Aranea II

[alatos]

Edit 1:
I walked beneath the spreading skies, which touched
down into foothills far away. My eyes
surveyed, in silent stalks, a chain that lay
lost to rust in the sprouting mutes. One vein,
a withered thread, still held decaying roots
in crusted links, the trapper now the prey
to shouts of wind and floods that fell, the vow
of nature, of impermanence, kept well.
The strand was one of thousands more, long since
lost, whose eclipses shimmered there before
in cosmic orders, rotations… stripped bare,
no more to hold dewy constellations
up to the setting moon, entomb, or tell
of death, woven on such an unseen loom.


Original:
I walked beneath the spreading skies, which touched
down into foothills far away. My eyes
saw, in some silent stalks, a chain that lay
and rusted in the sprouting mutes. A vein,
a withered thread still held decaying roots
in crusted links, the trapper now the prey
to shouts of wind and floods that fell, the vow
of nature, of impermanence, kept well.
The strand was one of thousands more, long since
lost, whose eclipses shimmered there before
in cosmic orders, rotations… stripped bare,
no more to hold dewy constellations
up to the setting moon, entomb, or tell
of death, woven on such an unseen loom.

[tectak]

I walked beneath the spreading skies, which touched
down into foothills far away. My eyes
saw, in some silent stalks, a chain that lay
and rusted in the sprouting mutes. A vein,
a withered thread still held decaying roots
in crusted links, the trapper now the prey
to shouts of wind and floods that fell, the vow
of nature, of impermanence, kept well.
The strand was one of thousands more, long since
lost, whose eclipses shimmered there before
in cosmic orders, rotations… stripped bare,
no more to hold dewy constellations
up to the setting moon, entomb, or tell
of death, woven on such an unseen loom

Hello Alatos,
It is not often that a good piece of work is made less worthy by its author What we have here is an excellent piece of well constructed and rich prose made to fit in to a poem-shaped flagon. It is fortunate that your metaphysical wordiness is liquid and can flow into the contours and corners of containment BUT to what advantage? I mean, if it is just "Oh no...not another bloody video game translocation" then who cares...but you seem to be looking through non-compound eyes and making a stab at originality. Shame to waste it.

First lines

I walked beneath the spreading sky
which touched down into foothills far away.
My eyes saw in some silent stalks a chain
that lay and rusted in the sprouting mutes.

OK...notwithstanding the strange but no doubt meaningful word use...what are sprouting mutes( and I know about muting genes)?...you force the reader to hang over unnecessary enjambments in order to pick a way through the admittedly intriguing landscape which you have painted. Could I suggest, and I mean this kindly, that you "reform" your line-outs throughout? I would ask that you do this without losing any of the original text. I square the circle. Only you should be permitted to do this...this crit says no more until the flagon is a box.
Well done but I have never played the game.
Best,
tectak

[alatos]

I walked beneath the spreading skies, which touched
down into foothills far away. My eyes
saw, in some silent stalks, a chain that lay
and rusted in the sprouting mutes. A vein,
a withered thread still held decaying roots
in crusted links, the trapper now the prey
to shouts of wind and floods that fell, the vow
of nature, of impermanence, kept well.
The strand was one of thousands more, long since
lost, whose eclipses shimmered there before
in cosmic orders, rotations… stripped bare,
no more to hold dewy constellations
up to the setting moon, entomb, or tell
of death, woven on such an unseen loom

Hello Alatos,
It is not often that a good piece of work is made less worthy by its author - are you saying that I made this worse from it's original? What we have here is an excellent piece of well constructed and rich prose made to fit in to a poem-shaped flagon. It is fortunate that your metaphysical wordiness is liquid and can flow into the contours and corners of containment BUT to what advantage? I mean, if it is just "Oh no...not another bloody video game translocation" then who cares...but you seem to be looking through non-compound eyes and making a stab at originality. Shame to waste it. - again, confused. I put prose into a poem form... what are non-compound eyes?

First lines

I walked beneath the spreading sky
which touched down into foothills far away.
My eyes saw in some silent stalks a chain
that lay and rusted in the sprouting mutes.

OK...notwithstanding the strange but no doubt meaningful word use...what are sprouting mutes( and I know about muting genes)?...you force the reader to hang over unnecessary enjambments in order to pick a way through the admittedly intriguing landscape which you have painted. Could I suggest, and I mean this kindly, that you "reform" your line-outs throughout? I would ask that you do this without losing any of the original text. I square the circle. Only you should be permitted to do this...this crit says no more until the flagon is a box. - are you saying I should eliminate the enjambments? [/b]
Well done but I have never played the game.
Best,
tectak

Thanks for the advice. Unfortunately, I found some of it a little tough to understand. Sprouting mutes was just referring to the silently growing plants.

[danny_]

this is the kind of poem i like. stuff like "trapper now the prey" and the visuals of it enduring all the time and weather. "dewy constellations" is a nice image. so much intimacy with what might otherwise be a mundane thing.

i was caught up a little at the end. i'm a little slow, though. but maybe i'm not the only one. so this line "the vow of nature, of impermanence, kept well." what's kept well, and how? why is it a vow? what does this mean? "whose eclipses shimmered there before
in cosmic orders, rotations… stripped bare,"

because i am really getting these visuals until around that part and then i'm just not seeing it as well. but again i'm more of a straight-forward kind of writer and reader.

keep it up!

[tectak]

I walked beneath the spreading skies, which touched
down into foothills far away. My eyes
saw, in some silent stalks, a chain that lay
and rusted in the sprouting mutes. A vein,
a withered thread still held decaying roots
in crusted links, the trapper now the prey
to shouts of wind and floods that fell, the vow
of nature, of impermanence, kept well.
The strand was one of thousands more, long since
lost, whose eclipses shimmered there before
in cosmic orders, rotations… stripped bare,
no more to hold dewy constellations
up to the setting moon, entomb, or tell
of death, woven on such an unseen loom

Hello Alatos,
It is not often that a good piece of work is made less worthy by its author - are you saying that I made this worse from it's original?Yes...and this IS the original, is it not? What we have here is an excellent piece of well constructed and rich prose made to fit in to a poem-shaped flagon. It is fortunate that your metaphysical wordiness is liquid and can flow into the contours and corners of containment BUT to what advantage? I mean, if it is just "Oh no...not another bloody video game translocation" then who cares...but you seem to be looking through non-compound eyes and making a stab at originality. Shame to waste it. - again, confused. I put prose into a poem form... what are non-compound eyes?

First lines

I walked beneath the spreading sky
which touched down into foothills far away.
My eyes saw in some silent stalks a chain
that lay and rusted in the sprouting mutes.

OK...notwithstanding the strange but no doubt meaningful word use...what are sprouting mutes( and I know about muting genes)?...you force the reader to hang over unnecessary enjambments in order to pick a way through the admittedly intriguing landscape which you have painted. Could I suggest, and I mean this kindly, that you "reform" your line-outs throughout? I would ask that you do this without losing any of the original text. I square the circle. Only you should be permitted to do this...this crit says no more until the flagon is a box. - are you saying I should eliminate the enjambments? [/b]
Well done but I have never played the game.
Best,
tectak

Thanks for the advice. Unfortunately, I found some of it a little tough to understand. Sprouting mutes was just referring to the silently growing plants.

---

Hello Alatos,
It is not often that a good piece of work is made less worthy by its author - are you saying that I made this worse from it's original?Yes...and this IS the original, is it not? What we have here is an excellent piece of well constructed and rich prose made to fit in to a poem-shaped flagon. It is fortunate that your metaphysical wordiness is liquid and can flow into the contours and corners of containment BUT to what advantage? I mean, if it is just "Oh no...not another bloody video game translocation" then who cares...but you seem to be looking through non-compound eyes and making a stab at originality. Shame to waste it. - again, confused. I put prose into a poem form... what are non-compound eyes?What is poem form? Insects have multi-lensed eyes (Spiders do not , I think, but do not greatly care) which are called "compound eyes" They are poor at focussing but great at motion detection. You have a single lens (non compound) eye which is great for focussing but poor peripheral capability

First lines

I walked beneath the spreading sky
which touched down into foothills far away.
My eyes saw in some silent stalks a chain
that lay and rusted in the sprouting mutes.

OK...notwithstanding the strange but no doubt meaningful word use...what are sprouting mutes( and I know about muting genes)?...you force the reader to hang over unnecessary enjambments in order to pick a way through the admittedly intriguing landscape which you have painted. Could I suggest, and I mean this kindly, that you "reform" your line-outs throughout? I would ask that you do this without losing any of the original text. I square the circle. Only you should be permitted to do this...this crit says no more until the flagon is a box. - are you saying I should eliminate the enjambments?No, but use them sensibly [/b]
Well done but I have never played the game.
Best,
tectak

Thanks for the advice. Unfortunately, I found some of it a little tough to understand. Sprouting mutes was just referring to the silently growing plants.Sheesh...and you say the crit was hard to understand?

[billy]

the layout (enjambment in places) doesn't hold up that well. i don't want to pause after 'my eyes', but reluctantly have to the poem isn't in sonnet form so you can be more lenient with the iambic pentameter. the latter part of the poem drifted into a weaker read and didn't hold me. in truth i couldn't follow it enough to make sense of how or why.

thanks for the read.

I walked beneath the spreading skies, which touched
down into foothills far away. My eyes
saw, in some silent stalks, a chain that lay is [some] needed?
and rusted in the sprouting mutes. A vein, is [and] needed?
a withered thread still held decaying roots
in crusted links, the trapper now the prey
to shouts of wind and floods that fell, the vow i like the enjambement here as i'm given time to think of vow at the pause while allowing for a complete structured next line
of nature, of impermanence, kept well.
The strand was one of thousands more, long since here long since doesn't work for me
lost, whose eclipses shimmered there before nor does ['lost']
in cosmic orders, rotations… stripped bare,
no more to hold dewy constellations
up to the setting moon, entomb, or tell
of death, woven on such an unseen loom.