Poetry in Progress ~ construction zone

[sophieloves]

Lepidopterist
by Tzara©

So like a butterfly,
wings glazed with dew, spread
to dry in early sun.

With my tongue's very tip,
carefully I touch the head.
It flutters, blushes. Plumps.

and this has to be the best butterfly metaphor poem i've ever read it is perfectly exquisite

published?

 

[lorencino]

Please, I need some technical directions.

I say you submit it and either continue to work with it or write something new. In fact, I think you should write something new either way. Write two new somethings.

After a lot of effort with the non-poem I posted for Nov 11, I realized that the piece I originally wrote in prose did not want to be a poem and had no intention of ever allowing me to create the feeling of a poem. It was worth the time spent to understand that there is a difference between poetry and prose even if I have no idea of what it is--the whole business is sub-intellect for now. I did however have a a sort of aphoristic conclusion to the interior struggle:

Words are the building blocks of poetry
Just as wood chips are the building blocks of trees.

The poem was appropriate for the day it appeared but now that time has flowed past the occasion I want to take it down. So now the problem is: How do I delete my non-poem from literotica

 

[DeepAsleep]

You always surprise or, at least, entertain me, which to a jaded oldster of my sensibility is tantamount to the same thing.

Please tell me you wear those really baggy pants that fall off your still skinny hips. I've always wanted to have a son to whom I could complain about his style of dress.




I'd love to complain about your taste in music, but so far you haven't given me much chance. Did you like the Wiggles?

I wear clothes that fit. If you've got the tattooed, pierced kids who have a proclivity for tighter clothing, and wearing scarves (thick black glasses, butchy, across the forehead haircuts, etc.) that's closer to what I tend towards. Blazers, t-shirts, jeans, chuck taylors or motorcycle boots. I am, sadly, sort of stylish. Or, sort of sadly stylish. It depends on your frame of reference. I sort of miss dressing like a greaser, tho'. that was a fun year. The cost of pomade alone was brutal, however.


~R
Seriously? Come on, now.

 

[Tzara]

I wear clothes that fit. If you've got the tattooed, pierced kids who have a proclivity for tighter clothing, and wearing scarves (thick black glasses, butchy, across the forehead haircuts, etc.) that's closer to what I tend towards. Blazers, t-shirts, jeans, chuck taylors or motorcycle boots. I am, sadly, sort of stylish. Or, sort of sadly stylish. It depends on your frame of reference. I sort of miss dressing like a greaser, tho'. that was a fun year. The cost of pomade alone was brutal, however.


~R
Seriously? Come on, now.

My frame of reference is Brooks Brothers, but then I have always felt inferior that I didn't go to Hahvahd or Yale.

Not yer problem.

FYI: I wore Chuck Taylors when they were still actually basketball shoes. They gave me blisters. Adidas Superstars were a big-time upgrade, despite enslaving kids in China. Or Malaysia, or wherever they manufactured them at the time.

I know, I know. Prolly too old fer you to care about.





You did not directly answer my question about the Wiggles. Is that cowardice or irritation? Do I care?

Actually, no. Vaya con Dios, Sir R. Go slam people.

 

[Tzara]

After a lot of effort with the non-poem I posted for Nov 11, I realized that the piece I originally wrote in prose did not want to be a poem and had no intention of ever allowing me to create the feeling of a poem. It was worth the time spent to understand that there is a difference between poetry and prose even if I have no idea of what it is--the whole business is sub-intellect for now. I did however have a a sort of aphoristic conclusion to the interior struggle:

Words are the building blocks of poetry
Just as wood chips are the building blocks of trees.

The poem was appropriate for the day it appeared but now that time has flowed past the occasion I want to take it down. So now the problem is: How do I delete my non-poem from literotica

If you want to delete a poem, submit something (you don't need any text) with the title Original Title-DELETE, where "original title" is the title of the poem you want to remove.

 

[Sara Crewe]

Where do we fill out the official complaint forms for illegal use of a non-sexy by Tzara?


sincerely,

Sara
The unsexy-stair-hypocrite

 

[Tzara]

Where do we fill out the official complaint forms for illegal use of a non-sexy by Tzara?


sincerely,

Sara
The unsexy-stair-hypocrite

I'm non-sexy?

Ooh. That hurts. Hurts bad. Hurts badly bad.

Welcome back from teacherdom, Ms. Crewe.

 

[Sara Crewe]

I'm non-sexy?

Ooh. That hurts. Hurts bad. Hurts badly bad.

Welcome back from teacherdom, Ms. Crewe.

You are currently bedecked in a white whig and for me, that's the epitome of unsexy. It doesn't suit you....I would go back to Leonard or some other sexy dude.


Thanks. However, I am not really back. I just finished report cards and my brain has run away to Lit.

I am not sure if real life will look for me here or not. I think I have a little time...I'm sure it will check the closets and under the bed first.

 

[Tzara]

You are currently bedecked in a white whig and for me, that's the epitome of unsexy. It doesn't suit you....I would go back to Leonard or some other sexy dude.


Thanks. However, I am not really back. I just finished report cards and my brain has run away to Lit.

I am not sure if real life will look for me here or not. I think I have a little time...I'm sure it will check the closets and under the bed first.

Sorry. I was off eating dinner.

Hey! Am me now recreated as sexy dead rock star! Is that it makes me dude?

But I am modern manliness. I will help grade tests! Carry out garbage, unasked! Semi-occasionally make dinner, so long as you want take-out pizza!

Happy man! That all woman want!

The line forms to the left, as I am a Democrat.

Line there up, girlies, I mean women!

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Sorry. I was off eating dinner.

Hey! Am me now recreated as sexy dead rock star! Is that it makes me dude?

But I am modern manliness. I will help grade tests! Carry out garbage, unasked! Semi-occasionally make dinner, so long as you want take-out pizza!

Happy man! That all woman want!

The line forms to the left, as I am a Democrat.

Line there up, girlies, I mean women!

Dudettes?

 

[DeepAsleep]

My frame of reference is Brooks Brothers, but then I have always felt inferior that I didn't go to Hahvahd or Yale.

Not yer problem.

FYI: I wore Chuck Taylors when they were still actually basketball shoes. They gave me blisters. Adidas Superstars were a big-time upgrade, despite enslaving kids in China. Or Malaysia, or wherever they manufactured them at the time.

I know, I know. Prolly too old fer you to care about.





You did not directly answer my question about the Wiggles. Is that cowardice or irritation? Do I care?

Actually, no. Vaya con Dios, Sir R. Go slam people.

Well, nice. I'm a big fan of the adidas clamshells, too, but Chucks give you the indy kid street-cred, around here. Which I'm wild about. Yay, street-cred.. yeah. Anyway - they don't bother me, as I've got skinny feet, so no blisters. Arch support, however... yeah, I need new shoes.

I'll say I've got nothing against a good suit. A tool for every occasion, & etc.


~R
Maybe I'm not old enough to appreciate kids' music? Nice dig, though.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Words are the building blocks of poetry
Just as wood chips are the building blocks of trees.

Right, then, I have something to toss into the chipper...

I really hate it when I have an Idea for a poem. Ideas suck. I do much better when I'm just reporting on something and inviting readers to watch, if they wish.

But once in a while I get an Idea, and many of my attempts at TZ's challenge this month have, unfortunately, resulted in Ideas that I find myself wanting to communicate.

So here's the experiment. I'm going to actually say the Idea that I'm aiming at, and y'all can maybe tell me if I'm getting there or even close, with these two attempts.

The head in question:

Cycladic culture, 2000 BCE

The Idea:
The original "function" of this head is buried with the culture that created it. But I see it as a way of meditating on that which is under the skin, the divine Lover or essential self that Tantrics recognize - it's the reason that a Tantrika is flattered, rather than insulted, when you call her someone else's name in bed. Ideally, EVERYONE else's name.

So looking at this head, I see this meditation on imagining all the features of everyone you've ever loved, family, friends, spouses, everyone, superimposed there, and eventually realizing that this is the real self, the undifferentiated Divine, the God we all contain. There's also that thing that That Bastard DeepAsleep, who I love truly, expressed so succinctly, the idea that we are all essentially separate, even at our most conjoined, because we cannot reach that which lies underneath and beyond the living skin, we cannot actually make love to the eternal soul.

*whew* yeah. and like that, and stuff. So: deconstruct these rough rough rough drafts. Run them through the chipper. Tell me they're crap. Whatever.

Attempt Number 1:

If form follows function then
what is the use of these
perfect shadows
except to lead the eye inside the stone
of every face.
Look, long enough to feel
your own active gaze, look for
the paint that is flesh
see the mouths that have opened to you
each one a holograph over the stone.
Your lovers, their gazes electric on yours
speak, open, kiss
we are stone
beneath a moment of flesh
beneath the mirage of the body.



Attempt #2

This single shadow,
slanting, makes mouth
and brow. Neither portrait
nor icon, but
incantation
surging from the stone. Look:
every face you loved
have kissed, is there
rising out of the planes.
Watch the mouth open to you
gaze into every eye
shape soft cheekbones
with your fingertips.
Believe, believe this is
your lover, your spouse.
It is a simple leap of faith.
You know it well:
you do this every night.

*

 

[PandoraGlitters]

But once in a while I get an Idea, and many of my attempts at TZ's challenge this month have, unfortunately, resulted in Ideas that I find myself wanting to communicate.
The Idea:
The original "function" of this head is buried with the culture that created it. But I see it as a way of meditating on that which is under the skin, the divine Lover or essential self that Tantrics recognize - it's the reason that a Tantrika is flattered, rather than insulted, when you call her someone else's name in bed. Ideally, EVERYONE else's name.

I was told by TheRainMan recently to never write without an idea. Maybe this is what he meant. In any case, I think this idea is a good one because it is compelling. I think I feel this way because it goes against the more usual idea that individuality is the most important thing. I couldn't imagine being flattered to blend in with every other woman a lover has had until reading these drafts. So that's a good thing, I think.

except to lead the eye inside the stone

I like this line from the first draft, too, but I think that the introduction to the second draft is more genuine in its engagement.

Believe, believe this is
your lover, your spouse.
It is a simple leap of faith.
You know it well:
you do this every night.

This ending is just :::wow::: for me. I love it. It's entirely possible that I'm not someone you should listen to, incidentally. I'm no expert. I don't have four degrees, let alone in literature. But I think this is good stuff.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Pandora, thank you. I was beginning to think I had killed this thread.

Your feedback is helpful. It's true that most people can't imagine it being a GOOD thing to be called someone else's name. To me, that means that someone has moved beyond seeing me as an individual and is seeing something closer to the Divine, the archetypal feminine, all the women they've ever loved, all combined.

Anyway, before I get too far off on that tangent... Glad you liked those lines; I'm rather determined to keep working on trying to communicate this idea/image, one way or another. I suspect if I actually manage to do it well I'll get to go to poet heaven.

xo
bijou

 

[Angeline]

Pandora, thank you. I was beginning to think I had killed this thread.

Your feedback is helpful. It's true that most people can't imagine it being a GOOD thing to be called someone else's name. To me, that means that someone has moved beyond seeing me as an individual and is seeing something closer to the Divine, the archetypal feminine, all the women they've ever loved, all combined.

Anyway, before I get too far off on that tangent... Glad you liked those lines; I'm rather determined to keep working on trying to communicate this idea/image, one way or another. I suspect if I actually manage to do it well I'll get to go to poet heaven.

xo
bijou

You didn't kill the thread! I was going to comment on it the night you wrote it, but eagleyez was talking to me and I couldn't get my thoughts in order. I finally gave up lol.

Anyway what I was going to say, and I still think this a few nights later, is that I like both versions. For example, I really like this:

If form follows function then
what is the use of these
perfect shadows
except to lead the eye inside the stone
of every face.
Look, long enough to feel
your own active gaze, look for
the paint that is flesh
see the mouths that have opened to you
each one a holograph over the stone.

except for the last line, which doesn't really work for me.

If you could mix them together so that you keep the first beginning (except for the holograph line) and this:

gaze into every eye
shape soft cheekbones
with your fingertips.
Believe, believe this is
your lover, your spouse.
It is a simple leap of faith.
You know it well:
you do this every night.

I think I'd like it even more. You'd have to cut the first half back a little to make them fit, maybe like this:


If form follows function,
what is the use of these
perfect shadows
except to lead the eye
inside the stone of every face?

Look long enough to feel
your own active gaze.
Look for the paint that is flesh,
see the mouths that have opened to you.
Gaze into every eye, shape
soft cheekbones with your fingertips
and believe, believe this
is your lover, your spouse.
It is a simple leap of faith.
You know it well:
you do this every night.

Just a thought, another way to do it. It's an interesting idea and a good poem.

 

[champagne1982]

I think I'd like it even more. You'd have to cut the first half back a little to make them fit, maybe like this:


If form follows function,
what is the use of these
perfect shadows
except to lead the eye
inside the stone of every face?

Look long enough to feel
your own active gaze.
Look for the paint that is flesh,
see the mouths that have opened to you.
Gaze into every eye, shape
soft cheekbones with your fingertips
and believe, believe this
is your lover, your spouse.
It is a simple leap of faith.
You know it well:
you do this every night.

Just a thought, another way to do it. It's an interesting idea and a good poem.

I'm going to riff off of Ange a minute and I don't know who wrote these words: "Word made flesh." but, 'tis the season and somehow they feel like a carol lyric.

It's this line in your poem, particularly the one word, (bolded) that is giving me grief: is your lover, your spouse.
I'd write it: is your lover, your love made flesh.

Apart from that, I think it is beautiful. I love art and sculpture, it amazes me how the artist can form the medium into something so beautiful and concrete. Have you read my poem, The Sculpture? That's my take on what you're moving through here.

 

[sophieloves]

just reading through, catching up on what i've been awol from. some wonderful words and images here that leap right off the screen into my head!

 

[DeepAsleep]

This single shadow,
slanting, makes mouth (I like the sound of this bit very much.)


and brow. Neither portrait
nor icon, but
incantation
surging from the stone. Look:
every face you loved (Hrmph. I dunno if this fits with the rest of the sentence.)
have kissed, is there
rising out of the planes. (What planes? Good opportunity for a nutcracker phrase)

Watch the mouth open to you
gaze into every eye
(Meh.)

shape soft cheekbones
with your fingertips.
(Interesting.)


Believe, believe this is
your lover, your spouse.
It is a simple leap of faith.
(Hmm. Why should I?)

You know it well:
you do this every night.
(Was this supposed to feel accusatory? "We," maybe?)

I liked this one, best, though I dunno if you made me think of tantra or meditation

 

[iceburg1]

acres of green that fill me in
dusty red
gnarly brown
a dead cow...the smell sickly sweet
take it in let it rain on your skin
driving by so far to go
black bitumen red dust
dead cows
dead cows
nothing stretches for miles comes back to you
embraces you loves you
feel at peace in nothingness with so much
hear the sounds in absolute silence
hear the corroboree when no ones there
the past and present all one

 

[Tathagata]

If form follows function
what use are these
sublime shadows ( or some other "S" word)
but to escort the eye inside the stone ( transport?)
of every face.
Witness
your own active gaze,
I'm not sure active is the right word, and I'm not sure what you are trying to say
realize flesh is but paint
a distracting decoration
see mouths that have opened to you
as holographs over the stone.
Your lovers gazes,electric on yours,
speak, open, kiss
we are stone
beneath a moment of flesh
beneath the delusion of body.




~shrug~
just quick thoughts
I like the idea of it
this is the best i could do with half a cup of coffee

 

[unpredictablebijou]

I am so very grateful for all this feedback! It certainly feels like this one might be worth banging on, despite its Idea-ness.

I'm actually printing out the various posts and edits, and looking closely at them all. I haven't disagreed with much offered here - these are all very helpful assertions.

DeepAsleep, an interesting point about that "you do it every night". I must admit that's a bit of a sacred cow, in the idea sense, but I could certainly change it to "we". Only thing is, since the rest of the piece is sort of in second person imperative, I thought that might be a bit of a hiccup if I suddenly shifted to "we" there. But yeah, I need to look at that, obviously.

I'm liking everyone's take on it. I'm going to lay all the drafts side by side tonight and play Go Fish.

Again, gratitude for all the help. I'm studyin' hard on it all.

blessings
bj

 

[ElmerGlew]

.....

 

[annaswirls]

I was told by TheRainMan recently to never write without an idea.

oh good lord, I do love the man, but girl, you write how you wanna write, sometimes the ideas are unearthed in the process of writing

some of my best (or at least my favorite) poems have come without a freakin idea of what I was going to write. It is what is hidden under the words that cannot come out until you dig the top layers off that I find to be the most interesting. Raw and real, not planned.

of course, it also produces a lot of piles of dirt. sweep them aside. keep looking for gems, Ms. Glitters


but that is just my wee opinion.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Thank you, Anna. I'll keep a dustbuster handy.

oh good lord, I do love the man, but girl, you write how you wanna write, sometimes the ideas are unearthed in the process of writing

some of my best (or at least my favorite) poems have come without a freakin idea of what I was going to write. It is what is hidden under the words that cannot come out until you dig the top layers off that I find to be the most interesting. Raw and real, not planned.

of course, it also produces a lot of piles of dirt. sweep them aside. keep looking for gems, Ms. Glitters


but that is just my wee opinion.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Putting on Shoes

The beginning of the hum is so faint
fracturing at the edge of the air
that your brain hasn't registered
itself separate from its dream

and then the day that comes
presents itself and we rise to it
or we fail. You are on time, love.
Now swell your lungs with morning;

each day is a paper ladder.




Speaking of line breaks, is this better? Or worse?

Putting on Shoes
The beginning of the hum is so faint
fracturing at the edge of the air
that your brain hasn't registered
itself separate from its dream

and then the day that comes
presents itself and we rise to it
or we fail. You are on time, love.
Now swell your lungs with morning;
each day is a paper ladder.