Not For The Thin-Skinned

[Angeline]

Nope, it's not in the poem, but it's still an amazing poem.

The Hollow Men

T. S. Eliot (1925)
I


We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar


Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;


Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.


II


Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.


Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --


Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom


III


This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.


Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.


IV


The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms


In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river


Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.


V


Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.


Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow


For Thine is the Kingdom


Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow


Life is very long


Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom


For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the


This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

 

[twelveoone]

No it was Pound "Station tf the metro' - I forget the title

THE apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough. - Pound

off topic. I had forgotten how much of cliche it became - screw it. I have it something I'm writing, I hope if it gets finished, some will see where it came from and why it is there.

 

[twelveoone]

BTW, notice the huge style difference between Hollow Men and the Wasteland

 

[Angeline]

No it was Pound "Station tf the metro' - I forget the title

THE apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough. - Pound

off topic. I had forgotten how much of cliche it became - screw it. I have it something I'm writing, I hope if it gets finished, some will see where it came from and why it is there.

Damnit I was close. I knew I was close!

 

[PatCarrington]

WSO, 1201, ange,

thanks for tossing the poem around while i was gone. going through the thread, i found a lot of helpful questions and ideas. i have done a bit of rewriting -- nothing major, though.

the only strophe i would be recalcitrant about changing is the last, which i think is exactly what i wanted -- i wanted to end it with an amorphous image.

i did indeed intentinally twist the cliche "face in the crowd" around to "crowd without a face", and also wrote it:

Content in the crowd without a face,
I have become...

so the reader can not tell whether it is the crowd that is faceless, or me. hopefully, the reader will read and feel BOTH.

the idea for the poem came, of course, from Pirandello's play "Six Characters in Search of an Author." that drama has been running around in my head for years...the idea that you could just walk out of your life and look, or wait, for someone else to write the rest of it, then watch and argue over what you would and wouldn't have done.

and ange. there is no theater, per se, in the poem. it was meant to be metaphorical for life in general. that's why i used words like 'house' and 'street'
and 'fires and accidents' in the first strophe.

and The Hollow Men is ALWAYS in my head somewhere, as are Prufrock and Wasteland. references from them are liable to pop up with me anywhere, anytime (as in the first strophe of this poem...."as the progress swells" from Prufrock)...

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
to swell a progress, start a scene or two...

WSO - this thread was made for viciousness...practice up.

thanks all.

 

[wildsweetone]

and The Hollow Men is ALWAYS in my head somewhere, as are Prufrock and Wasteland. references from them are liable to pop up with me anywhere, anytime (as in the first strophe of this poem...."as the progress swells" from Prufrock)...



WSO - this thread was made for viciousness...practice up.

thanks all.

Like I said, I don't do viscious critiques, sorry. I try to keep that for my fiction.

I looked up Prufrock, because no matter what I'd like to think, I do read a little. Can you tell me, when a poet writes a poem, is it other poets or readers of that time that dissect the poem and purposely hunt out references that might have been used (i.e. like 1201 and Ange did with yours)? Or, does the author of the poem state that he/she has used other poems for inspiration? Or, is it normally years after that people begin dissecting the writing?

(should have started a new thread asking this i guess as it's kind of off topic.)

 

[twelveoone]

and The Hollow Men is ALWAYS in my head somewhere, as are Prufrock and Wasteland. references from them are liable to pop up with me anywhere, anytime (as in the first strophe of this poem...."as the progress swells" from Prufrock)...


thanks all.

Damn it, I missed it

 

[Angeline]

WSO, 1201, ange,

thanks for tossing the poem around while i was gone. going through the thread, i found a lot of helpful questions and ideas. i have done a bit of rewriting -- nothing major, though.

the only strophe i would be recalcitrant about changing is the last, which i think is exactly what i wanted -- i wanted to end it with an amorphous image.

i did indeed intentinally twist the cliche "face in the crowd" around to "crowd without a face", and also wrote it:

Content in the crowd without a face,
I have become...

so the reader can not tell whether it is the crowd that is faceless, or me. hopefully, the reader will read and feel BOTH.

the idea for the poem came, of course, from Pirandello's play "Six Characters in Search of an Author." that drama has been running around in my head for years...the idea that you could just walk out of your life and look, or wait, for someone else to write the rest of it, then watch and argue over what you would and wouldn't have done.

and ange. there is no theater, per se, in the poem. it was meant to be metaphorical for life in general. that's why i used words like 'house' and 'street'
and 'fires and accidents' in the first strophe.

and The Hollow Men is ALWAYS in my head somewhere, as are Prufrock and Wasteland. references from them are liable to pop up with me anywhere, anytime (as in the first strophe of this poem...."as the progress swells" from Prufrock)...

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
to swell a progress, start a scene or two...

WSO - this thread was made for viciousness...practice up.

thanks all.

My dear, you can not write a play about Pirandello and use denouement and not have theater come to mind. You know?

 

[twelveoone]

Like I said, I don't do viscious critiques, sorry. I try to keep that for my fiction.

I looked up Prufrock, because no matter what I'd like to think, I do read a little. Can you tell me, when a poet writes a poem, is it other poets or readers of that time that dissect the poem and purposely hunt out references that might have been used (i.e. like 1201 and Ange did with yours)? Or, does the author of the poem state that he/she has used other poems for inspiration? Or, is it normally years after that people begin dissecting the writing?

(should have started a new thread asking this i guess as it's kind of off topic.)

It is generally not a good idea to write with an overrealiance of references. Pat's poem stands on its own, there is an expectation that you look up Pirandello, so he has one name rather unique, one word that is beyond a reasonable vocabulary. It is perhaps Angeline's and my readings that enable us to enjoy it further.
That aerosol can that sprays our future on a wall had me in stiches, because of the history of it.
This is the point I trying to make about the reading and the enjoyment of seeing what the others are doing, it increases the depth, but something must be on the surface first.

 

[PatCarrington]

My dear, you can not write a play about Pirandello and use denouement and not have theater come to mind. You know?

i know, dear.

it was meant to 'come to mind.'

i just wasn't sitting in it.

...the whole world's a stage.

 

[wildsweetone]

It is generally not a good idea to write with an overrealiance of references. Pat's poem stands on its own, there is an expectation that you look up Pirandello, so he has one name rather unique, one word that is beyond a reasonable vocabulary. It is perhaps Angeline's and my readings that enable us to enjoy it further.
That aerosol can that sprays our future on a wall had me in stiches, because of the history of it.
This is the point I trying to make about the reading and the enjoyment of seeing what the others are doing, it increases the depth, but something must be on the surface first.

I understand what you're saying.

However, I also understand that different people have different levels of enjoyment. On my level of enjoyment of Patrick's poem, there were things that didn't seem quite right for me so I mentioned them. I guess it depends on what the author's aim is for his/her writing.

 

[PatCarrington]

It is generally not a good idea to write with an overrealiance of references. Pat's poem stands on its own, there is an expectation that you look up Pirandello, so he has one name rather unique, one word that is beyond a reasonable vocabulary. It is perhaps Angeline's and my readings that enable us to enjoy it further.
That aerosol can that sprays our future on a wall had me in stiches, because of the history of it.
This is the point I trying to make about the reading and the enjoyment of seeing what the others are doing, it increases the depth, but something must be on the surface first.

i agree, it is not a good idea to overrely on references.

i think with most writers, they just pop in unintentionally, even one level below the conscious maybe.

i think the writing process is extremely interesting, and probably works different for everyone.

i have all this stuff running around in my head, like it's balanced on a spinning merry-go-round. when i write, the merry-go-round spins faster and faster, and things flies off that i haven't thought of for years. all of a sudden, it's on my fingertips. some kind of connection gets made to determine what spills off, depending on what i'm writing about. there's a "magnet of relevance" at work, pulling specific, related things toward me. one idea triggers another, and that idea becomes a magnet.

i don't know if anyone else's brain works that way when they write. i suspect all have their own method, and much of it is involuntary.

 

[PatCarrington]

I understand what you're saying.

However, I also understand that different people have different levels of enjoyment. On my level of enjoyment of Patrick's poem, there were things that didn't seem quite right for me so I mentioned them. I guess it depends on what the author's aim is for his/her writing.

what 1201 said...'there is an expectation that you look up Pirandello'...is correct. that name was put in the title for a reason.

it's a bad habit many people i know have -- they pass words they do not know as if they are not there. that is a bad enough idea when reading prose. with poetry, it is a terrible habit.

to get any feel of where my head was at when i wrote the poem, ( In Search of Pirandello ) you need to either know him, or google ( research ) him a little. if you do, you should find the play "Six Characters in Search of an Author" in a prominent place. it is why i also put the word "search" in the title.

plus, the title makes sense for the subject matter of the poem, of course.

 

[Angeline]

i know, dear.

it was meant to 'come to mind.'

i just wasn't sitting in it.

...the whole world's a stage.

yes and we are merely players who strut and fret until the last syllable of recorded time, full of sound and fury signifying nothing but never mind that...

 

[twelveoone]

I understand what you're saying.

However, I also understand that different people have different levels of enjoyment. On my level of enjoyment of Patrick's poem, there were things that didn't seem quite right for me so I mentioned them. I guess it depends on what the author's aim is for his/her writing.

There is nothing wrong with that. Every author's aim and audience is different. It is your job as a writer to look and mention what does not seem right, if a reasonable explanation comes back to you, you learned something.
I write with the expectation that no-one will know what I am doing, when they do, I'm surprised and pleased, if no one does, I failed.

 

[twelveoone]

what 1201 said...'there is an expectation that you look up Pirandello'...is correct. that name was put in the title for a reason.

it's a bad habit many people i know have -- they pass words they do not know as if they are not there. that is a bad enough idea when reading prose. with poetry, it is a terrible habit.

to get any feel of where my head was at when i wrote the poem, ( In Search of Pirandello ) you need to either know him, or google ( research ) him a little. if you do, you should find the play "Six Characters in Search of an Author" in a prominent place. it is why i also put the word "search" in the title.

plus, the title makes sense for the subject matter of the poem, of course.

Damn, I found Henry IV, got lost in that Engish guy

 

[wildsweetone]

what 1201 said...'there is an expectation that you look up Pirandello'...is correct. that name was put in the title for a reason.

it's a bad habit many people i know have -- they pass words they do not know as if they are not there. that is a bad enough idea when reading prose. with poetry, it is a terrible habit.

to get any feel of where my head was at when i wrote the poem, ( In Search of Pirandello ) you need to either know him, or google ( research ) him a little. if you do, you should find the play "Six Characters in Search of an Author" in a prominent place. it is why i also put the word "search" in the title.

plus, the title makes sense for the subject matter of the poem, of course.

my bad again

 

[sandj]

I've been reluctant to post anything here, not because my skin is too thin but rather because I worry that I haven't contributed enough. Still, I've fought with this poem for months, and I can't seem to rein it in, give it an adequate structure. When I wrote the first draft, I didn't break any lines, just wrote freehand to the edge of the page, just trying to get it out and on paper before it got away from me (as sadly often happens when I think too long about things as I'm writing them). However, in the months since, I'm afraid that has been my biggest stumbling block, so I wonder if perhaps it might have been better off lost.

Anyway, my primary concern here is structure, the way it looks on the page, its shape, and how that affects the way it reads. That said, any and all suggestions are welcome.

Tear it up. Let's see if anything survives.

horsedreams

Please understand,

it’s not so much the fact you dreamed I was a horse that has me spooked,
that keeps me up at night (since who among us, after all, controls her dreams?)
or that you chose to turn this strange and unexpected metamorphosis
to your advantage, mounted my back, and took the reins in hand, or that we rode
across the hillside, your hair blown wild-red by wind, your body given up to me, your laughter and my mane
alive, my legs carrying us faster, each stride a momentary lift, rising off the ground, the joy
suspended in an instant, the distance stretching out behind, tireless pace
advancing across an endless landscape. What worries me
is the proud look in your eye when you think I can’t see,
the narrow appraising gaze, aimed not at me but through,
that seems to say, yes, with a saddle and a pair of wings
we could fly.

 

[sandj]

not supposed to be breaks...

after "her" in line 2

after "we" in line 4

after "to" in line 5

or

after "the" in line 6

Then again, I don't actually know what I'm doing here, so maybe the breaks should stay. I give.
Sorry.

 

[PatCarrington]

I've been reluctant to post anything here, not because my skin is too thin but rather because I worry that I haven't contributed enough. Still, I've fought with this poem for months, and I can't seem to rein it in, give it an adequate structure. When I wrote the first draft, I didn't break any lines, just wrote freehand to the edge of the page, just trying to get it out and on paper before it got away from me (as sadly often happens when I think too long about things as I'm writing them). However, in the months since, I'm afraid that has been my biggest stumbling block, so I wonder if perhaps it might have been better off lost.

Anyway, my primary concern here is structure, the way it looks on the page, its shape, and how that affects the way it reads. That said, any and all suggestions are welcome.

Tear it up. Let's see if anything survives.

horsedreams

Please understand,

it’s not so much the fact you dreamed I was a horse that has me spooked,
that keeps me up at night (since who among us, after all, controls her dreams?)
or that you chose to turn this strange and unexpected metamorphosis
to your advantage, mounted my back, and took the reins in hand, or that we rode
across the hillside, your hair blown wild-red by wind, your body given up to me, your laughter and my mane
alive, my legs carrying us faster, each stride a momentary lift, rising off the ground, the joy
suspended in an instant, the distance stretching out behind, tireless pace
advancing across an endless landscape. What worries me
is the proud look in your eye when you think I can’t see,
the narrow appraising gaze, aimed not at me but through,
that seems to say, yes, with a saddle and a pair of wings
we could fly.

well....the structure it has now certainly doesn't help. you know that i assume, which is why it's here.

everyone line breaks differently, so there are a thousand structures that are possible.

i just laid it out and broke the lines once where it felt right. i'm sure it's not what i would do if i worked on it more, but i just tried to do it naturally for me. (and i took the line in parenthesis out - not because it was parenthesized, but because i really don't like the line at all - it bothered me how it interrupted the flow of the poem.)

hope this helps a bit.


horsedreams

please understand, it’s not
so much the fact you dreamed
I was a horse that has me spooked,
that keeps me up at night,
or that you chose to turn
this strange and unexpected metamorphosis
to your advantage, mounted my back
and took the reins in hand,
or that we rode across the hillside,
your hair blown wild-red by wind,
your body given up to me,
your laughter and my mane alive,
my legs carrying us faster, each stride
a momentary lift, rising off the ground,
the joy suspended in an instant,
the distance stretching out behind,
tireless pace advancing
across an endless landscape.
What worries me is the proud look
in your eye when you think I can’t see,
the narrow appraising gaze, aimed
not at me but through, that seems to say,
yes, with a saddle and a pair of wings
we could fly.

 

[Angeline]

well....the structure it has now certainly doesn't help. you know that i assume, which is why it's here.

<snip>

I wrote two sonnets yesterday.

 

[PatCarrington]

I wrote two sonnets yesterday.

me too.

good morning.

 

[Angeline]

me too.

good morning.

the meter must be hiding in the lines of free verse.

good morning, you.

 

[PatCarrington]

the meter must be hiding in the lines of free verse.

good morning, you.

if Judo is willing to feed me some of those chocolate-dripping strawberries, perhaps i'd be a more willing pupil.

hey, shouldn't you be working out, or teaching, or spreading veggie cream cheese on bagels for your man...or something, instead of messing around on porn sites?

 

[Angeline]

if Judo is willing to feed me some of those chocolate-dripping strawberries, perhaps i'd be a more willing pupil.

hey, shouldn't you be working out, or teaching, or spreading veggie cream cheese on bagels for your man...or something, instead of messing around on porn sites?

Judo is da bomb. Ever read any of her poems? Gosh I miss her. When I first came here and everyone said who the hell is Angeline and why does she think she's a poet (well some people, lol), Judo said "Hey, I like Lester Young, too.

And I'm not working out this morning--I need a day off, I'm leaving to teach shortly, and he brought me the bagel with veggie cream cheese...and lilacs to put on my desk.

This is a porn site?