08-10-2023, 07:37 PM (This post was last modified: 08-29-2023, 07:59 PM by TranquillityBase.)
Call to Song
God and his Angels like feral Cheshire Cats toss clues into our paths in this Rabbit Hole of existence then insist on obedience to sate their hunger for belief.
Evading their commandments, we come together in a desert of our own design. seeking out a rebellious spring that defuses rock and scripture, with an outward flow, casually terrific, saturating our cells, calling our nerves to song.
Divine revelation defied, we let the silence guide us into a music of the mind.
Well Tim, you’ve got me completely perplexed with this one. more later
- Mark Tim- This one makes a bit more sense to me if I leave many of the lines out:
Call to Song
The gods,
like stray Cheshire Cats
throw clues into our paths
inside this Rabbit Hole.
There joy abounds,
a rebellious spring
saturating our cells,
calling our nerves to song.
Divine lies can be left behind,
let those invisible airs guide you.
Call to Song
The gods,
like stray Cheshire Cats
throw clues into our paths
inside this Rabbit Hole then insist on a holocaust
to sate their hunger
lacking the blessings
of stillness and return. I am mystified by what you're trying to say here.
There joy abounds,
a rebellious spring defusing
rock and scripture,
an outward flow, casually terrific, likewise with this part
saturating our cells,
calling our nerves to song.
Divine lies can be left behind,
let those invisible airs guide you.
Maybe it's just me, but I really am baffled. It seems that the N holds as much faith in fantasy as religion, yet in the end advises that we be guided by the 'mystery' of it all- 'those invisble airs'. I can concur with those last lines, but it sure does seem like a convoluted way around to it.
- Mark
(08-10-2023, 07:37 PM)TranquillityBase Wrote: Call to Song
The gods, throw clues into our paths like stray Cheshire Catsreversed these two lines inside this Rabbit Hole then insist on a holocaust to sate their hunger lacking the blessings of stillness and return. I was also toying with reversing these last two lines with the previous two so that the stanza ends with 'hunger'
There joy abounds, not sure where "there" is. a rebellious spring defusing rock and scripture, an outward flow, casually terrific, saturating our cells, calling our nerves to song.
Divine lies can be left behind, let those invisible airs guide you.
Hey TqB,
I think you have the beginnings of a good poem but for me doesn't have enough cohesion between the stanzas to hold together but then I have been misreading peoples work lately.
I highlighted the parts that really stood out for me.
Take care,
steve
Thank you both for the reads and the comments. There is a message in this bottle but the bottle is too opaque for the message to be seen. I'm sorely tempted to explain what I was trying to say, but I've been here long enough to know that is the first symptom of a poem that needs more work. I'll see what I can do to clarify it.
Gods and their demons like stray CheshiresCats throw clues into our paths
toss clues in our path?
in the Rabbit Hole of existence
this?
then insist on a sacrifice to sate their hunger for a horizon.
Crave to spice it up here with: an horizon.
They deny the delights of coming together
togetherness
inside the stillness of a mountain.
a still mountain.
In that return to tranquility, joy abounds, a rebellious spring defusing rock and scripture, an outward flow, casually terrific, saturating our cells, calling our nerves to song.
Divine hints can be left behind, let the music of words guide you.
Gods and their demons like stray CheshiresCats throw clues into our paths
toss clues in our path?
in the Rabbit Hole of existence
this?
then insist on a sacrifice to sate their hunger for a horizon.
Crave to spice it up here with: an horizon.
They deny the delights of coming together
togetherness
inside the stillness of a mountain.
a still mountain.
In that return to tranquility, joy abounds, a rebellious spring defusing rock and scripture, an outward flow, casually terrific, saturating our cells, calling our nerves to song.
Divine hints can be left behind, let the music of words guide you.
Simply some ideas.
Thanks Rowens, a new version posted, taking into account some of your thoughts, adding some of my own.
I read your piece in another thread that mentioned Wallace Stevens. I'm reminded of your verses:
I am like a rabbit, tossed back and forth by the clouds. Yet I persist, through rattapallax and whoo-hoo-hoo pulled forward by their sound if not their meaning
For me, the main critique of this piece lies within what you wrote here. It seems as if you're flirting with surrealism and absurdism (which are completely valid approaches to poetry), but haven't fully committed. Seems like you want things to be trippy and still make sense at the same time, and it's not working. The poem doesn't sound bad, but it doesn't sound good enough to keep me moving smoothly through the poem in the absence of meaning.
A poem has to be pleasurable on some level for the reader to feel rewarded for their work, whether that's inventive concepts, vivid imagery, interesting sonics, a rhythm you can bounce to, etc. This poem feels less like giving something to the reader and more of a demand that they chase after something. This is not to say that poems shouldn't require work to get into, or require multiple readings -- I certainly don't want to be heard as shading those who prefer to read or write more complex work. But, when you play around as a poet, it needs to be for the mutual pleasure of poet and reader -- one sided happiness is not the way to gain readership.
I suppose I wouldn't mind so much the lack of "meaning" (whatever that means) if I didn't feel lightly chastised by the poem itself for not getting it -- if the clues are being tossed by the gods, heaven help the poor soul who can't find them.
What I can see is that you're trying to make interesting word choices. It's getting there except for a couple of points I'll highlight below. However, I feel your word choices are like the machines in the Matrix, obliged to obey the rules of the programs they invented. But, Wallace Stevens is just making up his own words, not waiting for language to come to him. Try to realize the truth: there is no spoon.
(08-10-2023, 07:37 PM)TranquillityBase Wrote: Call to Song
Gods and their messengers -- Which gods? Whose gods? And who are their messengers? Not pressing for clarity, just more interesting detail. like stray Cheshire Cats toss clues into our paths in this Rabbit Hole of existence then insist on obedience to sate their hunger for a horizon.
Evading the sacred, heretics at dawn, coming together -- 'coming together' could be stronger with different word choices on the peak of a shrouded mountain we return to tranquility, where joy abounds, a rebellious spring -- 'joy' is too vague. It's like the word beauty: rarely compelling in poetry. defusing rock and scripture, an outward flow, casually terrific, saturating our cells, calling our nerves to song. -- it's unfair for me to say that certain words are un-poetic. That being said, 'nerves' sounds un-poetic. Much like 'un-poetic' can get on your nerves.
Divine commands left behind, -- 'left behind' could also be stronger we let the silence guide us into a new music of the mind.
(08-29-2023, 02:58 AM)O. M. Geezersnaps Wrote: I read your piece in another thread that mentioned Wallace Stevens. I'm reminded of your verses:
I am like a rabbit, tossed back and forth by the clouds. Yet I persist, through rattapallax and whoo-hoo-hoo pulled forward by their sound if not their meaning
For me, the main critique of this piece lies within what you wrote here. It seems as if you're flirting with surrealism and absurdism (which are completely valid approaches to poetry), but haven't fully committed. Seems like you want things to be trippy and still make sense at the same time, and it's not working. The poem doesn't sound bad, but it doesn't sound good enough to keep me moving smoothly through the poem in the absence of meaning.
A poem has to be pleasurable on some level for the reader to feel rewarded for their work, whether that's inventive concepts, vivid imagery, interesting sonics, a rhythm you can bounce to, etc. This poem feels less like giving something to the reader and more of a demand that they chase after something. This is not to say that poems shouldn't require work to get into, or require multiple readings -- I certainly don't want to be heard as shading those who prefer to read or write more complex work. But, when you play around as a poet, it needs to be for the mutual pleasure of poet and reader -- one sided happiness is not the way to gain readership.
I suppose I wouldn't mind so much the lack of "meaning" (whatever that means) if I didn't feel lightly chastised by the poem itself for not getting it -- if the clues are being tossed by the gods, heaven help the poor soul who can't find them.
What I can see is that you're trying to make interesting word choices. It's getting there except for a couple of points I'll highlight below. However, I feel your word choices are like the machines in the Matrix, obliged to obey the rules of the programs they invented. But, Wallace Stevens is just making up his own words, not waiting for language to come to him. Try to realize the truth: there is no spoon.
(08-10-2023, 07:37 PM)TranquillityBase Wrote: Call to Song
Gods and their messengers -- Which gods? Whose gods? And who are their messengers? Not pressing for clarity, just more interesting detail. like stray Cheshire Cats toss clues into our paths in this Rabbit Hole of existence then insist on obedience to sate their hunger for a horizon.
Evading the sacred, heretics at dawn, coming together -- 'coming together' could be stronger with different word choices on the peak of a shrouded mountain we return to tranquility, where joy abounds, a rebellious spring -- 'joy' is too vague. It's like the word beauty: rarely compelling in poetry. defusing rock and scripture, an outward flow, casually terrific, saturating our cells, calling our nerves to song. -- it's unfair for me to say that certain words are un-poetic. That being said, 'nerves' sounds un-poetic. Much like 'un-poetic' can get on your nerves.
Divine commands left behind, -- 'left behind' could also be stronger we let the silence guide us into a new music of the mind.
Thanks OMG for your detailed critique. I'd more or less abandoned this one after a couple of weeks reading Charles Bukowski. I'm past that now and you've inspired me to revise it.
Sorry, just can't give up "nerves". It's the word I want. I don't really get why it's unpoetic. But I have tried to make the the rest of the peom more specific and more understandable. Not sure it's any more pleasureable for the reader, but I think it's more comprehensible.
The more I read this one the more I am sure that the entire first stanza has gotta go. Sorry, but it sets the wrong tone, at least for me.
Comments below:
Call to Song
Evading their commandments, 'Eluding old' ? 'evading' just doen't feel like the right word
we come together
in a desert of our own design. some (brief) imagery to describe that design would help here, perhaps in the previous line
seeking out a rebellious spring that defuses rock and scripture, same with 'defuses' maybe something like 'that chisels/carves new scripture' ? with an outward flow, casually terrific,this entire line ain't doin it for me saturating our cells, 'saturates' ? calling our nerves to song. 'calls' ?
Divine revelation defied,
we let the silence guide us
into a music of the mind.
much shorter, but you know me... sounds a bit like you're trying to describe something akin to 'Burning Man', but without the noise, or hubris.
-Mark
(08-29-2023, 07:58 PM)TranquillityBase Wrote: Sorry, just can't give up "nerves". It's the word I want. I don't really get why it's unpoetic. -- I went back, and it's more about how that word clashes with the sonics of the words around it. When you have a word with big sounds like that, it sticks out in an unpleasant way if there's softer sounds around it. It sounds out of place.
In the end, it's probably a pedantic point, but it comes back to my sense that you're a writer who has something to say; I base this on what I've read of the rest of your work where you seem to express a narrator's frustration of not being heard or understood. I may be wrong all day long about the themes in your work, but I'll tell you that I've spent more time on this piece than 99.9% of the population would if reading this on a blog or social media page. And I've been paying attention to your work as a whole. I see you as a writer with a strong narrative voice -- this piece seems to be trying to tell a story, and I can't understand the purpose behind obscuring it intentionally.
But I have tried to make the the rest of the peom more specific and more understandable. Not sure it's any more pleasureable for the reader, -- I think that depends on what a reader is hoping to get from the piece. I'm looking for compelling imagery and lyricism. Those looking for "meaning" will be disappointed. And a writer looking for those readers will be similarly discouraged. It depends on what your goal is for the piece and how much liberty of interpretation you're prepared to tolerate.
but I think it's more comprehensible. -- This might be hard to hear, but I don't really know what that means for this poem. Different people will see different things, and there's no way for a writer to implant images directly into people's brains. What is it that we're trying to comprehend? An idea? A story? An experience? An ideal?
It sounds to me like this piece could be: (1) a reference to Moses in the desert striking the rock and bringing forth water, (2) Stonehenge, and the rituals of the pagan religions there, or (3) some kind of neurological breakthrough that speaks to why humans have overwhelmingly sought to create and conjure divinities in the heavens or in objects, kind of a "why" exploring the existence of religion as a human phenomenon.
If this is felt as unsatisfactory, I can only recommend re-evaluating the motivation behind a particular writing style and what kind of audience is desired.
This is Mild, so I think I can get away with making this quick comment about the poetic use 'nerves'.
In the early 2000s, I was at a bookstore in a town not my own, and I was reading an Introduction to Charles Baudelaire's one main book, and it mentioned Paul Verlaine writing poems about nicotine and nerves. Which, by historical standards, makes 'nerves' "poetic".
(08-31-2023, 07:36 AM)rowens Wrote: This is Mild, so I think I can get away with making this quick comment about the poetic use 'nerves'.
In the early 2000s, I was at a bookstore in a town not my own, and I was reading an Introduction to Charles Baudelaire's one main book, and it mentioned Paul Verlaine writing poems about nicotine and nerves. Which, by historical standards, makes 'nerves' "poetic".
But, look at how "nicotine" sets up the sounds in "nerves" for success. I shouldn't have been vague in my first crit -- I was getting to the end, and I was running out of steam. My point is pairing words appropriately so that they don't feel out of place. Tiger just used "groin" in a piece, which is as ugly a word as "crotch," but it wasn't grating because of word choices surrounding it. This is my point.
The writer of the critical essay used the terms nicotine and nerves in the context of subject matter for "Modern Sensibilities."
How do you say nicotine and nerves in French? The IntroWriter was Introducing an English Translation, talking to English readers.
But, we, at least me and TB, speaking for him, get your point(s).
They are pretty much the same in French, I see.
But Paul Verlaine didn't say that. His Critic did.
In prose.
Why not, for fun, we start a Discussion about how what works in poetry can sound tacky in prose.
but the bottle is too opaque for the message to be seen. I'm sorely tempted to explain what I was trying to say, but I've been here long enough to know that is the first symptom of a poem that needs more work. I'll see what I can do to clarify it.
