All I've Got Left Is Time Travel No. 2

[TranquillityBase]

Words come too late.

Arrows come quickly,
searing thumps that startle the bulls.
Stone point embedded in the hillside
blood of a bison heart 
smeared on its shaft.

Buffalo scatter
surrounded by their oceanic prairie
where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains.

Drums sound celebration of the hunt 
of carcasses motionless in the moonlight, 
dogs are barking around the fire pits
shouts and songs of the hunters.

Words come too late
to know their songs.

v. 4
Words come too late.

Feathered missiles come quickly

stone point embedded in the hillside

blood of a bison heart 

smeared on its shaft.



Buffalo scatter

surrounded by their oceanic prairie

where the Sun God rests his hands

worn rough from making mountains.



Drums sound celebration of hunt 

of carcasses motionless in moonlight, 

dogs are barking 

shouts and songs of the hunters.



Words come too late

to know their names.















v. 3

Words come too late



the dogs are barking



feathered missiles come quickly



stone point embedded in the hillside



blood of a bison heart 



smeared on its shaft.







Buffalo scatter



surrounded by their oceanic prairie



where the Sun God rests his hands



worn rough from making mountains.







Drums sound celebration



of hunt and conquest



of carcasses motionless



and shouts and songs of the hunters.







Words come too late



to halt a century’s forgetfulness.



















v. 2



Words come too late



after the wind is still



licensing reverie.



Words come too late



the dogs are barking



feathered missiles come quickly



stone point embedded in the hillside



blood of a bison heart 



smeared on its shaft.







Buffalo scatter



surrounded by their oceanic prairie



where the Sun God rests his hands



worn rough from making mountains.







Drums sound celebration



of hunt and conquest



of carcasses motionless



and shouts and songs of the hunters.



















v. 1



Words come too late



long after the wind has stilled



the broken laminations



spangled sunlight.



Words come too late



the dogs are barking



the feathered shafts come quickly



stone points embedded in the hillside.







Buffalo scatter



surrounded by their oceanic prairie



where the Sun God rests his hands



worn rough from making mountains.







Drums sound the celebration



of hunt and conquest



of carcasses motionless



and the shouts and songs of the hunters.

[Semicircle]

Words come too late
long after the wind has stilled ........perhaps just 'stasis'? Also, 'long' isn't needed since words came too late.
the broken laminations
spangled sunlight.
Words come too late
the dogs are barking
the feathered shafts come quickly......'approaching' would work better because it is in succession with barking.
stone points embedded in the hillside.

I feel like all the 'the' in this stanza is unecessary.

Buffalo scatter
surrounded by their oceanic prairie
where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains.

Drums sound the celebration
of hunt and conquest
of carcasses motionless
and the shouts and songs of the hunters.

The first strophe is definitely my favorite; it's abstract and visceral, but the rest follows a structure that doesn't hinder to having a connection with the first strophe. They seem like two separate entities.

[Miley]

Words come too late
long after the wind has stilled
the broken laminations whose laminations? I read this as lamentations the first time....
spangled sunlight. star spangled banner reference?
Words come too late
the dogs are barking The juxtaposition of "words" and barking dogs here is funny, 
the feathered shafts come quickly
stone points embedded in the hillside.

Buffalo scatter
surrounded by their oceanic prairie
where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains. Beautiful!

Drums sound the celebration
of hunt and conquest Conquest? Very american
of carcasses motionless
and the shouts and songs of the hunters.

THanks for sharing this one, a few lines of the lines will certainly stick with me. I'm not a fan of the title, feels too clever/puny for what is a serious poem? Maybe it balances it out... Something about the scarcity of buffalo now, and the hunting of them in the past... words come too late? I'm not sure im getting it, but I assume its Native Americans hunting Buffalo, and both the natives and buffalo are possible subjects of, "too late"

I agree with semi-cirlce you could probably afford to cut at least one of the "The" s

[Mark A Becker]

Hey Tim,
I see this as part of your 'time travel' series, in which you imagine yourself in very early American scenes featuring Native Americans.  This is a very cool idea, but will be difficult to pull off.  I read No. 1, over in MISC, and think you inserted your presence too deeply in that one. 

My suggestion is to write a lead-in line, which occurs in the present, followed by the scene you imagine/witness in the past. Working yourself in, as the time traveler, is the really tricky part, and it might be best to just leave yourself out as you describe the imagined scenes.  Then maybe add a concluding line where you are back in the present, reflecting upon what you've just imagined.  I very much like the idea as the basis for your series of poems, and I'm very interested to see how the series progresses.

Below I've cut the entire beginning, and started with you finding some stone points, followed by what you imagine:

Stone points embedded in the hillside...

... dogs are barking
the feathered shafts come quickly
Buffalo scatter
surrounded by their oceanic prairie
where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains.

Drums sound the celebration
of hunt and conquest
of carcasses motionless
and the shouts and songs of the hunters.

[TranquillityBase]

Words come too late
long after the wind has stilled ........perhaps just 'stasis'? Also, 'long' isn't needed since words came too late.
the broken laminations
spangled sunlight.
Words come too late
the dogs are barking
the feathered shafts come quickly......'approaching' would work better because it is in succession with barking.
stone points embedded in the hillside.

I feel like all the 'the' in this stanza is unecessary.

Buffalo scatter
surrounded by their oceanic prairie
where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains.

Drums sound the celebration
of hunt and conquest
of carcasses motionless
and the shouts and songs of the hunters.

The first strophe is definitely my favorite; it's abstract and visceral, but the rest follows a structure that doesn't hinder to having a connection with the first strophe. They seem like two separate entities.

Thanks Semi, I will take a look at cutting some of those "the"s.  Yes, I need a better bridge from "stone points to buffalo scatter".  Thanks for critiquing.

---

Words come too late
long after the wind has stilled
the broken laminations whose laminations? I read this as lamentations the first time....
spangled sunlight. star spangled banner reference?
Words come too late
the dogs are barking The juxtaposition of "words" and barking dogs here is funny, 
the feathered shafts come quickly
stone points embedded in the hillside.

Buffalo scatter
surrounded by their oceanic prairie
where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains. Beautiful!

Drums sound the celebration
of hunt and conquest Conquest? Very american
of carcasses motionless
and the shouts and songs of the hunters.

THanks for sharing this one, a few lines of the lines will certainly stick with me. I'm not a fan of the title, feels too clever/puny for what is a serious poem? Maybe it balances it out... Something about the scarcity of buffalo now, and the hunting of them in the past... words come too late? I'm not sure im getting it, but I assume its Native Americans hunting Buffalo, and both the natives and buffalo are possible subjects of, "too late"

I agree with semi-cirlce you could probably afford to cut at least one of the "The" s

Thanks Miley,

Title is something a dear friend said to me (now passed away) so it's sort of in honor of him.  

I just find that time period fasicinating, but am trying to evoke it without the drama of violence.  "Words come too late" sort of birthed the poem, but maybe are too vague.  I haven't decided.  I know the spangles are getting cut  .

Thanks for read and critique.

---

Hey Tim,
I see this as part of your 'time travel' series, in which you imagine yourself in very early American scenes featuring Native Americans.  This is a very cool idea, but will be difficult to pull off.  I read No. 1, over in MISC, and think you inserted your presence too deeply in that one. 

My suggestion is to write a lead-in line, which occurs in the present, followed by the scene you imagine/witness in the past. Working yourself in, as the time traveler, is the really tricky part, and it might be best to just leave yourself out as you describe the imagined scenes.  Then maybe add a concluding line where you are back in the present, reflecting upon what you've just imagined.  I very much like the idea as the basis for your series of poems, and I'm very interested to see how the series progresses.

Below I've cut the entire beginning, and started with you finding some stone points, followed by what you imagine:

Stone points embedded in the hillside...

... dogs are barking
the feathered shafts come quickly
Buffalo scatter
surrounded by their oceanic prairie
where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains.

Drums sound the celebration
of hunt and conquest
of carcasses motionless
and the shouts and songs of the hunters.

Thanks Mark, especially for liking the idea.  I'll re-read no. 1 with your comment in mind.  Yes, lead in needs a lot of work.  Not quite ready to lose it all just yet, but I'll keep this in mind.

[Mark A Becker]

Tim-
Picture yourself as a photographer- not taking a selfie, but imagining/describing the past based upon a scene you’ve observed in the present.

Keeping it specific to your surroundings could open up a variety of scenes to describe/imagine.

Keeping it specific to local observations would make this series very interesting.

I think you know what I’m asking for. And I know you can pull it off.

Looking forward to more,
Mark

[TranquillityBase]

I've posted first stab at a revision.  TqB

[Mark A Becker]

I've posted first stab at a revision.  TqB

I think you’re missing an opportunity for powerful work, Tim.
You do NOT need to be in these scenes, unless you want them to appear like the reader/viewer is looking at a selfie.

---

Hi Tim-
I was thinking along these lines:

Found stone points embedded in the hillside...

Dogs are barking
the feathered shafts come quickly
Buffalo scatter
surrounded by their oceanic prairie
where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains.

Drums sound the celebration
of hunt and conquest
of carcasses motionless
and the shouts and songs of the hunters.

... but words come too late
from an unseen future.

[TranquillityBase]

OK, I've absented myself.  Last line.....I'm still working on.  But it says what I want to say.

TqB

[Mark A Becker]

OK, I've absented myself.  Last line.....I'm still working on.  But it says what I want to say.

TqB

Go for it Tim,
Looking forward to more of this series. It’s such a cool idea.

“… where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains”

Those are flat out terrific lines.
Mark

[TranquillityBase]

OK, I've absented myself.  Last line.....I'm still working on.  But it says what I want to say.

TqB

Go for it Tim,
Looking forward to more of this series. It’s such a cool idea.

“… where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains”

Those are flat out terrific lines.
Mark

Thanks.  I've done one more edit, with a new last line.

Tim

[Mark A Becker]

Thanks.  I've done one more edit, with a new last line.
Tim

Hey Tim-
I still think the first and last lines should be italicized, to set them off as thoughts of you in the present, while the body of the poems are scenes that you imagine in the past.

I think another word for 'missiles' would work better- perhaps 'projectiles', or even 'shots' ??  I saw that you added 'smeared on its shaft' in the latest revision, which probably prompted your search for another word to describe arrows (you had 'feathered shafts' in an earlier version). 

Words come too late.

Feathered missiles come quickly,
a stone point embedded in the hillside,
blood of a bison heart
smeared on its shaft.

Buffalo scatter
surrounded by their oceanic prairie
where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains.

Drums sound celebration of the hunt,
of carcasses motionless in moonlight,
dogs are barking,
shouts and songs of the hunters.

Words come too late
to know their names. Maybe 'to call their names' - as a warning from the future that would be impossible for them to hear. ??

[busker]

where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains.

Is sublime. 
The rest of the poem has arresting images, but what I think is missing is an exploration of what it all means, of the inner lives of these men and women from times past. Or something like that. A second layer of meaning below the mere circumstance of hunting and killing.

Is the poet and therefore the reader merely observing? It would banal, if so.

[TranquillityBase]

where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains.

Is sublime. 
The rest of the poem has arresting images, but what I think is missing is an exploration of what it all means, of the inner lives of these men and women from times past. Or something like that. A second layer of meaning below the mere circumstance of hunting and killing.

Is the poet and therefore the reader merely observing? It would banal, if so.

Well, I at least came up with two good lines 

I would love to add that second layer but that's exactly what we can never again know about them.  We didn't understand their way of life at the time, except for a few who lived among them and who didn't write about it.  This is as close to them as I can imagine with facts we know.

[busker]

where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains.

Is sublime. 
The rest of the poem has arresting images, but what I think is missing is an exploration of what it all means, of the inner lives of these men and women from times past. Or something like that. A second layer of meaning below the mere circumstance of hunting and killing.

Is the poet and therefore the reader merely observing? It would banal, if so.

Well, I at least came up with two good lines 

I would love to add that second layer but that's exactly what we can never again know about them.  We didn't understand their way of life at the time, except for a few who lived among them and who didn't write about it.  This is as close to them as I can imagine with facts we know.

I don't think I was being helpful there at all, other than asking you to write a different poem, just because 
Having in mind:

                            In that open field
If you do not come too close, if you do not come too close,
On a summer midnight, you can hear the music
Of the weak pipe and the little drum
And see them dancing around the bonfire
The association of man and woman
In daunsinge, signifying matrimonie—
A dignified and commodiois sacrament.
Two and two, necessarye coniunction,
Holding eche other by the hand or the arm
Whiche betokeneth concorde. Round and round the fire
Leaping through the flames, or joined in circles,
Rustically solemn or in rustic laughter
Lifting heavy feet in clumsy shoes,
Earth feet, loam feet, lifted in country mirth
Mirth of those long since under earth
Nourishing the corn. Keeping time,
Keeping the rhythm in their dancing
As in their living in the living seasons
The time of the seasons and the constellations
The time of milking and the time of harvest
The time of the coupling of man and woman
And that of beasts. Feet rising and falling.
Eating and drinking. Dung and death.

davidgorman.com/4quartets/2-coker.htm

[Mark A Becker]

Hello Tim-

Please do not be discouraged.  The idea for this series of poems is a good one.

I have some general suggestions:
- decide upon the number of poems/scenes that you want to describe
- do research on each piece to inject a degree of accuracy
- flesh out some ideas for each piece, and write rough drafts for each
- keep them 'geographically contained' so that the subjects are not too spread out
- explore different time periods, based upon available facts
- keep the language vivid, yet sparse, which helps to create a mirage-like feel
- use your descriptive powers to 'add flavor'  (you have a talent for that)
- bracket the body of each piece with one or two lines that occur in the present. These lines could be very similar.

I hope those suggestions help, because I am intriqued by what I know you can do with this series.  (No pressure...)
...Mark

[TranquillityBase]

I don't think I was being helpful there at all, other than asking you to write a different poem, just because 
Having in mind:

                            In that open field
If you do not come too close, if you do not come too close,
On a summer midnight, you can hear the music
Of the weak pipe and the little drum
And see them dancing around the bonfire
The association of man and woman
In daunsinge, signifying matrimonie—
A dignified and commodiois sacrament.
Two and two, necessarye coniunction,
Holding eche other by the hand or the arm
Whiche betokeneth concorde. Round and round the fire
Leaping through the flames, or joined in circles,
Rustically solemn or in rustic laughter
Lifting heavy feet in clumsy shoes,
Earth feet, loam feet, lifted in country mirth
Mirth of those long since under earth
Nourishing the corn. Keeping time,
Keeping the rhythm in their dancing
As in their living in the living seasons
The time of the seasons and the constellations
The time of milking and the time of harvest
The time of the coupling of man and woman
And that of beasts. Feet rising and falling.
Eating and drinking. Dung and death.

davidgorman.com/4quartets/2-coker.htm

Well, I'll be writing another poem, but probably not about American Indians, not for a spell.

---

Hello Tim-

Please do not be discouraged.  The idea for this series of poems is a good one.

I have some general suggestions:
- decide upon the number of poems/scenes that you want to describe
- do research on each piece to inject a degree of accuracy
- flesh out some ideas for each piece, and write rough drafts for each
- keep them 'geographically contained' so that the subjects are not too spread out
- explore different time periods, based upon available facts
- keep the language vivid, yet sparse, which helps to create a mirage-like feel
- use your descriptive powers to 'add flavor'  (you have a talent for that)
- bracket the body of each piece with one or two lines that occur in the present. These lines could be very similar.

I hope those suggestions help, because I am intriqued by what I know you can do with this series.  (No pressure...)
...Mark

Thanks for the detailed idea list, Mark.

The first poem I ever posted on Pig Pen was a western one:

http://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-23255.html

And I've done more.  Maybe they can be part of the series.

Tim

[brynmawr1]

Words come too late.

Arrows come quickly,
searing thumps that startle the bulls.
Stone point embedded in the hillside   points?
blood of a bison heart 
smeared on its shaft.

Buffalo scatter
surrounded by their oceanic prairie
where the Sun God rests his hands        I agree, these are amazing lines.
worn rough from making mountains.

Drums sound celebration of the hunt 
of carcasses motionless in the moonlight, 
dogs are barking around the fire pits           I like this stanza but struggle with questions about punctuation for better flow and emphasis.
shouts and songs of the hunters.

Words come too late
to know their songs.

v. 4
Words come too late.

Feathered missiles come quickly

stone point embedded in the hillside

blood of a bison heart 

smeared on its shaft.



Buffalo scatter

surrounded by their oceanic prairie

where the Sun God rests his hands

worn rough from making mountains.



Drums sound celebration of hunt 

of carcasses motionless in moonlight, 

dogs are barking 

shouts and songs of the hunters.



Words come too late

to know their names.















v. 3

Words come too late



the dogs are barking



feathered missiles come quickly



stone point embedded in the hillside



blood of a bison heart 



smeared on its shaft.







Buffalo scatter



surrounded by their oceanic prairie



where the Sun God rests his hands



worn rough from making mountains.







Drums sound celebration



of hunt and conquest



of carcasses motionless



and shouts and songs of the hunters.







Words come too late



to halt a century’s forgetfulness.



















v. 2



Words come too late



after the wind is still



licensing reverie.



Words come too late



the dogs are barking



feathered missiles come quickly



stone point embedded in the hillside



blood of a bison heart 



smeared on its shaft.







Buffalo scatter



surrounded by their oceanic prairie



where the Sun God rests his hands



worn rough from making mountains.







Drums sound celebration



of hunt and conquest



of carcasses motionless



and shouts and songs of the hunters.



















v. 1



Words come too late



long after the wind has stilled



the broken laminations



spangled sunlight.



Words come too late



the dogs are barking



the feathered shafts come quickly



stone points embedded in the hillside.







Buffalo scatter



surrounded by their oceanic prairie



where the Sun God rests his hands



worn rough from making mountains.







Drums sound the celebration



of hunt and conquest



of carcasses motionless



and the shouts and songs of the hunters.

Hi TqB,

I like your imagery, as usual and the changes you've made.  I look forward to see how it relates to other work along this theme.  My only comments relate to punctuation or lack and how that affects the reading.
keep at it,
bryn