10-25-2010, 02:13 PM
Hi Heslopian,
This is very, very cool. I hope you don't mind some suggestions. If they don't work for you please disregard them. Here goes:
I honestly think with this title you can go directly to S2. I don't feel that the first or last strophe does much for you. I'll grant you they're fun but the first seems to delay the action too much and the ending takes away from the punch that the poem delivers (and not like an Adam West POW sign either).
Look how strong that first line plays off of the title when it is S2.
and I mean the Michael Keaton
kind, not the campy Adam West,
or that sissy Val Kilmer,
nor the dullard George Clooney,
and though Christian Bale
looks good in leather,
he's just too sadistic for me.
I'd serve coffee
and cold cuts
and be better in bed
than Alfred the butler
or M. Pfeiffer,
and my life would revolve
around tending his wounds,
caused by the Joker's
acidic posy,
the Penguin's Tommy umbrella,
Catwoman's fingernails
and the Riddler's, well, riddles.
These last two strophes set up the atmosphere. Ironically enough the heart of the poem is the next two it's more imortant to understand what the narrator is trying to free himself from than it is to consider the batman vehicle itself. I do however love what you did by comparing the actors and than the rogues gallary. I also like how you move in and out of the reality by going from Alfred to M. Pfeiffer...no nits at all in those strophes.
I'd be happier than
a fifties' housewife
released from the prom
and bought her own stove,
on which to stir
and fry all day,
pancakes, roast lamb,
pheasant and peas,
whilst her husband
plays pool and
watches the Knicks.--love this entire part
most of all, I think,
I'd be freed from thought
and responsible tasks
like finding a job
and securing a girl,
studying hard
and being happy,
a symbol of manhood,
conformity. --now it gets a little closer to home. It's these kinds of issues that make us want to withdraw, escape
I'd tear the mask free
and kiss Keaton's eyelids,--excellent image and lines
and that pansy Robin
would never be born,
and as I paced down[b]
the long corridors
towards
his armoured form,
I'd lose identity,
and that, the nothingness
(beyond sex and cold cuts
and coffee) is the essence of
this fantasy. [b]--this is where I'd end it this is the magic, the epiphany, from and as I paced to here. This is what we're meant to learn.
which is why, since boyhood,
aside from catching
the hound who killed
Sir Baskerville,
and solving the murder
on the Orient Express,
my dream has been
to live with Batman
inside his Wayne Manor.
[/quote]
Creative, fun, and in some ways fairly poignant poem...thanks for the great read.
Best,
Todd[/b]
This is very, very cool. I hope you don't mind some suggestions. If they don't work for you please disregard them. Here goes:
I honestly think with this title you can go directly to S2. I don't feel that the first or last strophe does much for you. I'll grant you they're fun but the first seems to delay the action too much and the ending takes away from the punch that the poem delivers (and not like an Adam West POW sign either).
Look how strong that first line plays off of the title when it is S2.
and I mean the Michael Keaton
kind, not the campy Adam West,
or that sissy Val Kilmer,
nor the dullard George Clooney,
and though Christian Bale
looks good in leather,
he's just too sadistic for me.
I'd serve coffee
and cold cuts
and be better in bed
than Alfred the butler
or M. Pfeiffer,
and my life would revolve
around tending his wounds,
caused by the Joker's
acidic posy,
the Penguin's Tommy umbrella,
Catwoman's fingernails
and the Riddler's, well, riddles.
These last two strophes set up the atmosphere. Ironically enough the heart of the poem is the next two it's more imortant to understand what the narrator is trying to free himself from than it is to consider the batman vehicle itself. I do however love what you did by comparing the actors and than the rogues gallary. I also like how you move in and out of the reality by going from Alfred to M. Pfeiffer...no nits at all in those strophes.
I'd be happier than
a fifties' housewife
released from the prom
and bought her own stove,
on which to stir
and fry all day,
pancakes, roast lamb,
pheasant and peas,
whilst her husband
plays pool and
watches the Knicks.--love this entire part
most of all, I think,
I'd be freed from thought
and responsible tasks
like finding a job
and securing a girl,
studying hard
and being happy,
a symbol of manhood,
conformity. --now it gets a little closer to home. It's these kinds of issues that make us want to withdraw, escape
I'd tear the mask free
and kiss Keaton's eyelids,--excellent image and lines
and that pansy Robin
would never be born,
and as I paced down[b]
the long corridors
towards
his armoured form,
I'd lose identity,
and that, the nothingness
(beyond sex and cold cuts
and coffee) is the essence of
this fantasy. [b]--this is where I'd end it this is the magic, the epiphany, from and as I paced to here. This is what we're meant to learn.
which is why, since boyhood,
aside from catching
the hound who killed
Sir Baskerville,
and solving the murder
on the Orient Express,
my dream has been
to live with Batman
inside his Wayne Manor.
[/quote]
Creative, fun, and in some ways fairly poignant poem...thanks for the great read.
Best,
Todd[/b]
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson