Dear Oscar

[Leanne]

Revision 31/10/15

Dear Oscar, 


I have sent a rose. It is 
not red, I fear, for I can find no thorn
that's sharp enough to press my heart against.
Each night I dream of jewels uncovered by
the picks of men who bleed beneath the sweet
blue tent of sky – a blistered hand is soft
against the cheek of tyranny. Your palm
has cleared the path for asses; in your throat
you store the elegy, unsung, for men
who walk the hills of memory, but stand
behind the walls of law. Behind the blind
and crowing cock, whose dawn is lost to light.
Today I met a clown; I broke his wing
and set his heart aside to wait for spring.

Original Version

Dear Oscar, 

I have sent a rose. It is
not red, I fear, for I can find no thorn
that's sharp enough to press my heart against.
Each night I dream of jewels uncovered by
the picks of men who bleed beneath the sweet
blue tent of sky – a blistered hand is soft
against the cheek of tyranny. Your palm
has cleared the path for asses; in your throat
you store the elegy, unsung, for men
who walk the hills of memory, but stand
behind the walls of law. Behind the blind
and crowing cock, whose dawn is lost to light.
Dear Oscar, rest: your words have taken wing
and though our giant's gone, he lives in Spring.

[Clarko]

I really like this. I'm not completely certain what its about. I like it none the less. Perhaps if I knew who Oscar was...

[Leanne]

He's the supervisor at your local McDonald's. Ask him nicely and he'll give you a free pickle.

[rowens]

Oscar the Grouch. I think you reach heights between cheek of tyranny and asses. The poem up until asses and the semicolon shoots fire for me. Not that the rest of the poem is bad, it just slows down or drops off after that point. The blue tent of sky bit with the parts I mentioned, I think are very good. The rest works nicely, but is kind of an inflation. But lots of very good poems are like that. I just know I like the first half or so.

[Leanne]

Look, it was always going to be downhill from tyranny and asses

[Achebe]

Dear Oscar, 

I have sent a rose. It is
not red, I fear, for I can find no thorn
that's sharp enough to press my heart against. - bellissimo!
Each night I dream of jewels uncovered by
the picks of men who bleed beneath the sweet - all gold
blue tent of sky – a blistered hand is soft
against the cheek of tyranny. Your palm - clever take on 'turn the other cheek'
has cleared the path for asses; in your throat - outstanding
you store the elegy, unsung, for men
who walk the hills of memory, but stand
behind the walls of law. Behind the blind
and crowing cock, whose dawn is lost to light. - from 'sent a rose' until this is all peaks for me.
Dear Oscar, rest: your words have taken wing - asking the dead to "rest"....doesn't fit in with the high quality of the rest of the poem.
and though our giant's gone, he lives in Spring. - problematic. The gentle giant was not the Christ child. But surely the cock crowed for Christ? The analogy breaks down a bit here.

Overall, I really enjoyed reading this, and it is a beautiful tribute to OW.

[just mercedes]

I held back because I was riffing off the combination of Oscar Pistorius and Oscar Wilde, so my eyes did strange things with 'picks' and 'cocks' and soon I was baffled altogether. The language felt self-mocking so I was looking for satire when I read 'Your palm / has cleared the path for asses'. Is there a third level there?

[Leanne]

Beautiful poem. Don't like "rest", as OW wouldn't have cherished the notion of an afterlife, and let's face it, asking the dead to "rest" is cliched. Palm clearing the path for asses is a nice bibical image suggesting OW as Christ, reinforced by the cock crowing and the inexact hand-cheek analogy (striking tyranny's cheek with a blistered hand vs turning the other cheek to tyranny's hand - I loved this twist). The simile doesn't always work, as the Gentle Giant was not the Christ child...but I'll grant you that licence. Overall, I really enjoyed reading this, and it is a beautiful tribute to the man.
Question: I didn't get the allusion to the picks of men - is that from one of his fairy tales?

Thanks for having a look -- this is the first draft, although I've reworked the couplet a few times and I'm definitely not happy with it. It seems far too trite for me, but I did want to end on the giant (my favourite of his stories). With the picks I was stuck in Reading Gaol -- that's what started this whole idea actually, the contrast of what went before with what happened later. The cock is also stolen from Reading Gaol, but of course there are a lot of similarities between any tales of betrayal (though Oscar definitely was not a Christ!). I am not entirely happy with the level of allusion in this but as it is principally a tribute, I can probably live with it. I always find it quite difficult to express enough gratitude for his work when I know that he would not have appreciated any kind of fawning. I'm definitely open to suggestions, especially in regard to that closing couplet.

Thanks again.

[Leanne]

I held back because I was riffing off the combination of Oscar Pistorius and Oscar Wilde, so my eyes did strange things with 'picks' and 'cocks' and soon I was baffled altogether. The language felt self-mocking so I was looking for satire when I read 'Your palm / has cleared the path for asses'. Is there a third level there?

I'm not sure how many levels are there. I only wrote it

I was just thinking of Palm Sunday with that bit, but I don't really remember everything I had in my head at the time...

[rowens]

I do think you pick up solid again in the area between who walk the hills of memory and whose dawn is lost to light. You haven't lost the strength of the first lines there.

[Achebe]

Beautiful poem. Don't like "rest", as OW wouldn't have cherished the notion of an afterlife, and let's face it, asking the dead to "rest" is cliched. Palm clearing the path for asses is a nice bibical image suggesting OW as Christ, reinforced by the cock crowing and the inexact hand-cheek analogy (striking tyranny's cheek with a blistered hand vs turning the other cheek to tyranny's hand - I loved this twist). The simile doesn't always work, as the Gentle Giant was not the Christ child...but I'll grant you that licence. Overall, I really enjoyed reading this, and it is a beautiful tribute to the man.
Question: I didn't get the allusion to the picks of men - is that from one of his fairy tales?

Thanks for having a look -- this is the first draft, although I've reworked the couplet a few times and I'm definitely not happy with it.  It seems far too trite for me, but I did want to end on the giant (my favourite of his stories).  With the picks I was stuck in Reading Gaol -- that's what started this whole idea actually, the contrast of what went before with what happened later.  The cock is also stolen from Reading Gaol, but of course there are a lot of similarities between any tales of betrayal (though Oscar definitely was not a Christ!).  I am not entirely happy with the level of allusion in this but as it is principally a tribute, I can probably live with it.  I always find it quite difficult to express enough gratitude for his work when I know that he would not have appreciated any kind of fawning.  I'm definitely open to suggestions, especially in regard to that closing couplet.

Thanks again.

Leanne  - I changed my earlier post while you were commenting, so it reads differently now! but I think you've answered it all anyway.

[Leanne]

Any suggestions for the last lines? I'd quite like to keep the wing/spring thing because of the Happy Prince and of course, the giant, but I'm open to anything else (and even changing that if it needs to go). Would it work if I had:

Dear Oscar, all your words have taken wing

?

[billy]

he's a famous poet/writer who was jailed for his beliefs/actions, which at the time were deemed distasteful. google is your friend

I really like this. I'm not completely certain what its about. I like it none the less. Perhaps if I knew who Oscar was...

[billy]

cheek/asses and crowing cock all have sexual connotations for me, the crowing cock stands out of the poem as the most relevant phrase; it shows predisposition towards cock [his homosexuality], his refusal to be as st peter and deny his sexual inclinations [peter denied god], and Reading goal, the crowing cock being a turning point in his life, a wake up call.

i suppose i could find something i didn't like about or within the poem but to do so i'd have to take the part out of context. the inversion in the very first line is something i'd normally call out but the poem is or feels to be in the idiom of Wilde's period [no pun intended] and sort of falls into good use once a few lines have been read. possibly there's a little to much enjambment but again. the they do work in giving the reader new directions on what to think.

if i have a question it's this:

why on earth would you want to fuck about with it?
oh and;

Dear Oscar, all your words have taken wing

reads like something i'd right and that's definitely a no no.

if i had some constructive thought it would be to separate the rhyming couplet as it makes me want to see a rhyming sonnet.

[Achebe]

Any suggestions for the last lines?  I'd quite like to keep the wing/spring thing because of the Happy Prince and of course, the giant, but I'm open to anything else (and even changing that if it needs to go).  Would it work if I had:

Dear Oscar, all your words have taken wing

?

Some possibilities (all terrible, of course): I think 'wing' should allude to the Happy Prince swallow, else it's a bit of a waste.

Dear Oscar, all your words have taken wing
And swallow-like in our green gardens sing.

OR 

Swallow-like your words have taken wing
And though our giant's gone, he lives on in the spring.

[Leanne]

Revision may or may not work, who knows... but I am very grateful to you all, especially ronsaik. Thank you.

[rowens]

The in your throat elegy bit always seems flat to me. Maybe it's some direct reference to lines I don't remember, and relies on strength from there. But if it's not that then it seems like a sort of shortcut to get to the next, better lines. I don't know much. It's your poem and so you're going to make it better than anyone else's ideas.

[Achebe]

What a beautiful one. Bumping in remembrance.