Favorites on Literotia

[greenmountaineer]

GM, I just saw today that you included my poem Animated Comfort in this thread. Thank you for your comment and thank you butters for recalling the poem and favoriting it back when I wrote it. Looking back I realize that poem enabled me to write another poem, Chagall's Bride. I remember when I was writing Comfort, I kept thinking of those paintings where the brides are floating in the sky and the images kind of guided me through the writing. But afterward I felt I hadn't really said what I wanted and that morphed into the other poem. I wonder do others have this experience, where you feel you're reaching for something you just miss but that eventually leads to another poem on the same theme?

At first glance, I thought yes. Coincidentally I just finished a poem that started out as a lament for a former colleague who committed suicide and left behind two young children. He was a police official who was found to have porn pictures of underage teenage girls on his work computer. The first poem spoke of forgiveness, starting with yourself. The second poem, "Gray," for me at least raises the question is there ultimately such a thing as forgiveness, an accounting, a final judgement? What does it really matter? I'm still not satisfied with the poem, so I'll probably still work at it, but it's a far cry from where it began. Had Dave forgiven himself, would he lived and raised his two kids? I don't know. That left me unsettled.

But to your broader question, I looked at some of my poems, and except for changes in word choice, syntax, or something similar, the theme in my mind was clear, even when the poetry wasn't.

I'm going back to read "Chagall's Bride" when I get a chance and compare it to "Animated Comfort" to see how they connect.

 

[legerdemer]

GM, I just saw today that you included my poem Animated Comfort in this thread. Thank you for your comment and thank you butters for recalling the poem and favoriting it back when I wrote it. Looking back I realize that poem enabled me to write another poem, Chagall's Bride. I remember when I was writing Comfort, I kept thinking of those paintings where the brides are floating in the sky and the images kind of guided me through the writing. But afterward I felt I hadn't really said what I wanted and that morphed into the other poem. I wonder do others have this experience, where you feel you're reaching for something you just miss but that eventually leads to another poem on the same theme?

Chagall is among my very favorite artists. I love his work. I can't wait to read your poem later today.

 

[Angeline]

At first glance, I thought yes. Coincidentally I just finished a poem that started out as a lament for a former colleague who committed suicide and left behind two young children. He was a police official who was found to have porn pictures of underage teenage girls on his work computer. The first poem spoke of forgiveness, starting with yourself. The second poem, "Gray," for me at least raises the question is there ultimately such a thing as forgiveness, an accounting, a final judgement? What does it really matter? I'm still not satisfied with the poem, so I'll probably still work at it, but it's a far cry from where it began. Had Dave forgiven himself, would he lived and raised his two kids? I don't know. That left me unsettled.

But to your broader question, I looked at some of my poems, and except for changes in word choice, syntax, or something similar, the theme in my mind was clear, even when the poetry wasn't.

I'm going back to read "Chagall's Bride" when I get a chance and compare it to "Animated Comfort" to see how they connect.

I'll be interested to hear what you think (if you have thoughts to share). I have my own ideas but I'll hold back so as not to influence your reaction.

Chagall is among my very favorite artists. I love his work. I can't wait to read your poem later today.

I love him, too. There's a whimsical and luminous quality to his work that I adore.


Thanks both of you again, It has been a hard year for me, but I'm starting to come back to the world, so to speak.

 

[greenmountaineer]

I pasted these two wonderfully written poems together because of Angie's post indicating a connection between the two.

Animated Comfort
byAngeline©
Summer should not
be ripe for sadness not
when trees toss their hair
like casual schoolgirls
but stand otherwise still,
cool in blind assurance
like feckless flowers
or fruit waiting to fall
from the vine.

The world overflows
with secrets but crows
jeer no matter the season.
I hear them laughing
in the mornings knowing
they will be fat
as plums on the snow
when our ground is frozen,
our branches whip thin.

I toss my hair and flutter
my fingers but otherwise
am still at the window.
I can't pretend sovereignty
over trees or plums but here
stories in squirrels, pines,
dragonflies, nothing
like people but animate
them to feel something,
to glimpse an uncle
in the forsythia brush,
a grandfather shadow
in slanting afternoon.

I've been meaning to tell you
that the sky is closer
to the earth here. It's brighter,
the clouds have more
dimension. I've been meaning
to tell you but I don't
know who you are,
just that you are fleeting
as a butterfly wing
or dandelion fluff.

When the moon rises
I quicken the stars, beg
them to whisper my name,
gather tears in the palm
of my hand and pretend
they are mother's, sister's.
I fly into the night to comfort
the moon and tell it we are
some kind of family.

Chagall's Bride
byAngeline©
I sail into midnight
in a gown of cobwebs,
in firefly earrings.
I skim barefoot past spirits,
float above zombie louts,
those Calibans below
who wonder and stumble.

I am alone trailing memory
in a dusty blue wake,
singing thin hymns to the night.
It swallows them whole.

Tears skate my cheeks like mercury.
They burn and fall in silver beads,
each a starry story, particles
of promise that dot the sky.
Follow them and you may find
the sabbath where I've blessed bread twice,
pulling air to me,
pulling HaShem to me.

My whispers curse the darkness
and shatter yarzheit candles.
Crows glide up from the earth
and speak from empty eyes.
Perhaps they see angels.
I do not.

I am occupied. I scatter
the barren ground with prayer
cast in radiant dust and so
the Perseids are active tonight.

I spent an enjoyable hour this morning Floating above reality, to borrow a phrase with these two poems and two cups of coffee. I saw a pilgrim in both, someone seeking something, almost to the point of desperation, not sure if she will ever find what she's looking for. The striking images for me were nature and the spirits of deceased loved ones in Animated and in Chagall's disassociation from others (zombie louts,..Calibans) and immersion in religious ritual. Everything seems to miss the mark, so to speak, but the poet keeps searching.

Speaking of which, if I've missed the mark, feel free to set me straight or amplify as necessary.

Good poetry can have us floating above reality for a while in our imaginations. These did for me.

 

[Angeline]

I pasted these two wonderfully written poems together because of Angie's post indicating a connection between the two.

Animated Comfort
byAngeline©
Summer should not
be ripe for sadness not
when trees toss their hair
like casual schoolgirls
but stand otherwise still,
cool in blind assurance
like feckless flowers
or fruit waiting to fall
from the vine.

The world overflows
with secrets but crows
jeer no matter the season.
I hear them laughing
in the mornings knowing
they will be fat
as plums on the snow
when our ground is frozen,
our branches whip thin.

I toss my hair and flutter
my fingers but otherwise
am still at the window.
I can't pretend sovereignty
over trees or plums but here
stories in squirrels, pines,
dragonflies, nothing
like people but animate
them to feel something,
to glimpse an uncle
in the forsythia brush,
a grandfather shadow
in slanting afternoon.

I've been meaning to tell you
that the sky is closer
to the earth here. It's brighter,
the clouds have more
dimension. I've been meaning
to tell you but I don't
know who you are,
just that you are fleeting
as a butterfly wing
or dandelion fluff.

When the moon rises
I quicken the stars, beg
them to whisper my name,
gather tears in the palm
of my hand and pretend
they are mother's, sister's.
I fly into the night to comfort
the moon and tell it we are
some kind of family.

Chagall's Bride
byAngeline©
I sail into midnight
in a gown of cobwebs,
in firefly earrings.
I skim barefoot past spirits,
float above zombie louts,
those Calibans below
who wonder and stumble.

I am alone trailing memory
in a dusty blue wake,
singing thin hymns to the night.
It swallows them whole.

Tears skate my cheeks like mercury.
They burn and fall in silver beads,
each a starry story, particles
of promise that dot the sky.
Follow them and you may find
the sabbath where I've blessed bread twice,
pulling air to me,
pulling HaShem to me.

My whispers curse the darkness
and shatter yarzheit candles.
Crows glide up from the earth
and speak from empty eyes.
Perhaps they see angels.
I do not.

I am occupied. I scatter
the barren ground with prayer
cast in radiant dust and so
the Perseids are active tonight.

I spent an enjoyable hour this morning Floating above reality, to borrow a phrase with these two poems and two cups of coffee. I saw a pilgrim in both, someone seeking something, almost to the point of desperation, not sure if she will ever find what she's looking for. The striking images for me were nature and the spirits of deceased loved ones in Animated and in Chagall's disassociation from others (zombie louts,..Calibans) and immersion in religious ritual. Everything seems to miss the mark, so to speak, but the poet keeps searching.

Speaking of which, if I've missed the mark, feel free to set me straight or amplify as necessary.

Good poetry can have us floating above reality for a while in our imaginations. These did for me.

First off, many thanks for spending time with my words and considering them. Your summation is about right although I think I was trying to convey longing more than desperation in both pieces. Maybe they can be interpreted as the same thing though to me there's a shade of difference. Also both poems are about accepting the whole natural world as family, albeit in the absence of those lost.

Looking at them together I think Animated Comfort should follow Chagall's Bride, maybe take out some of the obvious repetition and make them a single poem with the two parts.

If there's anything you think I should change to achieve what I'm aiming at, feel free to lay it on me. Either way I appreciate the time you spent on it. I know that is effort.

 

[greenmountaineer]

First off, many thanks for spending time with my words and considering them. Your summation is about right although I think I was trying to convey longing more than desperation in both pieces. Maybe they can be interpreted as the same thing though to me there's a shade of difference. Also both poems are about accepting the whole natural world as family, albeit in the absence of those lost.

Looking at them together I think Animated Comfort should follow Chagall's Bride, maybe take out some of the obvious repetition and make them a single poem with the two parts.

If there's anything you think I should change to achieve what I'm aiming at, feel free to lay it on me. Either way I appreciate the time you spent on it. I know that is effort.

I read "Chagall's" before "Animated" and agree the sequence, although nuanced, worked better. It would be interesting to read if they were combined, but, to be honest, I like them as stand alones or perhaps as I. followed by II. on continuous pages.