Today the Flood

[Leanne]

Revision 10/3/2013

Where the clouds become the earth, the ground
swells and expels feral regrets.
Windows, shades and summers are trapped
beneath the tempest, waiting
to be born.

You encourage exploration –
endless questions placing culverts
for forgotten debris to block.

I sip again the nectar that
glistens at the corner of the hour.

Behind the curtains, tomorrow’s promise
melts feebly into soda, lime and
a slag of sorrow. Someone, somewhere,
forgets to press rewind.

Revision 3/3/13

Where the clouds become the earth, the ground
swells and expels its savage regrets.
Windows, shades and summers are trapped
beneath the tempest, waiting
to be born.

You encourage exploration –
endless questions placing culverts
for forgotten debris to block,

and the light from your eyes
is a drop in the glass
reflecting on yesterday’s mockingbird mime
and a crystal decanter of sky

I sip again the nectar that
glistens at the corner of the hour.

Behind the curtains, tomorrow’s promise
melts feebly into soda, lime and
a slag of sorrow. Someone, somewhere,
forgets to press rewind.

Original

Where the clouds become the earth, the ground
swells and expels its savage regrets.
Windows, shades and summers are trapped
beneath the tempest, waiting
to be born.

You encourage exploration –
endless questions placing culverts
for forgotten debris to block,

and how can I keep looking inside
when there’s nothing to see but the light from your eyes
reflecting on yesterday’s mockingbird mime
and a crystal decanter of sky?

I
sip again the nectar that
glistens at the corner of the hour.

Behind the curtains, tomorrow’s promise
melts feebly into soda, lime and
a slag of sorrow. Someone, somewhere,
forgets to press rewind.

[billy]

at the first two lines i thought it was about a literal flood. the next three sort of made me change my thinking. they harboured a sadness. then it shifts to a lighter feel of being drawn out through compassion. then it turns into a love poem where you get lost in someone else, forgetting your own hurts (not yours but the 1st persons.) and finally a depression hehe i feel like a fuckin confessional don't I
i don't care if i got it right, i did enjoy the ride, not sure the 'I' works in the penultimate stanza but it didn't hold up the read any. no nits other than that one.

thanks for the read.

Where the clouds become the earth, the ground
swells and expels its savage regrets. great metaphor
Windows, shades and summers are trapped
beneath the tempest, waiting the build up through what i see as an extended metaphor works really well
to be born.

You encourage exploration –
endless questions placing culverts
for forgotten debris to block, this feel like a good anti climax to the flood

and how can I keep looking inside not sure how else you could say it but this feels like the weakest line of the poem.
when there’s nothing to see but the light from your eyes this the 2nd weakest, not bad bu maybe could be strengthened.
reflecting on yesterday’s mockingbird mime
and a crystal decanter of sky? beautiful

I
sip again the nectar that
glistens at the corner of the hour.

Behind the curtains, tomorrow’s promise
melts feebly into soda, lime and
a slag of sorrow. Someone, somewhere,
forgets to press rewind.

[Stalker]

Um Leanne

I have read this through and pondered a bit

I cannot follow it.

I feel a bit stupid and defeated in that.

[Leanne]

Lucy, there's no reason for you to feel stupid. This is a new poem that hasn't been exposed to an audience yet, so the fault is more than likely with the writer

Billy, the lines you don't like are where the poem began. I don't like them much either. As time passes, I expect they'll make a graceful exit.

[cidermaid]

Hi Leanne, I loved this.
Like Billy I started off thinking that this was a poem about the forces of nature and (because of your previous poems with strong links to Aus) i had images of red soil boiling under a flood after the first two lines...but I should have know better than to just expect the obvious from one of your poems.
My apoligies if my crit reads more like a spoiler (of sorts)...it is just my ideas and thoughts from reading. When i really like a poem but find little to nit pick over I try to offer the writer what the poem made me think of and the journey i took instead. Not sure if it's any help but it's all I have to offer somedays.

Where the clouds become the earth, the ground Good opening. first clause made me think of a mirage, so for me this has a slightly mystical, unfocused and hallucinogenic state to it. Upon second reading, this then become wistful in tone.
swells and expels its savage regrets. Think this line (+ inc the ref to ground) is excellent and for me was key to understanding the poem. I read it as a doorway from the metaphor of nature into a landslide of brokeness. I liked the raw (almost volcanic) sense of rising up of the emotions - Kudos to make the switch from nature to emotions so subtle - brilliant.
Windows, shades and summers are trapped I get such a lot of information in this line from such a few words...(well in my version of what this is all about anyway )...Windows - I'm thinking of eyes into the soul so a life, Shades and and summers - negative and positive memories of a life.
beneath the tempest, waiting Nice link back to the volcanic swell of emotions
to be born. Ah...but these emotions are repressed and frustrated. Not yet come to full term.

I feel that this was a near perfect stanza. You could have finished the poem there and it would stand well on it's own.
But there is more...!

You encourage exploration – I get a sense of the swelling and pent up frustration. I really like the placement of You. It has an accusational tone to it in my reading.
endless questions placing culverts I'm thinking of an unequal partneship. One who is more articulate and quick witted using this ability to crush and confound the other.
for forgotten debris to block, And again the link back to the ground swell of historic pressure that is ever mounting

and how can I keep looking inside Agree with Billy on these two lines
when there’s nothing to see but the light from your eyes
reflecting on yesterday’s mockingbird mime
and a crystal decanter of sky? Love the second two lines though. particularly like the mocking bird image..for me it underlines what I got from the previous stanza

I
sip again the nectar that
glistens at the corner of the hour. I might be missing something here but I'm struggling to connect this into the poem. I want to make it a sort of self martyrdom concerning the deep well of frustration and mounting anger...but not sure this is what it is. On the tip of my understanding but right now a miss...I need something more here

Behind the curtains, tomorrow’s promise Nice image (curtain) - for me speaks of a hidden quality, thinking of eyes again so = masking emotions.
melts feebly into soda, lime and
a slag of sorrow. Someone, somewhere,
forgets to press rewind. Really like this last stanza. Nice link between previous stanzas throughout. Tomorrows promise makes me think the rotten scumbag is always contrite and full of wind about change..that never comes. And then if the picture i wanted to find in the previous "nectar" lines fits, the swelling surge of frustration and anger never breaks the surface of the facarde of the face. (It stays behind the eyes). Not strong enough to break out...where it becomes a pile of sorrow and a easy pushover into self pity (nice double meaning in slag).
finally I thought the last line was a nice link back to the first line / stanza with a wistful and out of body element of disconnect in the experiance and life lived.

As ever just my somewhat blond thoughts and ramblings. Even if i'm totally wrong. I loved this poem and the journey it took me on.
Thanks for sharing AJ.

[Todd]

I may be taking this poem entirely the wrong way, but I see this as an extended metaphor for two people in a relationship. One of the pushing the speaker to open up. This person is not always safe and doesn't respect what the speaker shares. There is also a lot of sharing coming from reduced inhibitions. There is a torrent unleashed that's impossible to bottle up again. There is no undoing it.

Comments below:

Where the clouds become the earth, the ground
swells and expels its savage regrets.
Windows, shades and summers are trapped
beneath the tempest, waiting
to be born.--all beautiful setup. What was far off is now near. Nice tension

You encourage exploration –
endless questions placing culverts
for forgotten debris to block,--this last line gets at the self exploration and the way the speaker protects themselves through the process. That it forgotten debris makes us think that the speaker is trying to be open, but is blocked by past baggage.

and how can I keep looking inside
when there’s nothing to see but the light from your eyes--I keep wanting to shorten this "at the light from your eyes"
reflecting on yesterday’s mockingbird mime --beautiful phrasing for what I believe means the self-limiting scripts in my head. The remembered voices of critical people
and a crystal decanter of sky? --very lovely phrasing

I
sip again the nectar that
glistens at the corner of the hour.--love the "corner of the hour" as if we've reached an important transition

Behind the curtains, tomorrow’s promise
melts feebly into soda, lime and --the melting promise is like ice in a mixed drink. I like that
a slag of sorrow. Someone, somewhere,
forgets to press rewind.--no going back

I enjoyed the read Leanne.

Best,

Todd

[serge gurkski]

"expels its savage regrets. Think this line (+ inc the ref to ground) is excellent and for me was key to understanding the poem. I read it as a doorway from the metaphor of nature into a landslide of brokeness. I liked the raw (almost volcanic) sense of rising up of the emotions - Kudos to make the switch from nature to emotions so subtle - brilliant."
Wow! Now i feel like a complete idiot because I still don't get it. What's wrong with me ?

[cidermaid]

@ Serge - Nothing it's more likely to be me making a complete idiot of myself again

[Todd]

I think it's more likely that there a multiple interpretive paths than that anyone is an idiot.

[Leanne]

Thanks a million, all. You guys liked the lines I thought were the throwaways, so I've kept them, and that kind of feedback is invaluable (because as we've discussed, we are NOT great judges of our own poetry). I'm still working my way through this myself, which is what happens to me at the start of the process.

Serge, I see AJ has sorted out any confusion about the first stanza Thanks for your critique, I confess that AJ has put it much more succinctly than I could! (I like the hour line as well, I've been hung up on manifestations of time lately).

AJ, wow! I don't know yet whether your interpretations and mine match (as I said, I'm still turning this over in my head) but NEVER apologise for having a different idea to anyone else. For me, there is no greater thrill than a reader taking my poems on such a journey.

Todd, I always look forward to a critique from you. I hadn't even thought about soda and lime as a drink (well maybe I had subconsciously), I was imagining a pane of glass separating into its components. Guess I'm more clever than I realised

---

billy, I shifted the lonely "I" I had put it there for the effect of the rhythm, but changing the preceding stanza I decided that the rhythm was too kitschy so I ditched it, and the I could have friends again.

[serge gurkski]

Leanne wrote: You guys liked the lines I thought were the throwaways

Isn't that odd?? This is exactly what I find difficult about workshops. I know what you mean, being too close to your own poetry.

[Leanne]

It's not really that odd -- where the poem starts is rarely where it finishes. Sometimes it goes in completely unexpected directions. That's what I like about workshops.

[serge gurkski]

Is it still your work then? Look at my poem where you earlier suggested to change a line and I had to agree ( the black hole line).
But the line is your's, not mine. (title too, as you know). So I feel almost forced to name you (in that case) bc I do not steal, comes it to poetry. Maybe I think wrongly. I do enjoy (non-ad hominem feedback) but still I am the artist (learning still).

What I like best is, when a critic points out deficiences (like you did with my Gallagher poem). I accept the critique and rewrite, but it is my rewrite.
Hm.
whatever ,-)

need a beer now. Is it me complicating things?

[Leanne]

Yes, it's still my poem. Yours is still your poem. The reason? Because all through our lives we are finding inspiration, picking and choosing from a selection of words that may be placed in infinite combinations. We unconsciously select phrases or images that we don't even register at the time and we put them on paper. If I put on the lipstick that a friend suggests, they are still my lips.

We choose to select or reject the ideas offered. The control rests entirely with the writer, unless the writer is not confident enough to claim ownership of the poem to begin with OR the writer is lazy and will simply take whatever is offered without personal input because he/she is happy to have other people do all the work.

[Todd]

It's no different than what an editor does on a lesser scale. Except for in the most extreme cases of laziness that Leanne talks about when the writer becomes truly passive, it remains yours.

[serge gurkski]

Leanne: We unconsciously select ..
fine with me as long as it really is subconsciously.

But I changed that line consciously and that makes a difference to me. See, how distanced I really am to postmodernism?
Regarding Irigaray: what I like about her was not what she wrote about but that she wrote about it .
I even like Solanas (scum, you know that manifesto) again not bc I am a feminist ( I am not) but bc I liked the anarchistic attitude. (Sucker for this. I guess that's quite obvious anyway).
I also don't use lipstick but like it on my body (not my lips).
to Todd: I never had an editor. I am under-priviledged.

Please don't forget that I am not polemicising here. I'm simply curious.

[Leanne]

I rarely use the word "subconscious" -- it's become tainted by newage self help gurus And I actually do mean unconscious.

Now, as this is serious critique, it's not a good idea to continue discussions in this forum.

[serge gurkski]

Right. Just thought that. Sorry for the Freudian. :-)

[popeye]

Where the clouds become the earth, the ground
swells and expels its savage regrets.
Windows, shades and summers are trapped
beneath the tempest, waiting
to be born.

You encourage exploration –
endless questions placing culverts
for forgotten debris to block,

and the light from your eyes
is a drop in the glass
reflecting on yesterday’s mockingbird mime
and a crystal decanter of sky

I sip again the nectar that
glistens at the corner of the hour.

Behind the curtains, tomorrow’s promise
melts feebly into soda, lime and
a slag of sorrow. Someone, somewhere,
forgets to press rewind.

Hello Leanne, not sure how accurate this is, to me this poem is one

wonderful metaphor for the death of a previous loving

relationship. Line one sets the mood perfectly, lovers staring into

the distant horizon, a male storm brooding, female earth welling

tears through swollen eyes, anger and frustration palpable, waiting

to explode like thunder.

Stanza two and some sort of resolution trying to be found, but

previous baggage blocking the way.

Stanza three and his once bright eyes glaze to disinterested

dullness which make a mockery of the earlier good times, reflecting

a small chink of sky and not, perhaps, candle light reflected from

a bottle of wine.

Stanza four and she has one last glimpse of what was.

Last stanza drops the shutter leaving only feelings of loss and

loneliness with the realization of finality!

Cheers

[tectak]

Revision 3/3/13

Where the clouds become the earth, the ground
swells and expels its savage regrets.
Windows, shades and summers are trapped
beneath the tempest, waiting
to be born.Great anthropomorphisms here. A favourite of mine. Cannot be improved upon

You encourage exploration –
endless questions placing culverts
for forgotten debris to block, This is a complex line. I think it is the "for" word. Deconstructing: " ...questions placing culverts, for debris to block" throws the causality in to the "placing" ie.placing "for" debris to block. I keep wanting to hear " ..placing culverts to be blocked by forgotten debris." so that the causality relates to an attribute of the culverts. ie they become blocked because they are culverts, not because they are placed. Do I make sense? A nit.

and the light from your eyes
is a drop in the glass
reflecting on yesterday’s mockingbird mime
and a crystal decanter of sky"and...and" seems to imply chain thinking. Afterthoughts. I am not sure that the last line has positional merit...nice line, but why here?

I sip again the nectar that
glistens at the corner of the hour.

Behind the curtains, tomorrow’s promise
melts feebly into soda, lime and
a slag of sorrow. Someone, somewhere,
forgets to press rewind.Slug of sorrow, maybe. Slag? Ozzie for your best mate's woman? Apart from that, just scrumptious

Great stuff. Compact as an atom. Love it but not to pieces.
Best,
tectak

Original

Where the clouds become the earth, the ground
swells and expels its savage regrets.
Windows, shades and summers are trapped
beneath the tempest, waiting
to be born.

You encourage exploration –
endless questions placing culverts
for forgotten debris to block,

and how can I keep looking inside
when there’s nothing to see but the light from your eyes
reflecting on yesterday’s mockingbird mime
and a crystal decanter of sky?

I
sip again the nectar that
glistens at the corner of the hour.

Behind the curtains, tomorrow’s promise
melts feebly into soda, lime and
a slag of sorrow. Someone, somewhere,
forgets to press rewind.