v3. Disembodied

[alonso ramoran]

Disembodied



Years of distance gathered like a fog
in collapsed houses. The warmth in voices
retreated to their silhouettes. Everything
remembered in retreating warmth
was offered to the night in fevered words
by my withered body. I hear its words,
but matter only passes through my touch;
I can no longer tell my body what it did not dream.

My throat-tight bid for reconnection
with my sister, in the backseat
of a rental, going through the mountains
of papa’s country in the evening,
never happened. But my gaze welled
with apology in a strange new silence, a gaze
turned upon those mountains to avoid
spoiling the time that she still managed
to share with me. I see that is why I linger.

Loneliness drove me searching for its remedy
at first in strangers. I wanted intimacy,
never mind if any search
objectifies all beings in its path.
Then my own aunt, whom I grew up with,
fell in that path. After spending the night
on the beach, thinking of walking forever
into the waves, I sent her words that reeked
of lechery, rewrote her perception of me,
how she thought I perceived her
when we visited my sister in the UK with my lola,
when we played soccer in the street with cousins,
when we all walked for boba after rain.
Then my distance grew throughout the years,
until everything and everyone
that caught the sun became the stars
and the coldness in between.

v2.


Disembodied


Years of distance gathered like a fog
in collapsing houses. The warmth in voices
retreated to their silhouettes.
Everything that memory held
in retreating warmth was offered
to the stars like fevered vespers—
a raving barely understood
and still wanting to be understood
by those as present as the full earth
from the moon. And now that the sublunary
cannot be touched, it is clear what was
and was not dreamed.

My throat-tight bid for reconnection
with my sister, in the backseat
of a rental, going through the mountains
of papa’s motherland at sunset,
never happened. But there were gazes
burning with apology in new silences,
that were turned upon the mountains to avoid
spoiling the time we still created, gazes
that explain this lingering.
She only felt my distance
growing through the years, until I
was helpless as a newborn
and everything and everyone that caught the sun
became the stars
and the coldness in between.



v1. 

In-Between


Years of distance gathered like a fog
in collapsing houses. The warmth in voices
retreated to their silhouettes.
Everything the temporal held
in retreating warmth
was offered to the stars
like desperate vespers—
prayers that were never meant
for the understanding of those as present
as the full earth from the moon,
while relayed visions burned for understanding.
Now that I'm too far away, no longer able
to touch the sublunary, it is clear what was
and was not dreamt.

My throat-tight bidding for a reconnection
with my sister, in the backseat
of a rental, going through the mountains
of papa’s motherland at sunset,
never happened. But there were stoic variations
of my bidding, familiar to those mountains,
which explain this lingering.
She only saw me growing more
distant through the years
until I was helpless as a newborn
and everything and everyone that caught sunlight
became the stars
and the coldness in between.

[matsunosuperfan]

In-Between


Years of distance gathered like a fog
in collapsing houses. The warmth in voices
retreated to their silhouettes.
Everything the temporal held
in retreating warmth
was offered to the stars
like desperate vespers—
prayers that were never meant
for the understanding of those as present
as the full earth from the moon,
while relayed visions burned for understanding.
Now that I'm too far away, no longer able
to touch the sublunary, it is clear what was
and was not dreamt.

My throat-tight bidding for a reconnection
with my sister, in the backseat
of a rental, going through the mountains
of papa’s motherland at sunset,
never happened. But there were stoic variations
of my bidding, familiar to those mountains,
which explain this lingering.
She only saw me growing more
distant through the years
until I was helpless as a newborn
and everything and everyone that caught sunlight
became the stars
and the coldness in between.

Great, great language. Maybe a few too many lines in a row of dense, ungrounded, pithy declaratives - it was a real breath of fresh air to get the sister in the backseat of the rental in S2. Might be lazy of this reader to want more like that in S1 but this reader nonetheless does. Mea culpa. 

The first three lines are just stellar poetry. 

The rest of S1, I am mostly convinced by, but it does begin to take a little effort. If I were in a bad mood I can see myself finding this speaker a tad pretentious, or at least presumptuous, or at least a bit willfully vague, a touch too watery. (desperate vespers..prayers never meant for... earth, moon... visions... far away... touch the sublunary... kinda a lot, YKWIM?) 

 I'm a hypocrite bc I put starry shit in the end of one of mine recently, but this ending does feel more generic than I'd like it to. The rest is so strikingly originally and personally voiced. Hold to that standard, IMO. 

Yeah it's all just a bit too much in the wisps-of-significance direction at the moment; some more narrative-adjacent exposition and concrete imagery would be welcome. But I really like the tenor of this piece and think it's doing fantastic stuff with its diction.

[alonso ramoran]

Thank you! Made some edits with your crit in mind.

Great, great language. Maybe a few too many lines in a row of dense, ungrounded, pithy declaratives - it was a real breath of fresh air to get the sister in the backseat of the rental in S2. Might be lazy of this reader to want more like that in S1 but this reader nonetheless does. Mea culpa. 

The first three lines are just stellar poetry. 

The rest of S1, I am mostly convinced by, but it does begin to take a little effort. If I were in a bad mood I can see myself finding this speaker a tad pretentious, or at least presumptuous, or at least a bit willfully vague, a touch too watery. (desperate vespers..prayers never meant for... earth, moon... visions... far away... touch the sublunary... kinda a lot, YKWIM?) 

 I'm a hypocrite bc I put starry shit in the end of one of mine recently, but this ending does feel more generic than I'd like it to. The rest is so strikingly originally and personally voiced. Hold to that standard, IMO. 

Yeah it's all just a bit too much in the wisps-of-significance direction at the moment; some more narrative-adjacent exposition and concrete imagery would be welcome. But I really like the tenor of this piece and think it's doing fantastic stuff with its diction.

[matsunosuperfan]

Thank you! Made some edits with your crit in mind.

I like your edits. We are rounding into shape. 

For me the weakest bit is still the lines about "sublunary," where I feel too much narrative distance. I would like to be more directly confronted with the speaker's emotionality here. Maybe: 

And now that I can't even reach the edge
of the sublunary, can't tug its hem, it is clear
what was and was not dreamed. 

...something like that, y'know? It also better anticipates the shift into a more colloquial conversational register in the 2nd stanza. 

"gazes burned with apology" and "a raving barely understood" are so much more tactile than the lines they replaced, nice work

[matsunosuperfan]

Read this again as you mentioned it in the other thread. With the benefit of some distance, it is easier to be critical (sorry). 

The first stanza can probably completely go. It doesn't establish anything for the reader and is effectively masturbatory( EDIT: okay the first two lines are good establishing. The rest is Big Shrug). Start with the sister and the backseat of the rental (even though it "didn't happen.") Then force yourself to say some things about it that someone other than the speaker might understand. 

You are kind of doing the classic amateur poet thing where you try to wring very charged, emotional language out of an occasion that remains a total mystery to your readers:

But there were gazes
burning with apology in new silences,
that were turned upon the mountains to avoid
spoiling the time we still created, gazes

Be real, do you really think any of us know wtf the speaker is talking about here. We do not. The combination of "wtf are they saying" with a vague sense of "this is all very dramatic" is a big turn-off for most readers, myself included. It makes it all just feel a bit of a wank. Like you're not writing for us but for yourself.

[alonso ramoran]

matsuno,

I'm holding on stubbornly to that first stanza. I added more to it, even though we've been talking of omitting that first stanza. I promise I'm not ignoring your feedback. Thank you for sticking with me on this one.