The Med is a graveyard.

[JamesG]

I haven't posted, or indeed written anything, for a while, but this came to me unbidden today

All feedback welcome


Second draft

The Med is a graveyard.


Crying underwater, salt mixes with the fresh,

an unholy alchemy, dissolving with the rest.

My body drifts

down the river, to the sea,

weighed down by the cloth I hold,

in my hands a birthday suit,

sodden, full of light.

The weeds, the sea-weeds

caress my puckered skin

they wrap me in their bladderwrack adoration

Gently flagellating, parting like the sad

Magician’s curtains, to reveal a host,

a flock of ragged tourists, floating just above the

grey, grey dance floor, toes describing

arabesques through the silt of a thousand expeditions,

clasping their dreams like children.

Sometimes, just clasping,

their children.

Milk eyes stare in blank accusation

of my misremembered life.

I never knew the sea, the sea

had so much hope, and misery,

buried deep down where

the salt and fresh collide.


First draft

The Med is a graveyard.



Crying underwater, salt mixes with the fresh,

an unholy alchemy, dissolving with the rest.

My body drifts

weighed down by the cloth I hold,

in my hands a funeral wreath,

a birthday suit, sodden, full of light.

The weeds, the sea-weeds

caress my puckered skin

they wrap me in their bladderwrack adoration

Gently flagellating, parting like the sad

Magician’s curtains, to reveal a host,

a flock of ragged tourists, floating just above the

grey, grey dance floor, dismal toes describing

arabesques through the silt of a thousand expeditions,

clasping their dreams to their chests like children.

Sometimes, just clasping,

their children.

Milk eyes stare in blank accusation

of my misremembered life

I never knew the sea, the sea

had so much hope and misery

buried deep down where

the salt and fresh collide.

[JohnS]

I haven't posted, or indeed written anything, for a while, but this came to me unbidden today

All feedback welcome


The Med is a graveyard.



Crying underwater, salt mixes with the fresh,

an unholy alchemy, dissolving with the rest.

My body drifts

weighed down by the cloth I hold,

in my hands a funeral wreath,

a birthday suit, sodden, full of light.

The weeds, the sea-weeds

caress my puckered skin

they wrap me in their bladderwrack adoration

Gently flagellating, parting like the sad

Magician’s curtains, to reveal a host,

a flock of ragged tourists, floating just above the

grey, grey dance floor, dismal toes describing

arabesques through the silt of a thousand expeditions,

clasping their dreams to their chests like children.

Sometimes, just clasping,

their children.

Milk eyes stare in blank accusation

of my misremembered life

I never knew the sea, the sea

had so much hope and misery

buried deep down where

the salt and fresh collide.

Hi,

I'm sure someone more qualified than I will be along to give you a more informed critique, but in the meantime I have a few comments:

I don't get the salt mixing with fresh, or colliding, situation which seems to be crux of the poem. 

I've read the poem a few times and whilst it reads well, I think, I'm struggling with some of the detail. This body sinking into the sea is holding a funeral wreath and also, it seems, a cloth. I had assumed the body was enclosed in cloth, but the next few lines reject that impression - birthday suit, puckered skin.

The description of the seaweed and the sea floor with the tourist bodies is very effective.

I'm clearly too thick to grasp the meaning, but I hope some of this helps.

[JamesG]

I haven't posted, or indeed written anything, for a while, but this came to me unbidden today

All feedback welcome


The Med is a graveyard.



Crying underwater, salt mixes with the fresh,

an unholy alchemy, dissolving with the rest.

My body drifts

weighed down by the cloth I hold,

in my hands a funeral wreath,

a birthday suit, sodden, full of light.

The weeds, the sea-weeds

caress my puckered skin

they wrap me in their bladderwrack adoration

Gently flagellating, parting like the sad

Magician’s curtains, to reveal a host,

a flock of ragged tourists, floating just above the

grey, grey dance floor, dismal toes describing

arabesques through the silt of a thousand expeditions,

clasping their dreams to their chests like children.

Sometimes, just clasping,

their children.

Milk eyes stare in blank accusation

of my misremembered life

I never knew the sea, the sea

had so much hope and misery

buried deep down where

the salt and fresh collide.

Hi,

I'm sure someone more qualified than I will be along to give you a more informed critique, but in the meantime I have a few comments:

I don't get the salt mixing with fresh, or colliding, situation which seems to be crux of the poem. 

I've read the poem a few times and whilst it reads well, I think, I'm struggling with some of the detail. This body sinking into the sea is holding a funeral wreath and also, it seems, a cloth. I had assumed the body was enclosed in cloth, but the next few lines reject that impression - birthday suit, puckered skin.

The description of the seaweed and the sea floor with the tourist bodies is very effective.

I'm clearly too thick to grasp the meaning, but I hope some of this helps.

I doubt it has anything to do with your intelligence and more with my wilful obscurity :0)

The poem was inspired by a thought that came to me, as they do, of whether it is possible to cry underwater, and thinking about how salt tears would dissolve or dissipate in a greater body, like a river flowing into the ocean. However, I guess that would be the other way around, as that would be fresh water into salt. That then fed into my own thoughts surrounding the many migrants that have died, men, women, and children, crossing the Mediterranean in the hope of a new life, which I guess creates another reading of the metaphor for the salt and the fresh.

[wasellajam]

Hi, James, welcome back! Please don't forget to leave some feedback for others.
You've got some great images here, some notes on my read:

I haven't posted, or indeed written anything, for a while, but this came to me unbidden today

All feedback welcome


The Med is a graveyard.



Crying underwater, salt mixes with the fresh,

an unholy alchemy, dissolving with the rest.

My body drifts

weighed down by the cloth I hold,

in my hands a funeral wreath,

a birthday suit, sodden, full of light.
Here I have a nude, dead body holding the wreath, a strong image. I'm lost on the "cloth" and how it's held.

The weeds, the sea-weeds
Now I see I have resolved L1 as "salt" being tears and "fresh" meaning lake or river incorrectly, we're in the sea. "Med" in the title is Mediterranean? Both sea and tears are salty, where is the fresh water?

caress my puckered skin

they wrap me in their bladderwrack adoration

Gently flagellating, parting like the sad

Magician’s curtains, to reveal a host,
"The weeds...curtains" a clear, interesting image, "bladderwrack" is new to me, thanks.

a flock of ragged tourists, floating just above the

grey, grey dance floor, dismal toes describing
Not a fan of the double grey or dismal toes.

arabesques through the silt of a thousand expeditions,
Lovely line.

clasping their dreams to their chests like children.
I'm not buying "like children", do they cherish their dreams while they're young?

Sometimes, just clasping,

their children.
I think these 3 lines could use a tweak, I could do without the comma after clasping.

Milk eyes stare in blank accusation

of my misremembered life
I'm taking milk eyes as children, these lines sitting well.

I never knew the sea, the sea

had so much hope and misery
hope and misery, ugh. Also, I'm not getting much hope anywhere in the poem.

buried deep down where

the salt and fresh collide.
Nice circle if I had made sense of the first line.

This poem was fun to read, I hope my notes help in some way, thanks for posting it.

[JamesG]

Hi, James, welcome back! Please don't forget to leave some feedback for others.
You've got some great images here, some notes on my read:

I haven't posted, or indeed written anything, for a while, but this came to me unbidden today

All feedback welcome


The Med is a graveyard.



Crying underwater, salt mixes with the fresh,

an unholy alchemy, dissolving with the rest.

My body drifts

weighed down by the cloth I hold,

in my hands a funeral wreath,

a birthday suit, sodden, full of light.
Here I have a nude, dead body holding the wreath, a strong image. I'm lost on the "cloth" and how it's held.

The weeds, the sea-weeds
Now I see I have resolved L1 as "salt" being tears and "fresh" meaning lake or river incorrectly, we're in the sea. "Med" in the title is Mediterranean? Both sear and tears are salty, where is the fresh water? 
Yeah, I am aware that this "salt and fresh, doesn't entirely make a whole lot of sense. I may have to rethink and reword it. The original idea came from the idea of mixing salt tears with fresh water, which doesn't really work if the subject is already in the sea (the Med)

caress my puckered skin

they wrap me in their bladderwrack adoration

Gently flagellating, parting like the sad

Magician’s curtains, to reveal a host,
"The weeds...curtains" a clear, interesting image, "bladderwrack" is new to me, thanks.

a flock of ragged tourists, floating just above the

grey, grey dance floor, dismal toes describing
Not a fan of the double grey or dismal toes.
I'll look at this, although I am a fan of repetition

arabesques through the silt of a thousand expeditions,
Lovely line.

clasping their dreams to their chests like children.
I'm not buying "like children", do they cherish their dreams while they're young?
I guess that isn't clear; it is meant to be as if they were clasping their hopes and dreams as if they were children to their breasts.  

Sometimes, just clasping,

their children.
I think these 3 lines could use a tweak, I could do without the comma after clasping.
Yes I would agree

Milk eyes stare in blank accusation

of my misremembered life
I'm taking milk eyes as children, these lines sitting well.

I never knew the sea, the sea

had so much hope and misery
hope and misery, ugh. Also, I'm not getting much hope anywhere in the poem.
 
Not too sure about that "hope and misery" bit, seems a bit obvious 
buried deep down where

the salt and fresh collide.
Nice circle if I had made sense of the first line.

This poem was fun to read, I hope my notes help in some way, thanks for posting it.

[JamesG]

I don't know how to do the previous version thing so I will just post the edit here. There is a line in this that might be considered controversial, which wasn't my intention; I just wrote it to try to tie the poem together and then thought after the fact it might be problomatic, but I have left it in...

Edit


The Med is a graveyard.


Crying underwater, salt mixes with the fresh,

an unholy alchemy, dissolving with the rest.

My body drifts

down the river, to the sea,

weighed down by the cloth I hold,

in my hands a birthday suit,

sodden, full of light.

The weeds, the sea-weeds

caress my puckered skin

they wrap me in their bladderwrack adoration

Gently flagellating, parting like the sad

Magician’s curtains, to reveal a host,

a flock of ragged tourists, floating just above the

grey dance floor, toes describing

arabesques through the silt of a thousand expeditions,

clasping their dreams like children.

Sometimes, just clasping,

their children.

Milk eyes stare in blank accusation

of my misremembered life.

I never knew the sea, the sea

had so much hope, and misery,

buried deep down where

the salt and fresh collide.

[wasellajam]

Hi, click the link in my sig for how to post an edit. Also, adding (edit) to the title while you're in the OP will bring attention to the addition.

[thewilderhen]

In this poem you are mediating your experience by using your body. This makes the poem about you experiencing what you are experiencing. It waters (sorry) down the impact. What value does your body add to this work? What can it add?

Gentle flagellation - works phonically, not in application. Does gentle whipping irk less? Maybe. Only a little.

[JamesG]

In this poem you are mediating your experience by using your body. This makes the poem about you experiencing what you are experiencing. It waters (sorry) down the impact. What value does your body add to this work? What can it add?

Gentle flagellation - works phonically, not in application. Does gentle whipping irk less? Maybe. Only a little.

Yeah, that's a bad habit. All, or at least most, of my poetry, such as it is, seems to be mediated through the lens of the self, which is probably something I should look at. 

You can't take my flagellation away from me!

[milo]

Hello JamesG

It is good to see you bitten by some quick inspiration - take it when and where you can get it - it's a wonderful thing.

When I first saw your title, I though the Med was short for medical and I was thinking WR or hospital or whatnot (who knows what slang people use) and after reading I am settling on maybe Mediterranean althoughI am still not actually certain(?) so that might need some clarification although it might just be me.  I like the concept of anything being compared to a graveyard but maybe only because I am slightly obsessed with the idea that so many people have died at this point that the Earth is really a graveyard (I read the statistic somewhere that the number of dead users on Facebook would outnumer the living at some point and it is fascinating to think about.

I haven't posted, or indeed written anything, for a while, but this came to me unbidden today

All feedback welcome


Second draft

The Med is a graveyard.


Crying underwater, salt mixes with the fresh,

I think it is impossible to "cry" underwater but I do like the idea of tears meshing with saltwater - almost getting lost in something so much larger as to be insignificant - there is a metaphor in there somewhere - I don't think the current phrasing really brings it to life

an unholy alchemy, dissolving with the rest.

This line feels like a throwaway - if there is something unholy it is never further developed as well - even alchemical - while it could be interesting if developed futher I didn't get that from the rest of the poem.  How common is the phrase "unholy alchemy"?  It is a Metal song, called "Unholy Alchemy", A book called "The Unholy Alchemy of Me", a painting called "An Unholy Alchemy of color" and mentioned in numerous other media as well.

My body drifts

down the river, to the sea,

weighed down by the cloth I hold,

in my hands a birthday suit,

Once again - I feel like bodies drifting out to see can be developed or bridge to your metaphor but I just don't think it ever is so it feels like a red herring.  A birthday suit is literally nothing - it refers to the suit you were born in which is your skin.  I can't tell if you intend this to be  the case or if you are unaware or if you are just drawn to trite phrases, regardless it should be cleared up in the poem.

sodden, full of light.

The weeds, the sea-weeds

caress my puckered skin

they wrap me in their bladderwrack adoration

Gently flagellating, parting like the sad

Magician’s curtains, to reveal a host,

a flock of ragged tourists, floating just above the

grey, grey dance floor, toes describing

I feel like a lot of the ornamentation throughout here is just description rather than presentation.  Bladderwrack is a very cool word.  With that, flagellation, adoration - there are strong religious tones here.  "Gently " feels like the wrong world - maybe "tender" or something else that isn't such an obvious cross. The rhythm throughout all of this is pretty good and the sonics are good as well.

arabesques through the silt of a thousand expeditions,

clasping their dreams like children.

The simile is dangling here.  Arabesques as a noun is nice.  The motions of the weeds absorb an inordinate amount of th epoem.  You could almost title it "The Bladderwracks"

Sometimes, just clasping,

their children.

Milk eyes stare in blank accusation

of my misremembered life.

I never knew the sea, the sea

had so much hope, and misery,

buried deep down where

the salt and fresh collide.

I think the ending is fitting -  a nice callback to the beginning.  Once again - it feels like you get absorbed in telling me about your journey instead of letting me live it with lines like (the sea

had so much hope, and misery,

buried deep down where)

Thank you for posting - I like the direction it is going - there is definitely a lot here.