Invocation of the Self

[poe]

The sky knows itself, its not my mind.
I'm walking in dissent of happiness,
not a happy thing.

I'll sweat like a star trying to make itself.
I'll wear Stockton street like the robe of many colors and
no one will speak to me.

I'd like to discard the disgust of my generation.
I find my friends squeezing honesty into tubes
to sell in the marketplace. Because
truth is too painful to let alone.
I must shuffle it around, carve into it, I must twist it like clay.
I must make it myself out of litter, urine, and tongues.
I must slap to sense the sky that won't talk.
Stuff newspapers into mouths of strangers.

I must trust that nothing makes sense and harmony is an ancient code.
That difficulty is the only way.

[rowens]

I'll wear Stockton street like the robe of many colors and
no one will speak to me.

I'd like to discard the disgust of my generation.
I find my friends squeezing honesty into tubes
to sell in the marketplace. Because
truth is too painful to let alone.
I must shuffle it around, carve into it, I must twist it like clay.
I must make it myself out of litter, urine, and tongues.
I must slap to sense the sky that won't talk.
Stuff newspapers into mouths of strangers.


That section has the strongest bits. I don't have anything to say about how to shape that block of words, if only you could make the rest of the poem better and have it all come together.

[Erthona]

As Kris Kristofferson said, "He's a walking contradiction partly true and partly fiction taken' every wrong direction on his lonely way back home.

This poem seems to hover on the line of almost making sense, but appears to cross it.


Dale

[Mopkins]

The sky knows itself, its not my mind. (it’s)
I'm walking in dissent of happiness,(in dissent of happiness doesn’t read well to me – like saying’ in disagreement of happiness’ – doesn’t make sense maybe make’ of’ ‘with’)
not a happy thing. (two happys in such a short stanza overdoes it a bit)

I'll sweat like a star trying to make itself. (the star already exists as it is sweating – perhaps a word like brighter, bigger, stronger, etc after ’itself ‘would fix this)
I'll wear Stockton street like the robe of many colors and (Street) ( it was a coat, not a robe, and ‘coat’ would be alliterative in the line)
no one will speak to me.

I'd like to discard the disgust of my generation. (nice line alliterative d&g)
I find my friends squeezing honesty into tubes (interesting image but what does it mean – this is unclear)
to sell in the marketplace. Because
truth is too painful to let alone. (so people buy these tubes of honest truth because they want pain? I’d put –‘ to sell in the marketplace./Because truth is too painful to let alone,/ I must shuffle....’))
I must shuffle it around, carve into it, I must twist it like clay. (nice idea )
I must make it myself out of litter, urine, and tongues. (make truth from litter urine and tongues is very odd to me – how are those things making truth? This line could go as it seems nonsensical)
I must slap to sense the sky that won't talk. (feels like you need something after ‘slap’ –‘ myself’ perhaps)
Stuff newspapers into mouths of strangers. (this line doesn’t seem to fit with the poem to me -how does this procure/manipulate truth as previous lines refer to?)

I must trust that nothing makes sense and harmony is an ancient code.
That difficulty is the only way. (nice close)

Overall I enjoyed it, though it is a bit of a wandering ramble. I thought you had some good lines and with a bit of polish will be better.

Marianne

[John Galt]

Tony, I agree with Erthona here, I am almost grasping the idea you want to get across but cannot quite get there.

I liked the thought of the "sky " being self aware, I could see it watching itself reflected in the earth's waters (mad eh?).

I also like the "sweating like a star" comparison,

thanks. JG