10-01-2021, 05:21 AM
Hey alex-
I haven't read previous versions or the critques. Below are some comments.
First off, the concrete poem nature of this piece is notable for the sheer dificulty it must have been to format. That said, formatting does not a poem make.
As a concrete poem I'm guessing light bulb, balloon, or mushroom cloud, and the last of those seems to fit best. As someone who most often sticks to form(s), I can observe that the form (for me) many times obscures the poem. I believe that is happening here, as I found this one very difficult to read.
another, where wayward villeins toil, muzzled, skeletal "villains"
and bare, while bites of fire ants and cane leaves
erode the patience for a black fist to
seize daylight, worn by men who play not at all sure what's going on here
the sun, uncaring of its scorch from inside
manors, castles and suburbia,
overfilling with the otherworldly detritus of
independent struggle onto smoothly dependent?
paved roads, peaceful as a conquered womb
until bullets, arrows and machetes iterate
kaleidoscopes into the room behind eyes only able
to see green, even in the lungs where
sparrows nest and suffocate in interesting but obscure image
smoke as lumber and disease disperse under
miles of fluorescent light and towering shelves, sounds like Home Depot
where limbs contort, fracture and reform
into hammers wielded by an unseen hand to
pillage golden memories from
evanescing pockets of the ocean, leaving you'rer really stretching it here alex
only gilded dreams in its wake as
cloudless and blue skies redundant: cloudless skies tend to be blue
rip the tendons
of today from yesterday, my favorite lines in the whole piece
so in tomorrow
we, laughing,
jump and
outrun cars this ending is completely detached from the rest of the piece
I really have no idea of what you're going for here, alex, as the juxtapostion of surreal images hints at some existential struggle without being coherent enough to draw me in, or make me feel anything; the formatting gymnastics add to my mystification.
All of that said, it is an impressive feat to get the formatting to work on this site.
Just because I'm not a fan of this piece does not mean others won't like it. I'm not too keen on avant garde, abstract art either, so maybe it's just me. Still, from my perspective it seems like a bunch of magnetic word marbles that have taken on a shape that means something to you, but not me, I'm afraid.
Please read this aloud to yourself, or better yet, to someone else; to see how it sounds. (I tried to, but got lost repeatedly in the white spaces).
I am not seeking any clarification outside of the poem itself: if something needs to be explained it needs to be expressed in the poem.
Sorry if that seems harsh, but posting in MILD/MODERATE can have that effect.
Good luck with it,
Mark
I haven't read previous versions or the critques. Below are some comments.
First off, the concrete poem nature of this piece is notable for the sheer dificulty it must have been to format. That said, formatting does not a poem make.
As a concrete poem I'm guessing light bulb, balloon, or mushroom cloud, and the last of those seems to fit best. As someone who most often sticks to form(s), I can observe that the form (for me) many times obscures the poem. I believe that is happening here, as I found this one very difficult to read.
pure gold and righteousness
inherited reflects abysses of forgotten cells into one not at all sure what that meansanother, where wayward villeins toil, muzzled, skeletal "villains"
and bare, while bites of fire ants and cane leaves
erode the patience for a black fist to
seize daylight, worn by men who play not at all sure what's going on here
the sun, uncaring of its scorch from inside
manors, castles and suburbia,
overfilling with the otherworldly detritus of
independent struggle onto smoothly dependent?
paved roads, peaceful as a conquered womb
until bullets, arrows and machetes iterate
kaleidoscopes into the room behind eyes only able
to see green, even in the lungs where
sparrows nest and suffocate in interesting but obscure image
smoke as lumber and disease disperse under
miles of fluorescent light and towering shelves, sounds like Home Depot
where limbs contort, fracture and reform
into hammers wielded by an unseen hand to
pillage golden memories from
evanescing pockets of the ocean, leaving you'rer really stretching it here alex
only gilded dreams in its wake as
cloudless and blue skies redundant: cloudless skies tend to be blue
rip the tendons
of today from yesterday, my favorite lines in the whole piece
so in tomorrow
we, laughing,
jump and
outrun cars this ending is completely detached from the rest of the piece
I really have no idea of what you're going for here, alex, as the juxtapostion of surreal images hints at some existential struggle without being coherent enough to draw me in, or make me feel anything; the formatting gymnastics add to my mystification.
All of that said, it is an impressive feat to get the formatting to work on this site.
Just because I'm not a fan of this piece does not mean others won't like it. I'm not too keen on avant garde, abstract art either, so maybe it's just me. Still, from my perspective it seems like a bunch of magnetic word marbles that have taken on a shape that means something to you, but not me, I'm afraid.
Please read this aloud to yourself, or better yet, to someone else; to see how it sounds. (I tried to, but got lost repeatedly in the white spaces).
I am not seeking any clarification outside of the poem itself: if something needs to be explained it needs to be expressed in the poem.
Sorry if that seems harsh, but posting in MILD/MODERATE can have that effect.
Good luck with it,
Mark