12-29-2017, 01:58 AM
(12-29-2017, 12:52 AM)tectak Wrote:Quite enjoyed this poem. There is a sense of irony in the words you've chosen: The speaker is young, probably mid to early twenties, and has all the gusto of a man who thinks he knows everything, but in doing so, casts aside his belief in others. Ayn Rand taken to the extremes; Stephen Daedelus saying "I will not serve!", these two contradict and I love it. I have underlined portions of the poem in which the meter raises some bells with me. Check and see if you agree. If they were purposeful, I am not completely convinced. The crescendo of this "picture poem" feels like it should contain some great, unironic glimmer of truth in it, but instead it is a reflection of childhood and learning that one is not extraordinary, which I feel is more depressing than it is grand; like a grace note following an overture's grand build up. Contrast with Michael McFee's 'In Medias Res', below:
We start our life deluded
by the world we hear around us,
then prise our eyes to open to the sight of what is real.
At first no strength nor sinew lifts to higher skies above us and we fall and stumble onwards as we learn to touch and feel. // we fall could be removed; use this kind of word later.
Toes, then knees, then feet… then free, from arms beneath our own raised hands, which held and supported as we went our jerky way.
This is the first delusion and it lasts until we realise, quite suddenly, that what we thought we had ‘til now was ours to keep and ours alone,
only to find our gift of life was not unique. Childhood ran beside us; it kicked and bit and pulled our hair and screamed when we hit back.
Through this we learned that others, too, have feelings, mirroring alarmingly our own…in some it comes quite early on, in others after years.
With words gleaned from a dictionary drifting in our noisy space, we pick up, more or less, enough to share our dreams…
and dreams are all we have until some other love befalls us, and only then does sharing become necessity. // 'love befalls us' change to lust, imo. the speaker is jaded.
Deluded once, now once again, how proud we are, how big our car, how wonderful our country pad.
Of course, it was not ever true that things were equal (or seemed so)…the weak will trip and stay behind,
some will not rise to touch the sky, some will fall before a day, while others take a slow, down path. // 'not rise' doesn't belong in the falling part of this poem. i would suggest 'fail' but it would mess with the meter too much.
None care enough, not you or I…we who held fast to somesuch plan. Not a scheme we made ourselves,
a given route from where we were to where we went; oh, no…delusionary gods,
advisors, mentors, coaches, teachers…wiser men and less wise preachers…
all conspired to divert us from our "destiny", a known unknown.
The last long breath that draws us stumbling
back in to a world now real,
leaves us stripped
of all delusion.
This is it,
at last,
I see.
Tectak(feeling fine)2017
Quote:his waist
like the plot
thickens, wedding
pants now breathtaking,
belt no longer the cinch
it once was, belly's cambium
expanding to match each birthday,
his body a wad of anonymous tissue
swung in the same centrifuge of years
that separates a house from its foundation
undermining sidewalks grim with joggers
and loose-filled graves and families
and stars collapsing on themselves,
no preservation society capable
of plugging entropy's dike
under his zipper's sneer
a belly hibernation-
soft, ready for
the kill
I have underlined the important word that cuts the poem from its sweet tone to its darker one. In your poem, the dichotomy isn't as pronounced as it is here with regards to word choice. The start and end of your poem do not change much in their message; He starts thinking the world is deluded, convinces himself the world is deluded, and then becomes deluded. I couldn't find the tipping point until much further down.
Overall, I enjoyed the poem; it is rife with the spirit of individual revolution found in many literary figures, from Telemachus to Enoljras.