My Mother Left Me the Sun

[brynmawr1]

In these waning days
of summer, I casually lay
in the shade of live oak;
through leaves fractured 
sun’s glitter on whose face
I draw still a mother’s smile,
 
your smile; always the sun
you chased as Icarus wanting
absolution from consideration
of who else might fall.  What
does a mother owe her children?
 
The same, I guess, as due
of them when they savage
into the world having hearts 
long traded. Yours was
 
an aurora of autumn prismed
from green to yellow to orange,
then the sun’s red fire.  Death is
the mother of Beauty.  I hear
 
with a breeze the song of the winter 
wren- undulating, high and long
but that is no more
than the echo of an earlier spring.
 
I must be content living in memory,
evening’s clouds having gathered;
their laughter galloping
horizon to horizon.

This poem was very different before TqB introduced me to Wallace Stevens and then rowens posted the class on "Auras of Autumn" which heavily influenced S4.  I also added a link to the song of the winter wren with a cool visual depiction of the call

[TranquillityBase]

In these waning days

of summer, I casually lay

in the shade of live oak;

through leaves fractured 

sun’s glitter on whose face

I draw still a mother’s smile,  my only suggestion; the rest should be left alone

 

your smile; always the sun

you chased as Icarus wanting

absolution from consideration

of who else might fall.  What              lovely and inspiring stream of words here

does a mother owe her children?      good question

 

The same, I guess, as due

of them when they savage

into the world having hearts 

long traded. Yours was                   another lovely stream of words; not Stevenson, this is your voice; I can tell, coz I'm telepathic; good answer to the question

 

an aurora of autumn prismed

from green to yellow to orange,

then the sun’s red fire.  Death is

the mother of Beauty.  I hear           no need for the spoiler for anyone who has read Stevens; if they haven't, that's their look out

 

with a breeze the song of the winter 

wren- undulating, high and long           Stevens loves the word "undulating"

but that is no more

than the echo of an earlier spring.

 

I must be content living in memory,   "am" (well, one more itty bitty suggestion)

evening’s clouds having gathered;

their laughter galloping    maybe one more suggestion, "galloping" seems too active for drifting clouds
horizon to horizon.

Bryn,

The whole thing is beautiful.  It feels like you've set yourself free to go wild and wanton with your language in a good and productive way.  No shame in channeling Stevens or any other poet, in my not so humble opinion.  It was a real pleasure to wake up to this.  I tremble to think that other critiques may lead you to alter it.  But I guess that's none of my business, verdad?

Why does this damn software insert double spacing?  not my doing!

TqB

[brynmawr1]

In these waning days

of summer, I casually lay

in the shade of live oak;

through leaves fractured 

sun’s glitter on whose face

I draw still a mother’s smile,  my only suggestion; the rest should be left alone    I went back and forth a lot on this.  Kind of liked how it might be a little unexpected and cause a pause and has a few extra shades of meaning that get pulled in.  That's what going on in my head, it's a "special" place!

 

your smile; always the sun

you chased as Icarus wanting

absolution from consideration

of who else might fall.  What              lovely and inspiring stream of words here

does a mother owe her children?      good question

 

The same, I guess, as due

of them when they savage

into the world having hearts 

long traded. Yours was                   another lovely stream of words; not Stevenson, this is your voice; I can tell, coz I'm telepathic; good answer to the question

 

an aurora of autumn prismed

from green to yellow to orange,

then the sun’s red fire.  Death is

the mother of Beauty.  I hear           no need for the spoiler for anyone who has read Stevens; if they haven't, that's their look out

 

with a breeze the song of the winter 

wren- undulating, high and long           Stevens loves the word "undulating"   I didn't know that-lucky coincidence or subliminal mind control 

but that is no more

than the echo of an earlier spring.

 

I must be content living in memory,   "am" (well, one more itty bitty suggestion)  

evening’s clouds having gathered;

their laughter galloping    maybe one more suggestion, "galloping" seems too active for drifting clouds  
horizon to horizon.

Bryn,

The whole thing is beautiful.  It feels like you've set yourself free to go wild and wanton with your language in a good and productive way.  No shame in channeling Stevens or any other poet, in my not so humble opinion.  It was a real pleasure to wake up to this.  I tremble to think that other critiques may lead you to alter it.  But I guess that's none of my business, verdad?

Why does this damn software insert double spacing?  not my doing!

TqB

Thanks TqB.  I'm not sure what the rules are for adapting from other writers.  My other influence on the course of this poem is a you tube video I watched on "writing with Andrew" about how poems, at least the memorable ones, are about more than pretty images. With which I mostly agree, although anything written well enough will carry its own water.

I tremble to think that other critiques may lead you to alter it.  But I guess that's none of my business, verdad?  We'll see.  I am always happy to hear your opinion, especially if you think an edit was a mistake.

 feels like you've set yourself free to go wild and wanton with your language  Maybe.  I still feel like I have no real control of the process.

After reading your Dutch poem I figured out how to insert links.  It's a fun way to sort of put in footnote information and make the poem multimedia.  I tried to get 'song' to just play the sound but couldn't figure that out.  Anyone know how?

Take care,
Bryn

[TranquillityBase]

After reading your Dutch poem I figured out how to insert links.  It's a fun way to sort of put in footnote information and make the poem multimedia.  I tried to get 'song' to just play the sound but couldn't figure that out.  Anyone know how?

Yes, that's the first time I've done that.  Now I want to write a poem which is nothing but links to other pages.

As to playing a sound, I don't see a way unless maybe it would involve the "insert code" option, and you knew how program said code to make a sound.  

[alonso ramoran]

brynmawr1,

Wow. This is beautiful. There's not much that I can say or even really want to say. I'll try.

In these waning days Nice opener that sets the tone. The N feels something in or around them changing, not fading.

of summer, I casually lay

in the shade of live oak; What I get from this: there's a cheerful indifference to and yet an acknowledgment of change protected by the things that have been changed or are changing. For a moment I forgot this poem was titled "My Mother Left Me the Sun" and what I extracted from this image sounds like a child humbly praising their parent, which is nice.

through leaves fractured 

sun’s glitter on whose face It hurts to point out because I am enjoying how the language sounds, I'm not sure if "glitter" is being used as a noun or a verb.

I draw still a mother’s smile,



your smile; always the sun

you chased as Icarus wanting

absolution from consideration

of who else might fall.  What

does a mother owe her children?

 

The same, I guess, as due

of them when they savage

into the world having hearts I typically have doubts when abstractions like "hearts" are used, but the way it's used here makes it still a part of an interesting puzzle to solve. This tells me that I'm in good hands.

long traded. Yours was

 

an aurora of autumn prismed

from green to yellow to orange,

then the sun’s red fire.  Death is Very psychedelic sequence that I think is permitted by a nice use of the verb "prismed". It effectively describes color and movement.

the mother of Beauty.  I hear

 

with a breeze the song of the winter 

wren- undulating, high and long not only is this a nice appeal to the sense of hearing but also sense of touch. I can feel the wind gently guiding the trill into my ear.

but that is no more

than the echo of an earlier spring.

 

I must be content living in memory, This transition into the future is done beautifully with the stanza before it being a fine segue, appealing first to sound (the birdcall).

evening’s clouds having gathered;

their laughter galloping At this point I'm guessing "their" refers to both the mother and child's laughter, which is heartbreaking. Interesting to think about how these moments travel here and there on hooves. Either way, the knee jerk image is a band of wild horses just running freely wherever.

horizon to horizon.

This poem was very different before TqB introduced me to Wallace Stevens and then rowens posted the class on "Auras of Autumn" which heavily influenced S4.  I also added a link to the song of the winter wren with a cool visual depiction of the call

Thank you for sharing.

AR

[brynmawr1]

brynmawr1,

Wow. This is beautiful. There's not much that I can say or even really want to say. I'll try.

In these waning days Nice opener that sets the tone. The N feels something in or around them changing, not fading.

of summer, I casually lay

in the shade of live oak; What I get from this: there's a cheerful indifference to and yet an acknowledgment of change protected by the things that have been changed or are changing. For a moment I forgot this poem was titled "My Mother Left Me the Sun" and what I extracted from this image sounds like a child humbly praising their parent, which is nice.        

through leaves fractured 

sun’s glitter on whose face It hurts to point out because I am enjoying how the language sounds, I'm not sure if "glitter" is being used as a noun or a verb.  I guess I'm not surprised.  I purposely made the language a little tight here but worried that the syntax would get muddled.  I might need to add a little punctuation to clarify.  But to answer your question, meant to be a noun.

I draw still a mother’s smile,



your smile; always the sun

you chased as Icarus wanting

absolution from consideration

of who else might fall.  What

does a mother owe her children?

 

The same, I guess, as due

of them when they savage

into the world having hearts I typically have doubts when abstractions like "hearts" are used, but the way it's used here makes it still a part of an interesting puzzle to solve. This tells me that I'm in good hands.

long traded. Yours was

 

an aurora of autumn prismed

from green to yellow to orange,

then the sun’s red fire.  Death is Very psychedelic sequence that I think is permitted by a nice use of the verb "prismed". It effectively describes color and movement.

the mother of Beauty.  I hear

 

with a breeze the song of the winter 

wren- undulating, high and long not only is this a nice appeal to the sense of hearing but also sense of touch. I can feel the wind gently guiding the trill into my ear.

but that is no more

than the echo of an earlier spring.

 

I must be content living in memory, This transition into the future is done beautifully with the stanza before it being a fine segue, appealing first to sound (the birdcall).

evening’s clouds having gathered;

their laughter galloping At this point I'm guessing "their" refers to both the mother and child's laughter, which is heartbreaking. Interesting to think about how these moments travel here and there on hooves. Either way, the knee jerk image is a band of wild horses just running freely wherever.

horizon to horizon.

This poem was very different before TqB introduced me to Wallace Stevens and then rowens posted the class on "Auras of Autumn" which heavily influenced S4.  I also added a link to the song of the winter wren with a cool visual depiction of the call

Thank you for sharing.

AR

hey AR,
Thanks for reading and commenting.  Reading your interpretations of different parts is really helpful.  Especially the last stanza.  not entirely what I necessarily intended but liked what you came away with and it was the overall feeling I wanted to convey.
I look forward to reading your next posting.
bryn