Exegesis

[Sparkydashforth]

They are the octopus, I am the beak.

What?

In dark waters we are pockmarked by light.

What?

Today all is a linty green, even so,
the sun stalks with its goring horns.

What?

Here is a meadow -
the thugs of Venus
have trampled it into ruts and mires.
April sucks
at pores and arteries.

What?

Listen,
we are the many
the invisible feelers, the mycelium,
the crusty plasma of countless spores.
We speak for the leaves and grass.
Walt Whitman
is the little finger you hardly use.

What?

Frog phlem speckles wet driveways.
See the fugly skulls of April,
how their jaws mince
beneath the green undercroft?
Hear you, the paw-slapping
hoo-ha songs of the earth?
I am the beak, they are the gummy cephalopods.

Yes, yes, about this beak thing.

I am the ink and the silence.
In a fledglings gawk I am the fluff and bull,
the bloody bruit, the crimson coercion.

What the...

"April is the cruelest month".

Oooo wait.....shit, I think I get it.

Really?

Please explain.

[aschueler]

I found this to be a nice, weird poem.  


 I was very distracted by the second voice, especially with the repetitive what.  And I didnt find it added anything even at the end.

Some other thoughts:  

I am unsure the sun has horns, unless you mean rays from it.  Seems odd.

I really liked the thugs of venus.

Iffy on name dropping Wiltman, as later TS Eliot.

"Fugly" cheapens the poem unforgivably... Find a better word.

[Sparkydashforth]

Thanks aschueler,

I'll take 'nice and weird'.
 
Often we stand on such words
like cat's trying not to get paws wet
in a pissing rain.

What?

I found this to be a nice, weird poem.  


 I was very distracted by the second voice, especially with the repetitive what.  And I didnt find it added anything even at the end.

Some other thoughts:  

I am unsure the sun has horns, unless you mean rays from it.  Seems odd.

I really liked the thugs of venus.

Iffy on name dropping Wiltman, as later TS Eliot.

"Fugly" cheapens the poem unforgivably... Find a better word.

[Lizzie]

Hi Sparkler

Kind of an angsty poem, yes? I like that -- it has a pleasant amount of grump to it, especially in a "nature" poem. I like that it's not rainbows and fluffy pink bunnies (especially around Eastertime).

The continual "What?" is disruptive to the reading -- maybe just reducing the number of them would help. Also, I feel a bit condescended to as the reader -- like the angst extends to the speaker's expectations from the reader, and I'm far too egotistical to find that engaging.  I feel like I'm being insulted if I'm not getting it.

They are the octopus, I am the beak.

What?

In dark waters we are pockmarked by light.

What?

Today all is a linty green, even so,
the sun stalks with its goring horns.

What?

Here is a meadow -
the thugs of Venus
have trampled it into ruts and mires.
April sucks -- I like the break here, suggesting multiple meanings
at pores and arteries.

What?

Listen, -- I like the conversational feel here
we are the many
the invisible feelers, the mycelium,
the crusty plasma of countless spores.
We speak for the leaves and grass.
Walt Whitman
is the little finger you hardly use. -- like the Walt Whitman reference, especially in a poem that engages the natural world, but from a perspective of 'this is gross.'

What?

Frog phlem speckles wet driveways.
See the fugly skulls of April,
how their jaws mince
beneath the green undercroft?
Hear you, the paw-slapping
hoo-ha songs of the earth?
I am the beak, they are the gummy cephalopods.

Yes, yes, about this beak thing.

I am the ink and the silence.
In a fledglings gawk I am the fluff and bull,
the bloody bruit, the crimson coercion.

What the...

"April is the cruelest Month".

Oooo wait.....shit, I think I get it.

Really?

Please explain.

I think if you did:

...the bloody bruit, the crimson coercion.

What the....

"April is the cruelest Month."

I get it now.

Oh? Please explain...


Then you could do one "What" earlier in the poem to establish that you're incorporating the voice of the reader without the reader continually intruding.

I do like how the speaker seems to also not understand fully what's going on.

And put your period before the end quote on "April is the cruelest Month." Why is month capitalized?

Ok, I hope something here helps.

lizziep

[Sparkydashforth]

Hi Lizzieiep.

Repetition and refrain tend to annoy me also, especially where there is only
a rhythmic excuse to employ such, but here (I think), the 'What?" builds up a tension
and an implausible backdrop to the over-the-top descriptive muse adopted by the
first voice. The 'What? is more an exclamation mark, a bemusement to the
clever but ultimately incomprehensible poetry being used.

The 'What' begs for clarity, but this second voice is also pretentiously
willing to go along with the overheated muse, for it is also part of this
pretentious dance.  The "What" in the end is exposed to be a willing partner
in this so called exegesis of a poem about Autumn.  It (the second voice),
reflects the understandable frustration of an 'average' reader by such opaque images.
Not until a famous line of poetry is quoted, in order to bolster an augment
for such vague and arbitrary language does the first voice capitulate, and
acquiesce to the convoluted explanations given, thereby revealing its
own academic hypocrisy.
In the end, even the first voice pleads for an answer, an exigesis that even it
does not fully comprehend.

The capitalization of 'month' in the quote only reflects my lack of typing skills.
Thanks for spotting it.

Hope this exegesis of an exegesis is, at the very least, a half-assed attempt
to explain the inexplicable. 

Cheers!

Hi Sparkler

Kind of an angsty poem, yes? I like that -- it has a pleasant amount of grump to it, especially in a "nature" poem. I like that it's not rainbows and fluffy pink bunnies (especially around Eastertime).

The continual "What?" is disruptive to the reading -- maybe just reducing the number of them would help. Also, I feel a bit condescended to as the reader -- like the angst extends to the speaker's expectations from the reader, and I'm far too egotistical to find that engaging.  I feel like I'm being insulted if I'm not getting it.

They are the octopus, I am the beak.

What?

In dark waters we are pockmarked by light.

What?

Today all is a linty green, even so,
the sun stalks with its goring horns.

What?

Here is a meadow -
the thugs of Venus
have trampled it into ruts and mires.
April sucks -- I like the break here, suggesting multiple meanings
at pores and arteries.

What?

Listen, -- I like the conversational feel here
we are the many
the invisible feelers, the mycelium,
the crusty plasma of countless spores.
We speak for the leaves and grass.
Walt Whitman
is the little finger you hardly use. -- like the Walt Whitman reference, especially in a poem that engages the natural world, but from a perspective of 'this is gross.'

What?

Frog phlem speckles wet driveways.
See the fugly skulls of April,
how their jaws mince
beneath the green undercroft?
Hear you, the paw-slapping
hoo-ha songs of the earth?
I am the beak, they are the gummy cephalopods.

Yes, yes, about this beak thing.

I am the ink and the silence.
In a fledglings gawk I am the fluff and bull,
the bloody bruit, the crimson coercion.

What the...

"April is the cruelest Month".

Oooo wait.....shit, I think I get it.

Really?

Please explain.

I think if you did:

...the bloody bruit, the crimson coercion.

What the....

"April is the cruelest Month."

I get it now.

Oh? Please explain...


Then you could do one "What" earlier in the poem to establish that you're incorporating the voice of the reader without the reader continually intruding.

I do like how the speaker seems to also not understand fully what's going on.

And put your period before the end quote on "April is the cruelest Month." Why is month capitalized?

Ok, I hope something here helps.

lizziep

[RiverNotch]

They are the octopus, I am the beak.

What? Yeah, what?

In dark waters we are pockmarked by light. I jest, I jest. I think I'll have to focus on the whats, here -- call the whats Critic-speaker, the non-whats Artist-speaker. My personal interpretation is this is sort of a critique against critics, a diss poem or whatever (dissing the nature of the interplay between the critic and the artist in general, and not any individual sort of critic or artist), but that's sort of irrelevant, especially since to critique that would be to buy into the whole show. I'll focus on more technical bits, such as how the first "What" works well enough to set the stage....

What?

Today all is a linty green, even so, Should be a semicolon for that first comma. 
the sun stalks with its goring horns. ....I mean, the point seems to be that Artist-speaker is being a real surrealistic pillow, and Critic-speaker is trying to take it in all "I'm legit"-wise. But ah, to elaborate is to buy into the whole show, and I'm sure all the Artist-speaker really wants is some peace and quiet....

What?

Here is a meadow -
the thugs of Venus
have trampled it into ruts and mires.
April sucks Oh, the line break between this and the next is really, really juicy. 
at pores and arteries.  ....I mean, I'm sure that's how art is supposed to work, right? To just be displayed, and not talked about ---- to show, and not foster any of the told dialectic that, to a lot of people, facilitates the epiphany the artist wants.... 

What?

Listen,
we are the many Comma or colon after many. I'd prefer a colon. Some would prefer an outright period, although I'm too much of a stickler for that. 
the invisible feelers, the mycelium, Er, I'm just not sure whether fungi have feelers -- or whether they actually feel, in the same way the feelers of a fish or an amphibian do (from whom I believe the term originated).
the crusty plasma of countless spores. --- crusty plasma? Er, I see something, but the term still feels incomplete. Yeah, it's far less poetic, but you do mean "plasma membranes", aye?
We speak for the leaves and grass. Fun fact: I think a lot of leaves get infected on the insides by this sort of fungus that happens to improve their useability in agriculture? I don't remember what sort of fungus that is --- but many more sorts of fungus just outright kill them. And returning to the poem, I see here dead leaves, and though it is a clean reference to old Whit-u-man the White, the tension between that sort of referentiality and all the clear images of before sort of comes to an uncomfortable head, here.
Walt Whitman
is the little finger you hardly use. This reminds me of a comic book I just read where the water wouldn't give the people undergoing Exodus any of her thirst-quenching stuff until they offer her the tips of their little fingers. That association produces a lovely, lovely images (and I don't mean that sarcastically; it's a perfect fit).

What?

Frog phlem speckles wet driveways. Never seen it spelled like that: "phlegm".
See the fugly skulls of April, I checked fugly in Google Search (I knew already the meaning, I was just curious), and I found that the term had been found in some documents from the 1850s. Well, lol. 
how their jaws mince
beneath the green undercroft?
Hear you, the paw-slapping
hoo-ha songs of the earth?
I am the beak, they are the gummy cephalopods. ....or maybe what the Critic-speaker did was inappropriate, because this wasn't a work endorsed by the Artist-speaker as "high-ish, right proper Surrealism with a capital Z" art. Maybe the Artist-speaker was just making something delightful, and had shown her work because he wanted to see if others found the work delightful, and how the work could be improved in that regard. Then the Critic-speaker came in, politicized the whole thing....

Yes, yes, about this beak thing. ....see? Now Critic-speaker's interrupting Artist-speaker....

I am the ink and the silence.
In a fledglings gawk I am the fluff and bull, fledgling's?
the bloody bruit, the crimson coercion. These three lines are just so sexy. 

What the...

"April is the cruelest month".

..... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGXEVt6wUik .....

Oooo wait.....shit, I think I get it.

Really?

Please explain. lizziep's suggested condensation of these two lines, I think, is warranted. Dividing "Really?" and "Please explain" doesn't add anything for me, and the role of asker-asked shifting at this point is clear enough even without such division. Although I do like the original form of Critic-speaker's "I think I get it", if only because I'm titillated by the use of swear words (and also because it shows a bit more of the character of the Critic-speaker, thus making all those "What"s seem more purposeful).

.....then again, the world is a chaotic place, and people can't be controlled. If all the Artist-speaker wants to have some peace and quiet, some fellow appreciation, why not just go into politics, instead? That's a much more controllable world, for those in power -- and there, it's far easier to get in power than in poetry. But now I suppose I've fallen into the same trap, giving both speakers something more than that which is presented -- something that, ostensibly, doesn't belong in the poem. But then what does belong in the poem? Or rather, who does the poem belong to?

Lovely, lovely work.

[Sparkydashforth]

What Ho RiverNotch!

I feel an edit in the offing. A tidy up and a more reasonable rumination of content maybe.

Pretty neat unpacking of this work from you.

After the hectic merriness of this season I will roll up my sleeves.

Much obliged!

They are the octopus, I am the beak.

What? Yeah, what?

In dark waters we are pockmarked by light. I jest, I jest. I think I'll have to focus on the whats, here -- call the whats Critic-speaker, the non-whats Artist-speaker. My personal interpretation is this is sort of a critique against critics, a diss poem or whatever (dissing the nature of the interplay between the critic and the artist in general, and not any individual sort of critic or artist), but that's sort of irrelevant, especially since to critique that would be to buy into the whole show. I'll focus on more technical bits, such as how the first "What" works well enough to set the stage....

What?

Today all is a linty green, even so, Should be a semicolon for that first comma. 
the sun stalks with its goring horns. ....I mean, the point seems to be that Artist-speaker is being a real surrealistic pillow, and Critic-speaker is trying to take it in all "I'm legit"-wise. But ah, to elaborate is to buy into the whole show, and I'm sure all the Artist-speaker really wants is some peace and quiet....

What?

Here is a meadow -
the thugs of Venus
have trampled it into ruts and mires.
April sucks Oh, the line break between this and the next is really, really juicy. 
at pores and arteries.  ....I mean, I'm sure that's how art is supposed to work, right? To just be displayed, and not talked about ---- to show, and not foster any of the told dialectic that, to a lot of people, facilitates the epiphany the artist wants.... 

What?

Listen,
we are the many Comma or colon after many. I'd prefer a colon. Some would prefer an outright period, although I'm too much of a stickler for that. 
the invisible feelers, the mycelium, Er, I'm just not sure whether fungi have feelers -- or whether they actually feel, in the same way the feelers of a fish or an amphibian do (from whom I believe the term originated).
the crusty plasma of countless spores. --- crusty plasma? Er, I see something, but the term still feels incomplete. Yeah, it's far less poetic, but you do mean "plasma membranes", aye?
We speak for the leaves and grass. Fun fact: I think a lot of leaves get infected on the insides by this sort of fungus that happens to improve their useability in agriculture? I don't remember what sort of fungus that is --- but many more sorts of fungus just outright kill them. And returning to the poem, I see here dead leaves, and though it is a clean reference to old Whit-u-man the White, the tension between that sort of referentiality and all the clear images of before sort of comes to an uncomfortable head, here.
Walt Whitman
is the little finger you hardly use. This reminds me of a comic book I just read where the water wouldn't give the people undergoing Exodus any of her thirst-quenching stuff until they offer her the tips of their little fingers. That association produces a lovely, lovely images (and I don't mean that sarcastically; it's a perfect fit).

What?

Frog phlem speckles wet driveways. Never seen it spelled like that: "phlegm".
See the fugly skulls of April, I checked fugly in Google Search (I knew already the meaning, I was just curious), and I found that the term had been found in some documents from the 1850s. Well, lol. 
how their jaws mince
beneath the green undercroft?
Hear you, the paw-slapping
hoo-ha songs of the earth?
I am the beak, they are the gummy cephalopods. ....or maybe what the Critic-speaker did was inappropriate, because this wasn't a work endorsed by the Artist-speaker as "high-ish, right proper Surrealism with a capital Z" art. Maybe the Artist-speaker was just making something delightful, and had shown her work because he wanted to see if others found the work delightful, and how the work could be improved in that regard. Then the Critic-speaker came in, politicized the whole thing....

Yes, yes, about this beak thing. ....see? Now Critic-speaker's interrupting Artist-speaker....

I am the ink and the silence.
In a fledglings gawk I am the fluff and bull, fledgling's?
the bloody bruit, the crimson coercion. These three lines are just so sexy. 

What the...

"April is the cruelest month".

..... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGXEVt6wUik .....

Oooo wait.....shit, I think I get it.

Really?

Please explain. lizziep's suggested condensation of these two lines, I think, is warranted. Dividing "Really?" and "Please explain" doesn't add anything for me, and the role of asker-asked shifting at this point is clear enough even without such division. Although I do like the original form of Critic-speaker's "I think I get it", if only because I'm titillated by the use of swear words (and also because it shows a bit more of the character of the Critic-speaker, thus making all those "What"s seem more purposeful).

.....then again, the world is a chaotic place, and people can't be controlled. If all the Artist-speaker wants to have some peace and quiet, some fellow appreciation, why not just go into politics, instead? That's a much more controllable world, for those in power -- and there, it's far easier to get in power than in poetry. But now I suppose I've fallen into the same trap, giving both speakers something more than that which is presented -- something that, ostensibly, doesn't belong in the poem. But then what does belong in the poem? Or rather, who does the poem belong to?

Lovely, lovely work.