05-30-2024, 04:32 PM
# Immigrants
Crooked wooden crosses
loom over strange ships
on the shore.
Boats emerge from the mist
slowly closing in
at our door.
Odd men with bright banners
pull on to dry land,
where they kneel.
They meet us with their eyes
full of wonder, hands
full of steel.
This is a remarkable improvement over past versions. It feels like the poem wants something, like it’s redrafting itself.
Swap the first two stanzas for narrative cohesion.
Then the main burr left from the original is, “hands full of steel.” Get rid of “steel” which was unknown to the Americas, and you’re closer to depicting the problem you’re depicting.
Crooked wooden crosses
loom over strange ships
on the shore.
Boats emerge from the mist
slowly closing in
at our door.
Odd men with bright banners
pull on to dry land,
where they kneel.
They meet us with their eyes
full of wonder, hands
full of steel.
This is a remarkable improvement over past versions. It feels like the poem wants something, like it’s redrafting itself.
Swap the first two stanzas for narrative cohesion.
Then the main burr left from the original is, “hands full of steel.” Get rid of “steel” which was unknown to the Americas, and you’re closer to depicting the problem you’re depicting.
A yak is normal.