping colony
of skewed dimensions and morals;
the realms of the living dead and the inner resources [painful cliche, sticks out like a sore thumb]
beneath the farmyard. The unseen forces
toiled and caressed
the strange tongue of the herbalist,
the voice of injustice.
We listened:
“Do you feel like you have found your past
little boy? Outside
is a flute, a trumpet and a horn-
let me play it for you,
the ancient compositions
of deprivation.”
And he played
the howls of the primal drone.
Its very foundations,
Its courtship and tension,
Its bewitchment and salvation
were torn to the ground.
The gesture then ceased and the howling
faded.
“You see what you have done?
You peasant! You drunkard!”
I knew
as surely I knew
the holy spirit has departed
and the human race is enclosed.
I know there’s an answer
And I will wait, shrivelled
by the mist of lamentation and haze
that is gathered on this foreign land.
The echoes of my father’s last words
finally sang to me:
preserve your determination
you have come a long way


I was going to break up this last section into smaller parts and talk about each individually for the sake of convenience, but it would be a crying shame if I did. There's so much being stirred up here (I've some thoughts of my own that might not be appreciated publicly).

The only thing I'd think about is to avoid being so coy. Most of your stuff I've read hovers in that perfect place where abstractness heightens everything in the poem; here, the ideas are sunk a tad deeper and feel overwhelmed. Your poems have always been more intellectual than most in S&L, but there are bits and pieces that are ambiguous to the point of being confusing. But, that's about it.



Not the best, but definitely not shabby.
Last edited by Aeolian Harmony at Aug 27, 2010,
#4
I absolutely agree with you David, it is too abstract for my liking, and unintentionally so as well.

I took away the 'living dead' line, as it was REALLY cliche, like you mentioned. The 'inner resources' below the farmyard is actually the continuation of the 'harvest' imagery that I used previously. You may never reap your labour; your prosperity may never be conceived. So that was my main idea.

If there is anything you would like to know, just post here and I will try to explain it to you.

As always, thank you for reading.
Last edited by Bleed Away at Aug 28, 2010,
#5
i don't know, i think some of your other stuff is way more abstract. i do think this could be cut shorter, however.
i like.


hi fred :]
#6
i think that sometimes, the word choice is too much, or that it's too sophisticated. however, that's a stylistic and that's something that is to each his own.

i like this, and i definitely am interested in reading more from you.
#7
I thoroughly enjoyed this- I agree a bit with the abstract thing, but it really helped the work pose as scattered, yet of a single mind; as if the piece had its own nature in a sense.

one great thing about your work is that there are never standout lines- this is a very good thing, in my opinion, as it makes the piece very cohesive. another thing about the abstraction- it isn't random. abstraction and randomness are two separate things. these are different colours on the same canvas instead of splatter-work, if you receive my meaning.

I also very much appreciate how the dialogue isn't forced or vague as hell.

for the most part, what I derived from this piece was a greater sense of harvestery- writers, and professions of most kinds as gatherers despite the roles of our age; it also causes the reader to sift through the imagery, syllables falling away to create the greater sense of sound. reading this allowed added to it, I felt.

great piece. it isn't your best, agreed, but it certainly isn't your worst by far.
#8
i think it kind of lacks a foothold in the imagery/setting/ department but it kind of adds mysticism... though you could do that just by creating a 'mystical' environment so i guess that might make this more accessible, but i didnt think it was too abstract to get into. and with the exception of one or two small places i didnt think it was too wordy either. there have been times in the past where i thought the diction felt forced in your pieces but lately its been pretty on. nice work. i enjoyed this.

if you want to read https://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1355236 is new but its not a big deal
Anatomy Anatomy
Whale Blue Review

Park that car
Drop that phone
Sleep on the floor
Dream about me
#9
Quote by Bleed Away

I sowed the ashes of mutability
towards the higher ground
and unraveled the symmetry
of decadence marching;
a spectrum of synthetic harvest-
the miasmic season, vacant;
it takes a while to grow anything.


I loved this bit... thought I did read "decadence marching" as "decadent marching" the first time and enjoyed that delivery a bit more.

However, this seemed to drag-on a bit. There wasn't enough for me to latch onto to really warrant the length. By the end, I was grasping at invisible straws hoping to latch onto something. As always, your control of language is great, Fred, but I found myself wishing you had brought this down into a plane that wasn't a sheer verbose ode to complex plains that I can't examine or understand because you haven't brought them within my view.

Also: Welcome back, good sir.

If you get a chance, just a read and dropping a line on this would be appreciated: https://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1353698
#11
"and unraveled the symmetry
of decadence marching;
a spectrum of synthetic harvest-
the miasmic season, vacant;
it takes a while to grow anything."

GG lines.

My only problem with this is the form. The way you guide the reader in the way he should read the poem. I have mused on it; I do not have an answer as to how it can be adjusted, I just have a feeling that if it were adjusted in such a way, that this piece would be even more outstanding.

Oh, but I don't really feel the dialogue.

Also, you have an air of Steve (THW) that seeps more and more into your writing. I am kind of glad to see this around these parts again.

EDIT: Did not read Zach's comment. Guess those lines really are that great. :P
マリ「しあわっせはーあるいってこないだーからあるいってゆっくんだねーん 
いっちにっちいっぽみーかでさんぽ
 さーんぽすすんでにっほさっがるー 
じーんせいはっわんつー!ぱんち・・・


"Success is as dangerous as failure. Hope is as hollow as fear." - from Tao Te Ching