The Voyeur and the Harpy

[Leanne]

Edit 13/9/11

you ask to see all of me

perhaps you imagine yourself as the breeze
whose fingers will stir colour from the lake
and paint it into clouds

silent in the silt rest twisted skeletons
of shopping trolleys, half a Datsun,
someone’s dream of bliss in a wrought-iron bedhead
and I, who will need more than the six seeds you offer
to slough this season’s skin

breezes do not reach the pipes that excrete
into algal blooms, red as the storm that rends
mother from child

you ask, but do not wish to discover
that here is no fire to purify,
only eternal decay
and another’s idea
of how to shape a life

Original

you ask to see all of me

perhaps you imagine yourself as the breeze
whose finger will stir colour from the brooding lake
and paint it into clouds

silent in the silt there are
twisted skeletons of shopping trolleys,
half a Datsun, someone’s dream of bliss in a wrought-iron bedhead
and I, who will need more than the six seeds you offer
to slough this season’s skin

breezes do not reach the pipes that breathe
excreta into algal blooms, red as the storm that rends
mother from child

you ask, but you
have no desire to discover
that here is no fire to purify,
only eternal decay
and someone else’s idea
of how to shape a life

[milo]

you ask to see all of me

perhaps you imagine yourself as the breeze
whose fingers will stir colour from the brooding lake
and paint it into clouds

silent in the silt there are
rusted, twisted skeletons of shopping trolleys,
half a Datsun, someone’s dream of bliss in a wrought-iron bedhead
and I, who will need more than the six seeds you offer
to slough this season’s skin

breezes do not reach the pipes that breathe
excreta into algal blooms, red as the storm that rends
mother from child

you ask, but you
have no desire to discover
that here is no fire to purify,
only eternal decay
and someone else’s idea
of how to shape a life

I don't have time right now and this is going to take a lot of time, but know that it isn't sitting here unnoticed.

The narrator seems to be either Demeter or Persephone, but I am having a difficult time resolving which. I will get back after I have had a dozen or so more reads.

Still the language is thick, the references are rich and multitudinous, even if I didn't love it, I would love reading it over and over.

[newsclippings]

you ask to see all of me

This line is one that gives me the most trouble. This would be the only strong contender to allude the narrator to Persephone

perhaps you imagine yourself as the breeze
whose fingers will stir colour from the brooding lake
and paint it into clouds

One of those images they put on those oversold calendars, with the mountains and the glass lakes. I see this beginning as a little trite. Forgive me.

silent in the silt there are
rusted, twisted skeletons of shopping trolleys,
half a Datsun, someone’s dream of bliss in a wrought-iron bedhead
and I, who will need more than the six seeds you offer
to slough this season’s skin

I imagine Dali's Clocks painting or the setting of a movie Rowens mentioned recently, Wristcutters. It may also be attributed to a trailer-trash backyard. I wish I knew, but this stanza is one of the best attempts to pull us into modernity.

breezes do not reach the pipes that breathe
excreta into algal blooms, red as the storm that rends
mother from child

I like that you used "rends" in the second line, though I don't exactly know why you used "breathe" in the first. Was it in passing or did you really think about it? I ask because I don't want to offend.

you ask, but you
have no desire to discover
that here is no fire to purify, Demeter dropping someone's baby in some fire, or....?
only eternal decay
and someone else’s idea
of how to shape a life

This last stanza reads as a shrieking woman to me-- "you ask, but you // have no desire to discover" is especially regressed. I'm assuming on purpose, so as to envelop some kind of inherent, yet primal rage.

Well first, I needed to understand the meaning of all this. And like Milo said, the woman here is either Persephone or Demeter. And the poem, I'm assuming is addressed to Hades, who was squatting around looking at Demeter's daughter and a bunch of nymphs dancing around in a field (before he grabbed and raped Persephone).

The reason it would be Demeter is because of the title: Though harpies were also deemed ancient Greek spirits, I'm going to take a guess and say the Harpy here is Demeter, as she scoured the land looking for her daughter (they were also initially deemed to be beautiful winged women). The six seeds would be the six months she's given with her daughter (which some argue is only 3 months, plus a lot of visits from Persephone doing her queenly duties and showing famous visitors around).

Depending on which myth you're going by, Persephone may or may not have eaten the pomegranate on purpose (some say she fell in love with Hades but missed her mother, and ate it as a way to get some compromise--also there's a disparity among how many seeds she actually ate; the most recent story-tellers say 6).

Anyway, more onto the core of the poem, which now that I'm thinking about may also be addressed to Zeus (who helped his brother Hades out with kidnapping Persephone); I'm thinking may be attributed to an angry woman who was robbed of her child.

And this doesn't have to necessarily be attributed to ancient folklore.***

There are points in this poem where you address modern furniture and facilities (sewage), so I'm guessing there may be a link to some type of custody over children, and the mother is just not satisfied with only having her kids for half the year.

As for the critique: I'm just mad you made me think this much.
I'll revisit if I think of something new.

---

Also I'd like to say that your omission of most punctuation here was probably on purpose and related to a recent thread, and I noticed.

[Leanne]

Thanks all... will ponder how much can be given away here without destroying the integrity of the poem... though it's interesting that everyone's followed the leader here. Not a bad thing, just intriguing to see which part of the poem has stood out for all of you when it's not the bit I consider integral. That's the nature of writer/reader relationships, of course.

I ramble. I will return. Thank you all for your input.

[newsclippings]

You alluded, so I Googled. It's just how I roll.

[billy]

i never followed them :J: i don't even know who those two russian guys
are. the fact you have shopping carts in the poem makes me think of harpy as a twattish woman with a nasty mouth.
i like the poem though i'm not sure about all of it. or i suppose any of it as the things i say are mainly conjecture. i see the point of view of someone watch the world, life, etc waste away through misuse/mistrust. there's a great sense of apathy in the poem, i really have no clues to the tales of Demeter and Persephone so connecting those kind of dots is beyond me. i did however enjoy the poem even though in places i found it a little vague.

you ask to see all of me this must be the harpy, which sort of makes the voyeur more of an acting participant

perhaps you imagine yourself as the breeze
whose fingers will stir colour from the brooding lake
and paint it into cloudsi'm not sure if this is the voyeur or the harpy

silent in the silt there are this really does sound yoderish, i mean say the line and you become yoda
rusted, twisted skeletons of shopping trolleys,
half a Datsun, someone’s dream of bliss in a wrought-iron bedhead
and I, who will need more than the six seeds you offer
to slough this season’s skin it reminds me of the canals of my youth.it also feels rather sad. (and I ) spoken of in the sense of being discarded like some piece of property, fit only for dumping.

breezes do not reach the pipes that breathe
excreta into algal blooms, red as the storm that rends
mother from child, i struggled to get a grip on this stanza. i'm sure part of it feels factual, the splitting of a family perhaps.

you ask, but you
have no desire to discover
that here is no fire to purify,
only eternal decay
and someone else’s idea
of how to shape a lifethis stanza actually feels really personal. there's some vitriol in the words, a knowing that it's all façade.

[milo]

you ask to see all of me

I am teetering on this line. On the one hand it is prosaic, but it is doing a lot of heavy lifting in establishing the addressee and the narrator. Still, do Voyeur's 'ask'? I think there would be a way to almost give a double meaning of sexy or lewd here.

perhaps you imagine yourself as the breeze
whose fingers will stir colour from the brooding lake
and paint it into clouds

I don't think you need 'perhaps' or "as" or "will". brooding lake is exactly the type of construct I would normally call out as contrived but it works nicely here. Of course you want 'fingers' for finger-painting but I prefer the image and sonics of 'finger'. Just a personal preference.

silent in the silt there are
rusted, twisted skeletons of shopping trolleys,
half a Datsun, someone’s dream of bliss in a wrought-iron bedhead
and I, who will need more than the six seeds you offer
to slough this season’s skin

I see why you want rusted and twisted but the overmodification always detracts for me. "dream of bliss" isn't working for me but the rest is fine. I would reconsider the break on "are" but after considering it around 30 different ways I can't come up with the suggestion.

This stanza includes our clues to the narrator. After reading several times it is clearly not Demeter. The season is winter (of a sort), that much is apparent and our narrator is someone who transforms in spring.

breezes do not reach the pipes that breathe
excreta into algal blooms, red as the storm that rends
mother from child

so the references to pollution become too strong to ignore here. what is a red storm that tears a mother from a child? I don't know yet, I have considered fire but rejected it.

you ask, but you
have no desire to discover
that here is no fire to purify,
only eternal decay
and someone else’s idea
of how to shape a life

my feeling now is that we are the voyeur - watching, waiting for beauty to unfold as the seasons, demanding it, but unwilling to do anything to prevent pollution from overwhelming it. My knowledge of harpies is limited - mostly to their food stealing prowess and their confusion later with the more crone-like characteristics of Nordic mythos. I think your last 2 lines are the weakest in the poem. I would like to see 2 strong lines here really bring it to a close or these 2 snipped but that is just me.

Overall, I love it even if I am totally wrong on all counts. It has provided many enjoyable reads as all good poems should and, even if you leave it just as it is, it will provide me many more enjoyable reads.

Thanks for posting

milo

[ChristopherSea]

Greetings Leanne H., its Christopher C. from ten years ago (on Poets.com). It seems like I have happened upon your home in finding this poetry site. You and others have built what appears to be a very practical forum with the noble goal of improving one’s craft herein.
It is nice to read you again and in free verse no less!
For me, this piece speaks of relationship gone awry. These once lovers or loved ones have two diametrically opposed viewpoints of their status. This is illustrated in the title (voyeur vs, harpy), the breeze/lake (and what lies beneath) metaphor and the Jupiter-Pluto (could be father or lover)/Proserpina metaphor (This Italian went Roman over Greek, ha, ha). Your so-called voyeur in the breeze must have implied that he wants to know her more deeply, in his asking to see all of her, but it is lip service, as he fails to even look beneath this scorned Harpy of the Lake’s surface. He probably does not have the capacity. Therefore, he just paints a veneer of bliss, as reflected in his narrow view, yet propensity for watercolors (which spoke to the painter in me). He is oblivious to the havoc/pollution below in the silt, as vividly detailed.
The title is extreme and puts the two in their worst light. It may compel less compassion for the female narrator, but it certainly conveys her passion. I had to chuckle at trolleys and beadheads, as they brought to mind different images than carts and headboards for this American. Perfect for an Aussie, I bet. Half a Datsun was a bit humorous as well. I don’t know, I guess the 70’s image and the reality that those initial Japanese imports rusted in less than 3 years. Where’s the other half of it, by the way? Nonetheless, the three pieces of hardware work well under water! Perhaps, I would use rusty twisted for rusted and twisted. I’ll accept your six Punica granatum seeds. I am not crazy about excreta (who is), but you know that a scientist loves algal blooms! However, urine and feces alone will not necessarily result in enough nitrification to cause a bloom. It has been linked to chemical phosphate and nitrate purging into waterways.
I heard The Who’s ‘The Real Me’ in your closer and I found the last line poignant. Additionally, there are many forms of hell. Agreed, that there would be no fire to purify in this one under the lake.
Cheers, I will try another read when I can.

[Leanne]

milo, I changed to "finger" -- I agree it's better and it doesn't affect the meaning in the slightest. I'm also killing off the "rusted". They're such small changes I'm not going to post them as a revision.

I am pondering the rest of the suggestions but I have already been through a few revisions with this one in the last couple of days (off site) so I'm just going to let it sit for a while.

Chris, great to hear from you! From that excellent critique it looks as though that time in the PJL tights did you a world of good . Your reading is as close to perfect as I could have asked. (The excreta isn't the only thing causing the red algae, of course, it's just the lovely chunky bits that stir it up a bit.)

Billy, the voyeur isn't the bad guy really, just an outsider who thinks he's got a right to demand full disclosure.

Newsclippings, there's definitely a shriek in that last line and I'm glad you did google, just don't always listen to milo -- sometimes he hasn't got a clue

[newsclippings]

Well, I'm happy someone could give you what you wanted, dollface.

[ray]

I know nothing of the myth, but that only trips me up at the six seeds. It's presumably being used to throw light on a modern relationship.
I wonder why clouds would be painted, rather than sky, sun, something cheery.

breezes do not reach the pipes that breathe
excreta into algal blooms, red as the storm that rends
mother from child - the best part of the poem

Maybe "another's" would be better than "someone else's", someone having already been used.

[Leanne]

Ray, please accept my apologies, I completely missed seeing your comment. "another's" is a good suggestion, I will probably incorporate that into the edit, thank you. As to the clouds -- well, it's just not a very cheery scene

[tectak]

you ask to see all of meThis is dangerously thin ice on a deep pool. Leads to the "I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours" badinage. This may or may not set the wrong tone. Wrong if it is a Persephone-plex but right if it is about shopping trolleys in lakes.

perhaps you imagine yourself as the breeze
whose finger will stir colour from the brooding lakeHmmm. Brooding Lake. I must try to forget who you are. Who are you, by the way? No. I have to come clean. Brooding and Lake do not gel...therefore it ain't aspic...and so the metaphorical finger is also amputated by the lac de lake. The language is fruitful, leanne, but I get the uneasy feeling that this is too easy for you. This stanza seems simplistic and formula. For others that would be a compliment
and paint it into clouds

silent in the silt there are
twisted skeletons of shopping trolleys,
half a Datsun, someone’s dream of bliss in a wrought-iron bedhead...there are....half a Datsun...and there are I? Technicalities, some say
and I, who will need more than the six seeds you offer
to slough this season’s skinHmmm. So it IS about trolleys in lakes. Persephone would turn in her gro-bag Nah...it's not about her at all. Can't be.

breezes do not reach the pipes that breathe
excreta into algal blooms, red as the storm that rends
mother from child This stanza did not request permission to land. Where did it come from. It is a scrap of paper that is born on the wind and gets stuck when wet. Oh I know, capitals and commas can be dispensed with if so inclined, but rather than "why bother including?", I have to ask "why bother omitting?". Breathing excreta is also tough to swallow...if you can decant my metaphor

you ask, but you
have no desire to discover
that here is no fire to purify,Something not right here. "...you have NO desire to discover that there is NO..." Is this the same as you HAVE the desire to discover that there IS? This boolean talk is non-copacetic. I can not fail to disagree with you less. Hrmmmmph!
only eternal decay"Only" followed by "and" is often problematic. You just get away with it here because of the huge dissimilarity of terms...decay/ideas. Nonetheless the danger is there. ONLY external decay, AND ideas, AND tesco trolleys, AND half-Datsuns, AND...AND...AND.
and someone else’s idea
of how to shape a life

Hi leanne,
There is something off message with this one. It is terse but tearful. Regret mixed with anger. Allusion with reality. Over-simplification with over-complexity ( Note...not simple and complex That's for whimps)
Best,(but not yours)
tectak

[Keith]

you ask to see all of me I take this literally as that intense bullshit speak we use to pretend our love is deeper. I like it

perhaps you imagine yourself as the breeze
whose finger will stir colour from the brooding lake
and paint it into clouds good reply to the bullshit request who does he/she think they are anyway fingersss would roll into sssstir

silent in the silt there are
twisted skeletons of shopping trolleys,
half a Datsun, someone’s dream of bliss in a wrought-iron bedhead
and I, who will need more than the six seeds you offer
to slough this season’s skin This gives an image of a couple siting by the coast not speaking regretting fragments of their lives stuck in a rut, can't change, no crit great stuff

breezes do not reach the pipes that breathe
excreta into algal blooms, red as the storm that rends
mother from child things are not going to change and its getting worse get ready as she is about to blow.

you ask, but you
have no desire to discover nice link back to the bullshit question L1
that here is no fire to purify,
only eternal decay
and someone else’s idea
of how to shape a life quite sad really but we new it was over in L1 great ending

really enjoyed this Leanne very little to crit for me, I can feel the intensity of the exchange the heavy sighs that attempt to prolong the end out of a sense of something, perhaps one could stir colour from the lake but what would you paint ? Best Keith

[Erthona]

Most if not all Greek myths tend to be archetypal and so offer a nice lens through which to view a current situation, however when the readers predominantly seem to focus on the myth, rather what it is used to imply, I think there is a problem with the focus of the poem. Also the coyness in stating what myth is being used naturally draws the reader in that direction as it is human nature to try and solve a mystery. I would suggest this was intended to work on the personal level as well as on a sociocultural level, that is there is the foreplay/interplay of lovers and well as that between the object of fascination (the star) and the "news" media/readership. I think that "perception as reality" wars with reality is probably the heart of this poem, and is encapsulated in the last stanza. However, with the poems internal balance off as much as it is, no amount of striving will produce more than brief flashes of insight, as the sum total is not much more than nonsense wrapped up in the appearance of a well crafted poem of "deep thoughts". Sometimes I think the cleverness of the writer becomes so overweening in it's desire to be smart and subtle, it destroys almost anything of value in the creation, what I call in my own case, "having a little to much fun"

Dale

[Leanne]

Keith, cheers, it seems to have worked for you. However, are Tom and Dale too old and stodgy to appreciate it or do they have valid points? Tom has at least given me things to work with -- Dale, I realise you've been away a while but frankly, that's pretty much a useless comment. Why? Because it's more or less just saying "you're being a smart arse, throw it away, it's not worth anything". Now, since I didn't have the slightest thought of a news media/star relationship, perhaps that's where your interpretation has taken you and it's your skewed reading that's thrown the whole thing off. Just a thought. If not, then where would you suggest the focus shift to, in order to make it work? Because this is Serious Workshopping after all, not serious censuring of the "cleverness of the writer".

[tectak]

Keith, cheers, it seems to have worked for you. However, are Tom and Dale too old and stodgy to appreciate it or do they have valid points? Tom has at least given me things to work with -- Dale, I realise you've been away a while but frankly, that's pretty much a useless comment. Why? Because it's more or less just saying "you're being a smart arse, throw it away, it's not worth anything". Now, since I didn't have the slightest thought of a news media/star relationship, perhaps that's where your interpretation has taken you and it's your skewed reading that's thrown the whole thing off. Just a thought. If not, then where would you suggest the focus shift to, in order to make it work? Because this is Serious Workshopping after all, not serious censuring of the "cleverness of the writer".

Ah...the withering wisdom of youth. Long may it wither....and I will have you know that my point has been considered valid more times than ...than...well, a lot of times.
Best,
tectak

[ChristopherSea]

Keith, cheers, it seems to have worked for you. However, are Tom and Dale too old and stodgy to appreciate it or do they have valid points? Tom has at least given me things to work with -- Dale, I realise you've been away a while but frankly, that's pretty much a useless comment. Why? Because it's more or less just saying "you're being a smart arse, throw it away, it's not worth anything". Now, since I didn't have the slightest thought of a news media/star relationship, perhaps that's where your interpretation has taken you and it's your skewed reading that's thrown the whole thing off. Just a thought. If not, then where would you suggest the focus shift to, in order to make it work? Because this is Serious Workshopping after all, not serious censuring of the "cleverness of the writer".

After I read and critiqued this piece and then came back to see your reponse, I noticed that your other reviewers appeared to have latched on to the Greek mythology alone because they had trouble delving into the other parts of the poem. Due to the purely metaphorical nature of the piece, it does take some effort to decipher. However, it did seem that others may have read previous reviews and followed suit. Several reviews of my poems suffered from the same. This trend is why I don't read the critique of others before I make my own.

Poets have been using mythological references as descriptors, in similes and as metaphor for centuries. To believe that a poem is about mythology alone is possibly from a quick read, but in this case perhaps more peeking under the skirts of other reviewers. It's not easy to close your eyes to that! /(_i_)\

I do like the new edit, by the way Leanne!/Chris

[tectak]

Edit 13/9/11

you ask to see all of me

perhaps you imagine yourself as the breeze
whose fingers will stir colour from the lake
and paint it into clouds

silent in the silt rest twisted skeletons
of shopping trolleys, half a Datsun,
someone’s dream of bliss in a wrought-iron bedhead ...in a bedhead? ...or ON a wrought-iron bedSTEAD? It's not that I don't get the "dream....in" as a representational expression of hope fullfillment but it just seems to irk.
and I, who will need more than the six seeds you offer
to slough this season’s skin

breezes do not reach the pipes that excrete
into algal blooms, red as the storm that rends
mother from child

you ask, but do not wish to discover
that here is no fire to purify,
only eternal decay
and another’s idea
of how to shape a life

Original

you ask to see all of me

perhaps you imagine yourself as the breeze
whose finger will stir colour from the brooding lake
and paint it into clouds

silent in the silt there are
twisted skeletons of shopping trolleys,
half a Datsun, someone’s dream of bliss in a wrought-iron bedhead
and I, who will need more than the six seeds you offer
to slough this season’s skin

breezes do not reach the pipes that breathe
excreta into algal blooms, red as the storm that rends
mother from child

you ask, but you
have no desire to discover
that here is no fire to purify,
only eternal decay
and someone else’s idea
of how to shape a life

Leanne,
Beautiful. Edited to near perfection I cannot wholly go condone the stanza stops made naked by the removal of punctuation and capitals but if that's the way you rock then I will roll with it this is in an attempt to street-talk my way into your favours by contempraneous crit free of senile stodge I cannot speak for erthona
again, great edit...great piece.
Best,
tectak

[Todd]

Hi Leanne,

I'm not sure how I missed this. Here are some comments for you (I haven't read any of the comments below so if I'm repetitive forgive me. I will also be focusing solely on the edit):

Edit 13/9/11

you ask to see all of me--Wonderful first line. It fits so well with the title. We have a "harpy", which could also imply a shrewish woman and on a level someone viewing her from a distance as something to conquer. On the surface though, it's a great line because the voyeur wants to see and doesn't want to see at the same time. What they ask for would disappoint their imagination. There feels like some scorn in the comment (which by naming the other the "harpy" comes across). By using a break directly under this line you impose that moment of possible titillation. It increases the voyeur's tension. Love that

perhaps you imagine yourself as the breeze--I would be very tempted to break the line after imagine. I like the sense of the line as you have it, but that break would add something in my opinion. The breeze is a really nice, nice image. I like that it's both invisible and it touches at the same time. Very nice insight into the mind of the voyeur
whose fingers will stir colour from the lake--Now, we consider that she is likely bathing in the lake and possibly been caught unaware. Fingers completes the personification. Stir colour from the lake is one of my favorite phrases in the poem. When taken with the next line, it's like the observer sees themselves as an artist. They alone have this appreciation of beauty, again the harpy seems to hold this view in scorn. Theirs is a fantasy. What is beneath the water in reality (the talon, the claw, the scorn) isn't really what they want to see.
and paint it into clouds

silent in the silt rest twisted skeletons--Great break. This feels more like the mythical harpy. The viewing could be a trap to lure the voyeur in. These skeletons could be those who have come before--that they're twisting lends the harpies view toward their internal perversion. They look but do not live. They embrace the fantasy above the water and avoid what is beneath the water. The irony is they may join those that came before and be avoided beneath the silt. I like the assonance in this line.
of shopping trolleys, half a Datsun,--ahh, modern day. Beneath is former things of use and joy that are forgotten.
someone’s dream of bliss in a wrought-iron bedhead--And that's the point. This is someone else's dream of bliss. There is no real. This bliss is also a sexual cage of sorts (nice use of wrought-iron to that effect).
and I, who will need more than the six seeds you offer--ahh, now we have the speaker comparing herself to Persephone and the dark life beneath: the Hades of this person, the shopping trolleys, and the Datsun. The wrekage such a relationship represents
to slough this season’s skin--Season is a good reference to the entire myth. Love the s words to imply the snake. It also works so well with the image of the harpy and the idea that a relationship with this sort of person cannot lead to rebirth. They don't offer enough.

breezes do not reach the pipes that excrete--interesting line. He the voyeur is the breeze. I get a satyr feel from the pipes, and also the thought of the lungs where true life breath comes from
into algal blooms, red as the storm that rends--Now we have perhaps the daughter of demeter giving these natural images
mother from child--This is a clear connection to the myth. It also could speak of estrangement in a relationship.

you ask, but do not wish to discover--just like "you look, but do not wish to see
that here is no fire to purify,--It's the dead ashes sort of connection
only eternal decay
and another’s idea--It does all exist in the mind for the one, doesn't it
of how to shape a life--That's sort of what the voyeur does isn't it: shape a life into a convenient box. The speaker refuses to be diminished in this way. They are more than the fantasy, or how they appear. There are things beneath the water that are of higher importance.

I enjoyed how you drew on the allusion to deal with something that still goes on all the time. Quite an empowering message emphasized by excellent sonics and imagery.

Best,

Todd