Twelve boar blues.edit 1,svan

[tectak]

Edit 1.

On sky of palimpsest, the sun marks out a lower arc of light
as days erased fold into crowns of silhouetted fractal fronds.
Grey smoking Wraiths, damp Autumn’s breath, enwrap the forest firm and tight.
Like widow’s rags of summer dead, black ravens croak and life responds.
A shiver tics along his flanks but holding still the boar inhales
to test the drift of cooling air. He knows his spoor will slip behind
when gentlest breeze blows in his eyes; in dimming light his vision fails
as atavistic senses rise to form a picture...clear, defined.
And here I stalk, on leaf-deep trail with cracking twigs and oozing loam.
I emanate the stench of man, my stifled breath a whistling blast.
Each foot fall on the drum-skin floor leaves signs of where I chose to roam;
my scent I paint on branch and stone, on briar thorn and bison grass.
This shotgun carried by my side will not this day be called to kill
for he has gone to where the air is his alone, and time lies still.

original

On sky of palimpsest, the sun marks out a lower arc of light
as days erased fold into crowns of silhouetted fractal fronds.
Grey smoking Wraiths, damp Autumn’s breath, enwraps the forest firm and tight.
Like widow’s rags of summer dead, black ravens croak and life responds.
A shiver tics along his flanks but holding still the boar inhales
to test the drift of cooling air. He knows his spoor will slip behind
when gentlest breeze blows in his eyes; in dimming light his vision fails
as atavistic senses rise to form a picture clear defined.
And here I stalk, on leaf deep trail with cracking twig and oozing loam.
I emanate the stench of man, my stifled breath a whistling blast.
Each foot fall on the drum-skin floor leaves signs of where I chose to roam;
my scent I paint on branch and stone, on briar thorn and bison grass.
This shotgun carried by my side will not this day be called to kill
for he has gone to where the air is his alone, and time lies still.

Bialowieza
Autumn 2013

[svanhoeven]

I love the imagery, but I'll have to be picky about some of the details:

On sky of palimpsest, the sun marks out a lower arc of light
as days erased fold into crowns of silhouetted fractal fronds.
"days"- Dusk is overwriting the sky, a really wonderful image, but surely it can only erase a single day.
Grey smoking Wraiths, damp Autumn’s breath, enwraps the forest firm and tight.
After "Wraiths", the comma means "and", or maybe "damp Autumn’s breath" is parenthetical, but either way you need "enwrap" for a plural subject.
Like widow’s rags of summer dead, black ravens croak and life responds.
A shiver tics along his flanks but holding still the boar inhales
Excellent.
to test the drift of cooling air. He knows his spoor will slip behind
when gentlest breeze blows in his eyes; in dimming light his vision fails
as atavistic senses rise to form a picture clear defined.
clearly defined
And here I stalk, on leaf deep trail with cracking twig and oozing loam.
"leaf-deep" maybe? Twigs would sound more natural.
I emanate the stench of man, my stifled breath a whistling blast.
"Stench" feels a little too strong- maybe "scent"? Then again, humans have feeble noses, so what an animal smells probably would be a stench to us.
Each foot fall on the drum-skin floor leaves signs of where I chose to roam;
my scent I paint on branch and stone, on briar thorn and bison grass.
This shotgun carried by my side will not this day be called to kill
"will not this day"- sticks out as a bit archaic
for he has gone to where the air is his alone, and time lies still.

Bialowieza
Autumn 2013

Again, just pedantic stuff. Overall, really great, though you do seem to have something against valid metrical substitutions. The iambs march by like a parading regiment.

[tectak]

I love the imagery, but I'll have to be picky about some of the details:

On sky of palimpsest, the sun marks out a lower arc of light
as days erased fold into crowns of silhouetted fractal fronds.
"days"- Dusk is overwriting the sky, a really wonderful image, but surely it can only erase a single day.
Grey smoking Wraiths, damp Autumn’s breath, enwraps the forest firm and tight.
After "Wraiths", the comma means "and", or maybe "damp Autumn’s breath" is parenthetical, but either way you need "enwrap" for a plural subject.
Like widow’s rags of summer dead, black ravens croak and life responds.
A shiver tics along his flanks but holding still the boar inhales
Excellent.
to test the drift of cooling air. He knows his spoor will slip behind
when gentlest breeze blows in his eyes; in dimming light his vision fails
as atavistic senses rise to form a picture clear defined.
clearly defined
And here I stalk, on leaf deep trail with cracking twig and oozing loam.
"leaf-deep" maybe? Twigs would sound more natural.
I emanate the stench of man, my stifled breath a whistling blast.
"Stench" feels a little too strong- maybe "scent"? Then again, humans have feeble noses, so what an animal smells probably would be a stench to us.
Each foot fall on the drum-skin floor leaves signs of where I chose to roam;
my scent I paint on branch and stone, on briar thorn and bison grass.
This shotgun carried by my side will not this day be called to kill
"will not this day"- sticks out as a bit archaic
for he has gone to where the air is his alone, and time lies still.

Bialowieza
Autumn 2013

Again, just pedantic stuff. Overall, really great, though you do seem to have something against valid metrical substitutions. The iambs march by like a parading regiment.

Thanks sven,
no, not pedantic at all. All valid stuff. In order, defend, conceed.
Sure, but one day per day Hence palimpsest. Each day the sun is lower...so days.
You are correct. Enwraps. Credited
clear can work but I will put comma after it for the meter.
Yep. You got the animal sense thing. Stifled breathing sounds like a strident whistle,human scent is to a boar a mighty stench.
Not sure about the hyphen. No. I think you are right...and twigs. Credited.
archaic it is...but the subject can take it to keep the strict sonnet form. I am a bugger for regimentation sometimes. This one took me over!
Best,
tectak

[billy]

i started checking the meter and stopped half way down, it seems to be octameter which doesn't seem out of place for you

on the 1st line i wonder if it's not being a bit too clever; on a sky of many layers says it so much better...but that just me, it's why i mention it here and not in the body. last grass make it as rhyme so you're rhymes work well. the poem has a good rhythm to it and for the best part the iambs rule

i like your imagist style of poetry if that's the correct term. you use alliteration well in this one and if i had just one nit to profess, it would be palimpsest. it feels too un-rustic to fit in with the poem that follows it, if it were in the centre of the poem it may got past less noticed.

an enjoyable poem and a well worked sonnet, i think the octameter works

thanks for the read

Edit 1.

On sky of palimpsest, the sun marks out a lower arc of light should it be skies (because of days on the next line?
as days erased fold into crowns of silhouetted fractal fronds. i like f's and the image of fractal fronds.
Grey smoking Wraiths, damp Autumn’s breath, enwrap the forest firm and tight. should it be en-wrap?
Like widow’s rags of summer dead, black ravens croak and life responds.
A shiver tics along his flanks but holding still the boar inhales good image
to test the drift of cooling air. He knows his spoor will slip behind
when gentlest breeze blows in his eyes; in dimming light his vision fails
as atavistic senses rise to form a picture...clear, defined.
And here I stalk, on leaf-deep trail with cracking twigs and oozing loam.
I emanate the stench of man, my stifled breath a whistling blast. i take umbrage at stench
Each foot fall on the drum-skin floor leaves signs of where I chose to roam; for me there's a conflict of images, leaf deep and drumskin
my scent I paint on branch and stone, on briar thorn and bison grass.
This shotgun carried by my side will not this day be called to kill love the couplet and the fact he evaded death.
for he has gone to where the air is his alone, and time lies still.

original

On sky of palimpsest, the sun marks out a lower arc of light
as days erased fold into crowns of silhouetted fractal fronds.
Grey smoking Wraiths, damp Autumn’s breath, enwraps the forest firm and tight.
Like widow’s rags of summer dead, black ravens croak and life responds.
A shiver tics along his flanks but holding still the boar inhales
to test the drift of cooling air. He knows his spoor will slip behind
when gentlest breeze blows in his eyes; in dimming light his vision fails
as atavistic senses rise to form a picture clear defined.
And here I stalk, on leaf deep trail with cracking twig and oozing loam.
I emanate the stench of man, my stifled breath a whistling blast.
Each foot fall on the drum-skin floor leaves signs of where I chose to roam;
my scent I paint on branch and stone, on briar thorn and bison grass.
This shotgun carried by my side will not this day be called to kill
for he has gone to where the air is his alone, and time lies still.

Bialowieza
Autumn 2013

[tectak]

i started checking the meter and stopped half way down, it seems to be octameter which doesn't seem out of place for you

on the 1st line i wonder if it's not being a bit too clever; on a sky of many layers says it so much better...but that just me, it's why i mention it here and not in the body. last grass make it as rhyme so you're rhymes work well. the poem has a good rhythm to it and for the best part the iambs rule

i like your imagist style of poetry if that's the correct term. you use alliteration well in this one and if i had just one nit to profess, it would be palimpsest. it feels too un-rustic to fit in with the poem that follows it, if it were in the centre of the poem it may got past less noticed.

an enjoyable poem and a well worked sonnet, i think the octameter works

thanks for the read

Edit 1.

On sky of palimpsest, the sun marks out a lower arc of light should it be skies (because of days on the next line?hmmmm. Moot point, I thought I cracked this one. i will look again. Thanks
as days erased fold into crowns of silhouetted fractal fronds. i like f's and the image of fractal fronds.
Grey smoking Wraiths, damp Autumn’s breath, enwrap the forest firm and tight. should it be en-wrap?definitely not!
Like widow’s rags of summer dead, black ravens croak and life responds.
A shiver tics along his flanks but holding still the boar inhales good image
to test the drift of cooling air. He knows his spoor will slip behind
when gentlest breeze blows in his eyes; in dimming light his vision fails
as atavistic senses rise to form a picture...clear, defined.
And here I stalk, on leaf-deep trail with cracking twigs and oozing loam.
I emanate the stench of man, my stifled breath a whistling blast. i take umbrage at stench only you, billy...only you!
Each foot fall on the drum-skin floor leaves signs of where I chose to roam; for me there's a conflict of images, leaf deep and drumskinI am trying to emphasise how the beast hears sounds. A cushioned footfall to me sounds like a drum strike on the forest floor to a boar. That is all
my scent I paint on branch and stone, on briar thorn and bison grass.
This shotgun carried by my side will not this day be called to kill love the couplet and the fact he evaded death.
for he has gone to where the air is his alone, and time lies still.

original

On sky of palimpsest, the sun marks out a lower arc of light
as days erased fold into crowns of silhouetted fractal fronds.
Grey smoking Wraiths, damp Autumn’s breath, enwraps the forest firm and tight.
Like widow’s rags of summer dead, black ravens croak and life responds.
A shiver tics along his flanks but holding still the boar inhales
to test the drift of cooling air. He knows his spoor will slip behind
when gentlest breeze blows in his eyes; in dimming light his vision fails
as atavistic senses rise to form a picture clear defined.
And here I stalk, on leaf deep trail with cracking twig and oozing loam.
I emanate the stench of man, my stifled breath a whistling blast.
Each foot fall on the drum-skin floor leaves signs of where I chose to roam;
my scent I paint on branch and stone, on briar thorn and bison grass.
This shotgun carried by my side will not this day be called to kill
for he has gone to where the air is his alone, and time lies still.

Bialowieza
Autumn 2013

Thanks billy. All noted. yes...I like octameter and long lines to boot. I have been trying to fit in palimpsest for weeks.. an anapest to far. perhaps!
Best,
tectak

[Erthona]

More like 28 bars in boar four time, blues this is not. Eight feet is much too long, it makes for a sleepy song. Plus 16 feet from rhyme to rhyme, your stitch you drop, now out of time. Of course we have had previous discussions regarding the 8 footer, and you insist on continuing to be wrong!

"He knows his spoor will slip behind." How poetic! Nature poetry a la Hemingway. Interesting place to apply personification. Gives new meaning to the phrase "God, he's such a boor!"

"on briar thorn and bison grass." Awkward, awkward, awkward.


"palimpsest" will never fit...

...but, you could go with

"On palimpsest sky"

but that is going to screw the second part of the line.


Well I'm glad so see they let you leave Poe-land. Oftentimes people ask to leave and they say "nevermore". Of course that was back in the days of the sickle and star. "Mister Gor-bee-chought tear down this wall!" AH, the great communicator!

Dale

PS definition: palimpsest - Having relations with your buddy who also happens to be close kin.

[tectak]

More like 28 bars in boar four time, blues this is not. Eight feet is much too long, it makes for a sleepy song. Plus 16 feet from rhyme to rhyme, your stitch you drop, now out of time. Of course we have had previous discussions regarding the 8 footer, and you insist on continuing to be wrong!

"He knows his spoor will slip behind." How poetic! Nature poetry a la Hemingway. Interesting place to apply personification. Gives new meaning to the phrase "God, he's such a boor!"

"on briar thorn and bison grass." Awkward, awkward, awkward.


"palimpsest" will never fit...

...but, you could go with

"On palimpsest sky"

but that is going to screw the second part of the line.


Well I'm glad so see they let you leave Poe-land. Oftentimes people ask to leave and they say "nevermore". Of course that was back in the days of the sickle and star. "Mister Gor-bee-chought tear down this wall!" AH, the great communicator!

Dale

PS definition: palimpsest - Having relations with your buddy who also happens to be close kin.

Ah, hook line and thinker you old corruptible....take off and circle again....12 bore is the gun he never got to use. 12 lines then the double barelled couplet. Over and under.
.....and I LIKE 16ners...gives me time to think I put sugar in beef casserole to make people ask for more... cheating but not as we know it.
Yeah...it is cheesy....but it will get into print like "In Bison Breath". Commissioned, you see.
That palimpsest is a buckaroo...

Ye ha! I got it in the corral! You're just jealous.
Best,
tectak

[bena]

Octameter, are you kidding me? Even my spellcheck debates that the word exists! I am the worst expert on rhymed, metered poetry and you are far out of my league, but I thought I'd stop by and say that the assonance and alliteration in this piece is so marvellous. I also love the depth of thinking in your 12 line and doubled barrelled couplet....so amazing. I'm thinking that your drum-skin line might need some revision.....I know EXACTLY what you are going for. It's more of a brush on the drums rather than a stick, so perhaps you can sneak that in there. I can't tell you how, trust me.

Just my thoughts, loved it!

bena

[tectak]

Octameter, are you kidding me? Even my spellcheck debates that the word exists! I am the worst expert on rhymed, metered poetry and you are far out of my league, but I thought I'd stop by and say that the assonance and alliteration in this piece is so marvellous. I also love the depth of thinking in your 12 line and doubled barrelled couplet....so amazing. I'm thinking that your drum-skin line might need some revision.....I know EXACTLY what you are going for. It's more of a brush on the drums rather than a stick, so perhaps you can sneak that in there. I can't tell you how, trust me.

Just my thoughts, loved it!

bena

Marry me.
Best,
tectak
(Erthona will give me away)

[bena]

OOooo will it be a shotgun wedding? I have one! This sounds like tons of fun, but before committing, you should read my posts about being insane. I'd hate to blind side you.

love you still,
bena

[PoetryAndPhysics]

I'm enthralled by the words you used here. And the idea of the sky being a palimpsest is great, I could go for a poem devoted to that alone. No sure why, but part of me would rather this not be about a hunt, though ostensibly hunting does appear on several layers of "the" palimpsest. Anyway...

On sky of palimpsest, the sun marks out a lower arc of light
as days erased fold into crowns of silhouetted fractal fronds. You use it well, but I always get annoyed with the word fractal in a poem. It might be a personal crusade...
Grey smoking Wraiths, damp Autumn’s breath, enwrap the forest firm and tight.
Like widow’s rags of summer dead, black ravens croak and life responds.
A shiver tics along his flanks but holding still the boar inhales
to test the drift of cooling air. He knows his spoor will slip behind
when gentlest breeze blows in his eyes; in dimming light his vision fails
as atavistic senses rise to form a picture...clear, defined. To be fair, the boar uses atavistic senses in the daytime as well.
And here I stalk, on leaf-deep trail with cracking twigs and oozing loam.
I emanate the stench of man, my stifled breath a whistling blast.
Each foot fall on the drum-skin floor leaves signs of where I chose to roam; I instantly thought of elephants when you mentioned drum-skin floor.
my scent I paint on branch and stone, on briar thorn and bison grass. I feel you've already done plenty on the scents of boars and humans.
This shotgun carried by my side will not this day be called to kill
for he has gone to where the air is his alone, and time lies still. Nice ending.

The meter is great, which is my excuse for not commenting on it (not my inexperience with it, no way!)

[tectak]

I'm enthralled by the words you used here. And the idea of the sky being a palimpsest is great, I could go for a poem devoted to that alone. No sure why, but part of me would rather this not be about a hunt, though ostensibly hunting does appear on several layers of "the" palimpsest. Anyway...

On sky of palimpsest, the sun marks out a lower arc of light
as days erased fold into crowns of silhouetted fractal fronds. You use it well, but I always get annoyed with the word fractal in a poem. It might be a personal crusade...
Grey smoking Wraiths, damp Autumn’s breath, enwrap the forest firm and tight.
Like widow’s rags of summer dead, black ravens croak and life responds.
A shiver tics along his flanks but holding still the boar inhales
to test the drift of cooling air. He knows his spoor will slip behind
when gentlest breeze blows in his eyes; in dimming light his vision fails
as atavistic senses rise to form a picture...clear, defined. To be fair, the boar uses atavistic senses in the daytime as well.
And here I stalk, on leaf-deep trail with cracking twigs and oozing loam.
I emanate the stench of man, my stifled breath a whistling blast.
Each foot fall on the drum-skin floor leaves signs of where I chose to roam; I instantly thought of elephants when you mentioned drum-skin floor.
my scent I paint on branch and stone, on briar thorn and bison grass. I feel you've already done plenty on the scents of boars and humans.
This shotgun carried by my side will not this day be called to kill
for he has gone to where the air is his alone, and time lies still. Nice ending.

The meter is great, which is my excuse for not commenting on it (not my inexperience with it, no way!)

You are bang on. Fractal MUST go.
Best,
tectak

[bena]

Sorry to be a pisser, but I totally adored the alliteration of "fractal fronds" and I'm really partial to intellectual words in poetry. (you probably have figured that out) but then, that's just me.

[tectak]

Sorry to be a pisser, but I totally adored the alliteration of "fractal fronds" and I'm really partial to intellectual words in poetry. (you probably have figured that out) but then, that's just me.

You are bang on. FRACTAL must stay.
wtf.
Best,
tectak
(I cannot find a better word.)

[Erthona]

Thomas,

Quit being so fractal...but I too cast my vote in favor of fractal fronds. If I were going to rail against anything it would be the "fronds" not the fractal. However, I am sure I could write a substantial paper (not that anyone would read it) on the merger of the organic and the inorganic creating a whole that is larger than it's parts (thesis + antithesis = synthesis: see Hegel), and how the sublime is a creation composed of such disparate unions. That is to say, that in doing so one moves from the world of phenomena (cause and effect) into the realm of the noumena (synthetic apriori intuition..see Kant "Critique of Pure Reason"), aka the realm of Being or the sublime.

Dale

[bena]

His post makes me feel like I'm back in college. When's the test? Where are my notes? Am I in my underwear?

[tectak]

His post makes me feel like I'm back in college. When's the test? Where are my notes? Am I in my underwear?

Hey bena...don't crit the crit! Erthona's bite is worse than his bark.
Best,
tectak

---

Thomas,

Quit being so fractal...but I too cast my vote in favor of fractal fronds. If I were going to rail against anything it would be the "fronds" not the fractal. However, I am sure I could write a substantial paper (not that anyone would read it) on the merger of the organic and the inorganic creating a whole that is larger than it's parts (thesis + antithesis = synthesis: see Hegel), and how the sublime is a creation composed of such disparate unions. That is to say, that in doing so one moves from the world of phenomena (cause and effect) into the realm of the noumena (synthetic apriori intuition..see Kant "Critique of Pure Reason"), aka the realm of Being or the sublime.

Dale

Hi Dale,
I tend to develop Hegel's constructs sub-consciously...superficially, of course, because I could never get into the root analysis mode.
Imagery is always going to be concrete and clay...the one man made and set like rock, the other malleable and transitorily workable...until fired. I tend to work in clay...poetry fires the clay and gives it structure, form and permanence beyond any "reason" inserted by the poet. In other words, like any "art", once it is done it is repeatedly undone by the observers...but as Hegel would argue, the concept is set in concrete and only the poet really knows (or really doesn't) what the hell caused the thought that found the word that made the rhyme that ended the line that metered the verse.
Hegel is to Cant what clay is to concrete. Me? I'm just a humble poet.
Your fractal friend,
tectak

---

OOooo will it be a shotgun wedding? I have one! This sounds like tons of fun, but before committing, you should read my posts about being insane. I'd hate to blind side you.

love you still,
bena

Why would I do that?
Do you know something about insanity that I don't?
The poem, bena, the poem. Tell me about the poem.
Best,
tectak