On the Mississippi bottoms
West African griot rhythms
vibrate through Spanish moss
swaying over the river bank,
as lovers find their own cadence,
song settling into their hands
as they move softly on skin.

At night, in the juke joint,
his face commands the stage,
he nods, beams, a calm center,
statue still, and ready.

Huge hands, calloused from hoe
and shovel in the fields, cradle
the battered guitar; he slips the slide
on his little finger, it moans and cries
up and down honky-tonk strings.

Outside, on steamy streets, 
men in the shadows, knives in pockets,
are ready for the night, as their women
saunter in at dusk from hushed fields.

An aristocrat where he sits,
the clown on demand,
he moves his hands in memory
over maps of a new land, 
forbidding tyranny,
where exuberant sounds untangle
the Gordian knot fashioned of chains.


(original)
On the Mississippi bottoms
West African griot rhythms
pulse through Spanish moss
that sways over the river bank,
as lovers find their own cadence,
hands move like songs on skin.

At night, in the juke joint,
his face possesses the stage,
nods, beams, a calm center,
statue still, stone ready.

He cradles the guitar in huge hands,
calloused from field work;
the slide on his little finger cries,
moans up and down honky-tonk strings.

Hidden knives of men are at the ready,
streets are steamy, women scheme,
as they walk in from sweltering fields at dusk.

An aristocrat where he sits,
he’s the clown on demand,
moves his hands in memory over maps
of a new land forbidden to tyranny,
where exuberant sounds untangle
the Gordian knot fashioned of chains.

Hey RC.

On the Mississippi bottoms
West African griot rhythms
pulse through Spanish moss
that sways over the river bank,
as lovers find their own cadence,
hands move like songs on skin.
I think this is terrific all by itself.
Needs a few minor tweaks as far
as rhythm goes but the last line
is really excellent. ('Pulse' isn't
that interesting, and maybe 'swaying'
- a bit more dynamic- for 'that sways' ?
perhaps;
lovers find their own cadence[s],
hands moving like songs [up]on skin.)

At night, in the juke joint,
his face possesses the stage,
don't really understand
'face possesses the stage'
nods, beams, a calm center,
statue still, stone ready.
'stone ready' just seems a weak
end to 'statue'

He cradles the guitar in huge hands,
calloused from field work;
the slide on his little finger cries,
moans up and down honky-tonk strings.
Not quite doing enough for me
Just a for instance;
Guitar softly cradled in calloused hands,
huge [heavy from field work.
He slips the slide on his little finger...]

Hidden knives of men are at the ready,
streets are steamy, women scheme,
as they walk in from sweltering fields at dusk.
Don't understand why this verse is here.

An aristocrat where he sits,
he’s the clown on demand,
Could do with having the aristocrat/clown
contradiction explained.
moves his hands in memory over maps
of a new land forbidden to tyranny,
where exuberant sounds untangle
the Gordian knot fashioned of chains.

You seem to have two or three pieces here,
and I'm not sure they amount to a single whole.
S1 is worth the price of admission on its own though.


Best, Knot.

Hey RC,

Good read, some comments below

(04-24-2018, 10:52 AM)RC James Wrote:  On the Mississippi bottoms
West African griot rhythms
pulse through Spanish moss A good image but I'm not sure of its significance. 
that sways over the river bank,
as lovers find their own cadence, Lovers finding their cadence is a difficult movement to draw similarities to moss swaying over a river bank, imo. Maybe it's the vagueness of "lovers find their cadence"; I'd be a little more specific in how. 
hands move like songs on skin. I want to get this simile because of how good it sounds, but I cannot picture songs moving on skin. The best I can do is the pulsing bass you'd feel in your throat or the chills you'd get from a good song. I'd flip "hands" and "song" and find a more appropriate verb than "move" afterwards.  

At night, in the juke joint,
his face possesses the stage,
nods, beams, a calm center,
statue still, stone ready.

I'd rephrase the stanza above as this, do with it as you like:

At night, in the juke joint,
his face possesses the stage;
it nods, beams, is calmly-centered,
statue-still and stone-ready.

He cradles the guitar in huge hands,
calloused from field work; Great image, but I'd go just a little more in detail. What is it he does in the fields? I'd use that instead of just "field work"
the slide on his little finger cries,
moans up and down honky-tonk strings. I like these two lines.

Hidden knives of men are at the ready,
streets are steamy, women scheme, I like "streets are steamy".
as they walk in from sweltering fields at dusk. This stanza seems to be setting up something bad to happen, but there's never any payoff. What happened to the men with the knives and scheming women? 

Maybe you could rephrase the stanza as follows. Again, do with it as you like:

On steamy streets, the knives of men
are sheathed and thirsty as the scheming women
who walk in from sweltering fields at dusk. This last line reads kind of awkwardly bc of "sweltering". If you decide to go this route, I'd find a different adjective.

An aristocrat where he sits,
he’s the clown on demand, I'd omit "he's"
moves his hands in memory over maps
of a new land forbidden to tyranny, maybe "forbidding tyranny"?
where exuberant sounds untangle
the Gordian knot fashioned of chains. Nice finish.

Best, Alex

Knot - Alex - Good stuff from you both - lot to sort out - will get back to you
when I'm somewhere along in that process - not being evasive - simply have
some physical issues to deal w/ this morning - RC