Memories -
bottled delusions
tumbling into my blood
down funnels of glass.
Their honeycomb doses
hold hook fittings
and they’re greasy, with ‘Daily’
screaming from the label.
I take them; morning morphs to
evening, enervated, sleepy,
and you're still
near.
I crave that opiate,
putrescence slipped into me
disguised. Then I realize:
You are not
that I am.
(07-01-2017, 05:57 PM)just mercedes Wrote: [ -> ]Memories -
bottled delusions
tumbling into my blood
down funnels of glass. meta for a syringe? the word funnels makes me think of force feeding, good way to allude to addiction.
Their honeycomb doses
hold hook fittings
and they’re greasy, with ‘Daily’ greasy, first hint to feeling disgusted, besides proving the daily use
screaming from the label.
I take them; morning morphs to maybe “another morning morphs to..” and leave “I take them” out. anyway, great way to describe lost days.
evening, enervated, sleepy,
and you're still interesting enjambment, missing someone, trying to forget… or just the first thoughts of withdrawal
near.
I crave that opiate, I think opiate doesn´t need to be mentioned literally, it´s already in the title, maybe just write “I crave you”?.
putrescence slipped into me maybe try to change putrescence into an adjective to make the last two lines clearer? (well, this is just based on the assumption I understood them right…)
disguised. Then I realize: maybe better "while I know" instead of "then I realize", since I think most addicts are aware of and disgusted by their addiction all the (sober) time.
You are not
that I am.
an intense observation and description, and surreal at the same time with these images and metaphors.
Thank you vagabond for your read and comments.
(07-01-2017, 05:57 PM)just mercedes Wrote: [ -> ]Memories -
bottled delusions
tumbling into my blood
down funnels of glass. -- I find this just the slightest bit trite. Considering audiences though, maybe it does need to be this obvious.
Their honeycomb doses
hold hook fittings -- I'm not entirely sure if this is over-alliterated but I think maybe... the "h" sound is a hard one to repeat without a harshness that doesn't quite sit with the "greasy" image in the next line.
and they’re greasy, with ‘Daily’
screaming from the label.
I take them; morning morphs to
evening, enervated, sleepy, -- love the sounds in this strophe, particularly the shifting "e" assonance
and you're still
near.
I crave that opiate,
putrescence slipped into me
disguised. Then I realize:
You are not
that I am. -- I am... putrescence? Ouch. Or is this a callback to still near? Both work, and actually have a similar effect to my reading.
Much to like here. Considering the title, I would have really liked more contrast between light/dark, black/white. Though the mimicry is definitely present. But then, you know I'm a cheap mythology whore
Thanks Leanne! As always, you open it up. I'll come back to this soon.
(07-01-2017, 05:57 PM)just mercedes Wrote: [ -> ]Memories -
bottled delusions
tumbling into my blood
down funnels of glass. ...bottled > tumbling > funnels sounds lovely. I'm assuming that this is describing a morphine (or opiate) drip
Their honeycomb doses ..didn't get 'honeycomb' - I thought they'd be bulk standard plastic cylindrical bottles..?
hold hook fittings
and they’re greasy, with ‘Daily’
screaming from the label.
I take them; morning morphs to ... nice pun (sort of)
evening, enervated, sleepy,
and you're still
near. ...an unexpected ending that reads well.
I crave that opiate,
putrescence slipped into me
disguised. Then I realize:
You are not
that I am. ... didn't get this last bit....
I was hoping for an allusion to Somnus being the son of Morpheus (or vice versa), if only because I'd prepared it as a trivia question a long time ago.
Thank you Achebe - and no, I didn't know about the son/father of Morpheus being Somnus. I'll get back to this soon.
I'll get into it.
(07-01-2017, 05:57 PM)just mercedes Wrote: [ -> ]Memories -
bottled delusions
tumbling into my blood
down funnels of glass. <reminds me of how the mind conjures up false memories to fill up traumatic gaps, is there an accident?>
Their honeycomb doses <a pillbox?>
hold hook fittings
and they’re greasy, with ‘Daily’
screaming from the label. <recuperating?>
I take them; morning morphs to
evening, enervated, sleepy,
and you're still <you're still... dead, and yet the yearning>
near.
I crave that opiate,
putrescence slipped into me
disguised. Then I realize:
You are not
that I am.
While my critique is of little to no use here, I really like the poem. The epilogue seems to be an accident in which the narrator is injured and a significant other dies. The first stanza opens in the hospital, with a hazy description, and flows into the second, where the narrator is back home and is still medicated, but has supranatural sensitivity, somewhat like the man in 'A Tell-Tale Heart'. The third and fourth seem to deal with coming to terms with the loss, and a (strangely) hard look at opiate addiction. The last two lines are somewhat beyond me, though.
It seems almost blasphemous to reduce this poem in such a manner, but a little blasphemy never hurts. If this is similar to the original idea, then maybe 'bottled delusions' is a strange way to put it. Also, the last stanza has a very strong sentiment, unnerving, almost, and it seems to clash with the bit about realization. 'You are not that I am' seems a little weak here, almost mystical, and while opiates are often viewed as a gateway to dreamlands, it clashes with the tone of the preceding lines harshly.
My two cents.
Thanks RY for your read and comments.
The allusion of the last two lines seem to be missed by everyone. Exodus 3:14
14 God said to Moses, “I am that I am.”
I agree it's not very clear. I will revise this poem soon.