The first morning, I had three ravens on the deck rail, raucous messengers arguing against my existence. But a barista in Angel Fire making me a chai tea, complimented my hat and I felt like I’d been kissed: an old man enthralled by the young, freed from the mockery of birds.
II.
Sunrise on the mountain— hummingbirds arrive early to check their cache of liquid ruby and begin their daylong wars. It’s so still you can hear the flutter of the nuthatch wings, darting down to the offered seed. Birdsong from jays, grosbeaks, and finches rises as the sun hits the distant peaks.
Late afternoons I listen to the loveless sound of wind through the mountain pines.
Silence falls like an axe on the neck of day, leaving behind a azure glow that bleeds into darkness.
Bats fly like black stars beneath the panopticon of the night sky.
III.
A crescent moon above the ridge in a blue sky washed in darkness. The archaic stars promise asylum but tomorrow I leave the mountains to return to highways and cities that vow only endlessness.
Notes from a Cabin in Eagle Nest, NM
I.
The first morning, I had three ravens
on the deck rail. Then a barista in Angel Fire
made me a chai tea latte, complimented
my hat and I felt like I’d been kissed:
an old man enthralled by the young.
II.
Sunrise on the mountain
hummingbirds arrive first
to check their ruby colored stash
and begin their daylong wars
then birdsong as the sun hits the first peaks.
Now a bluejay checks the spread
of seeds across deck railing but flies away.
It’s so still you can hear
the flutter of the nuthatch wings,
first to dare the rail this morning.
Evenings I counted the lonely sound
of late afternoon wind
through the mountainside trees.
Bats flew like black stars across
the face of the sky at sunset.
III.
My last night, a crescent moon
above the ridge in a blue sky
washed in darkness. From the mountaintop,
the stars do seem the handiwork of gods.
I drove 500 miles that first day
from the hills of South Texas to the Comanche plains of the Panhandle
lodged in a dismal beaten down hotel room
Bhagavad Gita along with Bible in bedside drawer
ate terrible Thai food
shot out of there like a cannon shell
at dawn next morning
through the Kiowa grasslands, gentle sea of grass
into New Mexico and loneliness
like an escaped outlaw.
But outlaws are confused by freedom
like the shepherd puppy
who met me at the cabin
with barks and jumps and uncertainty
as I settled into my Sangre de Christo hideout.
The first morning, I had three ravens on the deck rail.
Joe Romero brought water for our cistern,
ran a body shop in Albuquerque for 25 years
with the build and the tattoos to prove it,
native Los Lunan with the blue eyes of the Spanish conquerors.
Next morning a barista in Angel Fire
made me a chai tea latte, complimented
my hat and I felt like I’d been kissed:
just an old man enthralled by the young.
The lonely sound of late afternoon wind through the mountainside trees,
all the angels live in the valley below.
A good third day, but a reckoning had to come.
Inside the cabin, after sunset,
I am besieged by a hundred triggers, ghosts of the hundred nights we spent here over 40 years.
I’m alone, our son is gone, everthing about this is wrong.
Bats at sunset
dog howls at night jet overhead
some kind of june bug drives me in from the porch.
Buying cigarettes, found myself
listening to motorcycle casualty C——
stocky, mohawked,
“I knew you were from Central Texas
I used to love to ride those hills
wrecked, split my helmet, brain surgery
but I’m doing better now”
a cook in the Eagle Nest corner store,
an angel of injury.
Sasha arrives
“normalizing catastrophe”:
imagining the worst and planning for it,
she talks non-stop: tells me how drafted serfs
in Tsarist times
19 or 20,
attended their own funerals before leaving.
Drafted for 25 years.
Average lifespan was 32.
Another kind of angel in Angel Fire,
a boy angel, plump as a cherubim
who shared the story of his technicolor tattooes
as he checked our groceries.
Sunrise on the mountain
hummingbirds arrive first
to check their ruby colored stash
and begin their daylong wars
then birdsongs as sun hits first peaks.
Now a bluejay checks the spread of seeds across deck railing but flys away.
so still you can hear the flutter of the nuthatch wings, first to dare the rail.
In the heat of the afternoons
we read,
Sasha about Civil War Reconstruction
while I voyage with Ginsberg in his journals from ‘66.
My sixth day on the mountain,
already dreaming of return
from here to desert Albuquerque
to send Sasha back to the Black Hills
from there to flatland Lubbock then south toward home.
My last night,
a crescent moon above the ridge in a blue sky
washed in darkness.
From the mountaintop, the stars do seem the handiwork of gods.
. Hi TqB. (A not too mild and immoderate critique). It's a bit confused, to me and I can't tell who the audience might be. Perhaps someone who knows who Joe Romero and Sasha (no last name) are? I assumed Sasha was a male friend, but ... (not a clue). If it's supposed to be a series of journal entries, then maybe put a bit of effort into making that form consistent across the piece.
What is 'night jet' S7? I liked dogs howling at it, but ... (not a clue).
Mountain Sojourn ... not an engaging title
I drove 500 miles that first day ... the first use of 'first' in the poem. And a nod to the Proclaimers ? from the hills of South Texas .... I know you like long lines but breaking here gives you (the reader) a space to contemplate where N has left and where they are going (and why). to the Comanche plains of the Panhandle .... I'd also break here, allowing for the space N has travelled to the hotel room. (any modifier for the 'hills' to pair with 'Comanche plains'?)
lodged in a dismal beaten down hotel room ... can't see a beaten down hotel room being anything other than dismal (maybe stopped in a beat down motel room?) Bhagavad Gita along with Bible in bedside drawer ... like the sonics of Bhagavad Gita after 'beat/en down' but both that and the bible seem odd (and slightly more upscale than has been suggested) ate terrible Thai food ... so what? A detail that adds nothing shot out of there like a cannon shell ... a simile that adds nothing (no explanation for why N might be hurrying) at dawn next morning
I think you could rework this section (and the above) After a sleepless night (not a serious suggestion, but a place to start) in a dismal beat down motel room with the Bhagavad Gita and Bible in the bedside drawer another early start through the Kiowa grasslands, gentle sea of grass ... 'grasslands' then 'sea of grass' ? Really? into New Mexico and loneliness ... nice line, and a good place to break.
like an escaped outlaw. But outlaws are confused by freedom like the shepherd puppy who met me at the cabin with barks and jumps and uncertainty as I settled into my Sangre de Christo hideout. ... this is all pretty pedestrian, and the 'escaped outlaw' idea seems nothing but a distraction. It takes far too long to get to the 'turning myself in' payoff.
I think some detail, for the reader, of just where N is, and what the S de C hideout might actually be.
The first morning, I had three ravens on the deck rail. ... 'there were' for 'I had'? I like the line, ominous and omen full, but then where does it lead?
Joe Romero brought water for our cistern, ran a body shop in Albuquerque for 25 years with the build and the tattoos to prove it, native Los Lunan with the blue eyes of the Spanish conquerors. ... This is all irrelevant
Next morning a barista in Angel Fire made me a chai tea latte, complimented my hat and I felt like I’d been kissed: just an old man enthralled by the young. .... I like the last two lines, but it (the verse) seems lacking in context.
The lonely sound of late afternoon wind through the mountainside trees, all the angels live in the valley below.... Second variation on 'loneliness. Does it matter where the townspeople live?
A good third day, but a reckoning had to come.... by what measure is it 'a good day' and why is a 'reckoning' inevitable? Is this some play with 'outlaw'? Inside the cabin, after sunset, I am besieged by a hundred triggers, ghosts of the hundred nights we spent here over 40 years. I’m alone, our son is gone, everthing about this is wrong. ... So, finally you get to the point! I think you could polish this into something better.
Bats at sunset dog howls at night jet overhead some kind of june bug drives me in from the porch. ... the stanza before it was after sunset and N was inside, now it's at sunset and N is being driven inside. ¿Qué pasa?
I'll stop here, partly because this is basic, but mainly because nothing else happens.
And now for the liberty taking.
after sunset, a hundred ghosts one for every night we spent here. I'm alone our son is gone. Everything is wrong.
For me, this, or something like it is the poem. The rest is just distraction.
Or if you wanted a slightly longer version
that first day I drove from the hills of South Texas to the Panhandle's Comanche plain
Stopped in ________ another beat down motel town, another sleepless night
with the Bhagavad Gita and the Bible in a bedside drawer
another early start a barista in Angel Fire complimented my hat
I felt like I’d been kissed: but I'm an old man enthralled by the young.
heading to the mountains and our cabin at Sangre de Christo
after sunset, a hundred ghosts came, one for every night we spent here. I'm alone
the sky is full of stars our son is gone. Everything is wrong.
Without first reading what @Knot had to say, this is quite worthy of Moderate.
And without going line by line, the only points that stuck out for me were minor technical points - uncapitalized sentence (fragment) at "so still you can hear the flutter" and "cherubim" used as singular. I believe that is the plural or collective, but singular "cherub" has the connotation of a Valentine's cutie rather than the awe-inspiring biblical creatures. Suggest you alter the line slightly to make plural grammatically proper - "one of the cherubim" but a better fit for the narrator's voice.
Nicely moody, shows not tells, good stuff. I think the length is suitable to the story, in fact a bit of weariness and wanting to get on with it aligns nicely with the theme.
06-17-2021, 02:47 PM (This post was last modified: 06-17-2021, 02:51 PM by TranquillityBase.)
(06-16-2021, 12:41 AM)Knot Wrote: . Hi TqB. (A not too mild and immoderate critique). It's a bit confused, to me and I can't tell who the audience might be. Perhaps someone who knows who Joe Romero and Sasha (no last name) are? I assumed Sasha was a male friend, but ... (not a clue). If it's supposed to be a series of journal entries, then maybe put a bit of effort into making that form consistent across the piece.
What is 'night jet' S7? I liked dogs howling at it, but ... (not a clue).
I was going to make a joke about the Sheriff of Knottingham, but I'm humbled by the time you took with this poem. Your two distillations are quite fine, but read on:
1. I should probably call it (you never like my titles, but anyway) "Ginsbergian Ode From Eagle Nest"; it's pretty much an imitation of his style, which I do announce to the reader at the end.
2. Ginsberg or no Ginsberg, I'm puzzled why the character sketches (let's call them) are of no interest. Too sketchy?
I do agree the outlaw bit needs to go. If I could take myself out of it, all together, I would. The things I observed outside of myself are what's important to me in the poem. But it does need cutting, so I will come back to your line by line and do some kind of rewrite.
(06-17-2021, 08:58 AM)dukealien Wrote: Without first reading what @Knot had to say, this is quite worthy of Moderate.
And without going line by line, the only points that stuck out for me were minor technical points - uncapitalized sentence (fragment) at "so still you can hear the flutter" and "cherubim" used as singular. I believe that is the plural or collective, but singular "cherub" has the connotation of a Valentine's cutie rather than the awe-inspiring biblical creatures. Suggest you alter the line slightly to make plural grammatically proper - "one of the cherubim" but a better fit for the narrator's voice.
Nicely moody, shows not tells, good stuff. I think the length is suitable to the story, in fact a bit of weariness and wanting to get on with it aligns nicely with the theme.
Duke, thanks for the read and your corrections (and encouragement!).
Does rather presuppose that the reader makes it that far
(And can an announcement come at the end of the thing it's announcing? Surely that's a post-script?)
2. Ginsberg or no Ginsberg, I'm puzzled why the character sketches (let's call them) are of no interest. Too sketchy?
'Sketchy', yes, possibly. For me, they are pointless in that they have no effect on the narrator - the exception being the one character who isn't sketched at all, the barista.
What do I care that someone 'brought water' when there's no further mention of water in the piece?
Or that the Russian serfs were aged either 19 or 20, or that there were 19 or 20 Russian serfs?
(Sasha's female! Oops!) I'm no better informed about the narrator or the place by these sketches (except that you clearly have a thing for tattoos )
If I could take myself out of it, all together, I would. The things I observed outside of myself are what's important to me in the poem.
Perhaps that's why there seem to be two separate poems here, the 'inside' elements I identified (for want of a ego-trip) and the 'outside' elements you refer to. I don't see how you could 'take yourself out of it' when you start with 'I drove'. From the point of view of a Ginsbergian Ode to a Place, does it matter how you get there? If not, why not simply begin with the 'character sketches'? I'd start here
in Angel Fire, an angel boy
plump as any cherub
checked our groceries
and shared the story
of his technicolor tattoos
He said: 'each one is ...
(at this point, though, you'd have to share the story of the tatts with the reader, otherwise why mention it at all?)
and alternate verses with descriptions/character sketches of the place itself.
(Just as a by the by, until I researched Sangre de Christo I thought it was a town or similar, not a range of mountains.)
The first morning, I had three ravens
on the deck rail. Then a barista in Angel Fire Hmm??? What about those ravens was interesting? Seems like you dropped 'em cold for the tea...
made me a chai tea latte, complimented
my hat and I felt like I’d been kissed: an old man enthralled by the young.Don't know that you need this line. You could establish your age in many other ways in other parts of this piece.
II.
Sunrise on the mountain punctuation missing- maybe a dash
hummingbirds arrive first
to check their ruby colored stash
and begin their daylong wars Maybe a period here, or comma, as the sentence runs on a bit too long.
then birdsong as the sun hits the first peaks. Type of bird if ya know, something to describe the sound (you know me).
Now a bluejay checks the spread
of seeds across deck railing but flies away.
It’s so still you can hear
the flutter of the nuthatch wings,
first to dare the rail this morning.
Evenings I counted the lonely sound Counted seems odd, unless keeping count, as in keeping the beat in music; maybe "noticed the lonely sound" .
of late afternoon wind
through the mountainside trees.
Bats flew like black stars across Coolest line in the poem !
the face of the sky at sunset. Something other than "face of the sky". ?? The sky is way bigger than a mere face in NM.
III.
My last night, a crescent moon
above the ridge in a blue sky
washed in darkness. From the mountaintop,
the stars do seem the handiwork of gods. "handiwork of the gods" is too well worn to end on I'm afraid.
I do like the edit more than the original, yet I did like the outlaw theme very much. To me, it's A-OK to be in your poem, because you are in your life. That said, the trimmed version is better.
A few more creative, descriptive terms would really work to great benefit: break out that thesaurus: "Bats flew like black stars..." is what you need more of.
Since my grandparents lived in Roswell (way before the alien invasion), and my parents then moved there, I had a chance to visit. So, my memory allows me to see and hear things that others may need better descriptions for.
The time you took to edit shows that this one is important to you, and I can certainly appreciate that. You are getting much closer now, Tim.
. Hi TqB, like the new title ... yes, really. And the edit is interesting, not the direction I was expecting, but it works ... almost
Would I be right in thinking that you 'seed' the deck rail in order to attract birds?
I think I. could be a bit more fluid, and I'm with Mark on wanting more about the Ravens (and poetic language).
I. The first morning
there were three Ravens on the deck rail but I left them for a barista in Angel Fire who made me a chai tea latte and complimented my hat. ......... feels like you could put in a bit about how the tea tasted here? I felt like I’d been kissed: an old man enthralled by the young.......... I like the honesty of this line.
II. Sunrise
on the mountain hummingbirds arrive first ......... any way to avoid the repeat of 'first'? How do they 'arrive'? to check their ruby colored stash ......... should this be 'stashes'? and begin their daylong wars ......... 'wars' is probably the right term, but it reads poorly. How do they 'begin their wars' (I'd assume vocally, but you've birdsong in the next line) then birdsong as the sun hits the first peaks. Now a bluejay checks the spread of seeds across deck railing but flies away........... Not keen on the bluejay lines at all, they're rather pale. It’s so still you can hear the flutter of the nuthatch wings, first to dare the rail this morning .......... and what connects all of this to N? It's a bit, a then b then c ... but no conclusion. (Also, how many 'firsts' are you having in this piece?)
III. Evenings
I count the lonely sound ......... agree with Mark about 'counted' (and if it's evenings what's 'late afternoon wind' doing here?) Also, it might work better in the present tense. of late afternoon wind through the mountainside trees. ......... after the detail of II, 'trees' is ... uninformative. Bats fly like black stars across the face of the sky at sunset. ......... what Mark said (Was expecting some nod to the alpenglow in this section or the sunrise part).
IV. night,
a crescent moon above the ridge in a blue sky washed in darkness. From the mountaintop, the stars do seem the handiwork of gods. ......... ditto (also, not sure about 'washed in')
V The last day
...
I think II is the weakest part of this, too much listing and not enough substance, and also that the poem lacks an ending, something to match the 'felt like I'd been kissed' observation? Personally, I want N to return to the coffee shop and be ignored by the barista but even the last four lines of the original would be an improvement on the current ending.
06-18-2021, 10:17 AM (This post was last modified: 06-18-2021, 12:07 PM by TranquillityBase.)
Thank you both. Good guidance for edit 3. Something of a corner turning for me. Never edited one of my poems down like that without great reluctance.
However, I will miss "handiwork of the gods" as I really like it.
OK, you want ravens! I'll give you ravens!! (This is what happens when you tell me to be more poetic )
But seriously, I wouldn't put this up again if I didn't think it better than before.
Some (somewhat) radical suggestions - because I think you've been playing it a little safe
Cut the first stanza entirely. (I think your original piece is really three poems, the 'characters' (including the barista?), the elements I used in the 'slightly longer version', and this version 'Notes'. And not forgetting the 'outlaw' idea, so maybe 3½?)
S5. cut 'my last night' (like 'that first morning') it's from a different poem. Actually, cut the whole stanza. The black star bats offer a better ending, I think. (And both these changes contribute to If I could take myself out of it, all together, I would.)
Notes from a Cabin in Eagle Nest, NM
It's so still that you can hear the wings of the nuthatch flutter ......... like how 'flutter' works with 'scattered' but does it fit with 'darting'? as it darts down to the scattered seed......... maybe 'as it settles on the scattered seed'? Birdsong of grosbeak, jay and finch rises together as the sun hits the distant peaks. (some description) hummingbirds arrive early thirsting for liquid ruby and begin ......... 'liquid ruby' is nice but doesn't connect to anything else. their daylong wars.
Through mountain passes the wind laments ... ....................... after 'loveless' 'melancholy' seems redundant.
Silence falls like an axe on the neck of day, ........... it's a very strong image, but you don't do anything with it, also is this effect preceding cause?
leaving behind a western glow.
Bats, like black stars, fly across the panopticon of night. ......... is 'across' right (given panopticon)? And might 'asylum' work better than 'panopticon'?
Sun sets, a falling axe and bats, like black stars, fly through a bloodstained silence out into the night's asylums / asylum of the night
(06-18-2021, 09:00 PM)Knot Wrote: . Hi TqB, improved, but further to go, I think.
Some (somewhat) radical suggestions - because I think you've been playing it a little safe
Best, Knot
.
I made some of your suggested changes, but I'm not ready to cut the first and last stanza entirely. Maybe tomorrow . But thank you again for the careful read/edits.
)
. But thank you again for the careful read/edits.