When the rains have ended,
when the pity has run dry,
when the gulls go blind on the empty shore,
you shall remain.
When the quake has settled,
when the flood has stilled,
when the grass reclaims the carnage,
you shall remain.
When the stone has spoken,
when the road has failed,
when the ocean refuses an answer,
you shall remain.
When the hours wilt in silence,
when the forests rot with woe,
when the blood has thinned to air and water,
you shall remain.
When the sky has closed its eyes,
when the last monument falls,
when the dead must bury themselves,
still, you shall remain.
And when the ages have been slain,
when the temples forget their purpose,
when the memory is ice
and the rains begin to fall once more,
we shall know
what it was to live.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
I really like the above poem, Harrowing. It sounds like a story. I can't speak for others, but I know that the poem brought very distinct pictures to mind as I read it. My favorite line has got to be "When the sky has closed its eyes,".
Consider this thread subscribed; I love your work!
I quite like that one. Normally your stuff tends to be a little obscure to me. One read through was enough to get the impact I think. Good job. :)
The only reservation I have is the line "when the grass reclaims the carnage" because grass is a very persistant thing, especially to people who weed gardens with neat borders (;)) so it doesn't seem to fit with the rest of the imagery there. I suppose then that it's one word rather than the line itself. :)
More seriously, the idea was grass reclaiming areas of desolation, deserts and scorched plains and the like. It makes sense in the context of the book, if that helps. The story ends with an apocalyptic sorcerous winter descending on the empire, freezing and killing all things living. The poem is written from the perspective of the god of summer, addressing his servant who did this to the land.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
Depends on who is talking I guess. Just doesn't really fit to me with ending rains and blind gulls. Of course, I think of grass and I think lush green. Maybe you have something else in mind?
I rather enjoyed your poetry, thoroughly. Slightly disappointing that you have posted any more in a month or so. Would be very interested in reading more. I should hope you'll give mine an audience. You might find our imagery remarkably similar.
Here's one I just wrote tonight for class tomorrow. My professor is urging us to experiment with form, so... that's what I'm doing here. Not really my favored way to write poetry, but I don't think it came out too horribly.
Edit: I hate trying to format things. Those aren't supposed to be offset from each other on the right and left by a line like they are, they should be on the same line. This editor hates me.
Adam Kadmon
Reflection
Looking glass held to the abyss
Love of God or Love of Wisdom?
Necessity of Being
Genius
I exist
Who observes?
Truth transcended
I Am only what I Am
Totality
Beauty and Terror
For you alone
Can I do wrong?
I must release myself
Who Am I?
Can I be loved?
I tremble
Timeless
A plague among stars
Learning to imagine pain
Do I know guilt?
Origin eludes me
I cannot move
And yet
I
s h u d d e r
What is this
that I have wrought?
Explanation for those interested.
The form is supposed to be the image of the Sephirotic Tree of Life, emanating from the godhead of the Autogenetic Primal Man (Adam Kadmon) and descending through the various hypostases of the mind of God until reaching the physical world at its root where mortal humanity lies.
It's also an exploration of the human mind (divorced of any spiritualistic context in this case) and the impulses on a subconscious level, the relationship we have with ourselves, how we come to view ourselves as life imprints itself upon us, etc.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
This is interesting. I find myself less focused on what lines are actually saying though, as much as I am on moving the lines around and re-ordering the groupings into new poems.
I read the whole thing first, left to right and down as the lines fell normally, as though there was no form. I found I liked it better reading it as though each cluster of aligned lines was a poem or stanza by itself, and it reads like three poems if one looks at the left justified stanzas, the right justified, and the middle "trunk" of the tree.
One thing though, the bottom portion, the "root" of the tree I suppose, feels like an add on to me, more like an after thought. It feels like one of those questions that is there to no real purpose. That's my only criticism really. Otherwise, I like it. :)
I agree with Quiet. This can show up in many ways to one perception. It kind of divides your thought process for you. I enjoyed reading this in the order that the Tarot's Fool supposedly journeys the Tree of Life. I liked your Daath. I read that part wrong the first time. I thought it said "I am only what I am - Totally". When I realized it said totality, it changed the whole poem for me.
Interesting. These sound like questions that need answers. I think this is pretty phenomenal, actually. A little revealing, but a very interesting way of writing.
Maybe it's a condition, ever think of that? No, no you didn't. You never thought, "oh maybe he's sensitive about his invisible eyes." Maybe it's a skin condition.
Well, thank you both for your comments, some excellent food for thought. I'm going to bring it into class tomorrow to see what my professor thinks, though I'm anticipating a lot of "huh?"'s from my classmates.
In truth, I'm not even really sure where this came from. I had the basic idea in mind, but it really sort of wrote itself. I'm surprised at how well it came out.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
The best poems tend to do that I think. There's a sentiment I heard on good poetry, about how each word that follows the next is the only one that could follow it. In that way, every word in a poem is a word that should be there.