Posts: 57
Threads: 11
Joined: May 2014
Lined by Che's unfallen apples
the arroyos in front
and back of my house
aren't filled
by a flood of history
there is no desire
to break their banks
carve a new path
create a new order
streams and rivers change
only when overwhelmed
by volume and force
the children tease:
men don’t sweep
nor scrub dishes
nor wash clothes
by hand in the river
I smile back
in my world they do,
or at least they can
revolutions are ultimately won
snapping soapy cloth
between fists,
rinsing plates,
and coaxing dirt
the rains have come,
now I spend my mornings
sweeping out the wings
of flying, mating, dying insects
sweeping them out by the thousands
frustrated as they resist
caught up in currents of air
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began
wings - alas the children tell me
reminding me of the word for soul.
almas - growing, living, dying
nearly where we began
Years later
same rough hewn planks
same translucent wings
but instead of history's march,
alas, o almas perdidas,
I see the tumult of air
rather than the flutter of souls
at terminal velocity
I see, propelled by corn bristles
the trajectory of energy
passing through perceived form
I see a sweeper,
insubstantial as the
membrane of rising
and falling wings
I understand
these termites pass instinct
through generations of young
moment to moment
life to life
each sweep
each flight and fall
backwards and forward
learning and relearning.
finally, wings flutter into sunlight
out the door, settling into mud
it seems so little has changed.
I recognize their faces
in their sons & daughters
only men with brooms & soap
are no longer foreign
now wives and girls work
in zonas francas,
as maids in towns,
o afuera
making-do is not the same
as overcoming
whether
a mass of humanity beyond breaking,
a single life beyond control,
or a violent force of beginningless karma
whether rushing torrents
or swirling currents
it's still about liberation, but
instead of the sweep of revolution
I see the movement of action and intention
I mind the breath and whisper
be determined, be patient, and finally be free.
------------
the arroyos in front
and back of my house
aren't filled
by a flood of history
there is no desire
to break their banks
carve a new path
create a new order
streams and rivers change
when overwhelmed
by volume and force
The rains have come
reminding me
my view of revolution
has changed
the children tease:
men don’t sweep,
nor scrub dishes,
nor wash clothes
by hand in the river
I smile back
in my world they do,
or at least they can
victories are first won
snapping soapy cloth
between fists,
rinsing plates,
and coaxing dirt
I spend my mornings
sweeping out the wings
of flying, mating, dying insects
sweeping them out by the thousands
frustrated as they resist
caught up in currents of air
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began
wings - alas the children tell me
reminding me of the word for soul
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began.
Years later
same rough hewn planks
same translucent wings
but instead of history's
inevitable march,
alas, o almas perdidas,
I see the tumult of air
rather than the flutter of matter
I see conflict of gravity, inertia
the trajectory of energy
a sweeper moved by
the same thinly-veiled forces
insubstantial as the
membrane of rising
and falling wings
these termites pass instinct
through generations of young
moment to moment
life to life
each sweep
each flight and fall
backwards and forward
learning and relearning.
finally, wings flutter into sunlight
out the door, settling into mud
it seems so little has changed.
I recognize their faces
in their sons & daughters,
but men with brooms & soap
are no longer foreign.
wives and girls working
zonas francas,
maids in towns,
o afuera
making-do is not the same
as overcoming
roaring torrents
a mass of humanity beyond breaking,
a single life beyond control,
or a violent rush of beginningless karma
I catch what's left
of myself
it's still about liberation, but
instead of the sweep of revolution
I see the movement of action and intention
I mind the breath and whisper
be determined, be patient, and finally be free.
[i]Arroyo: Spanish for stream or dried stream.
Alas: Spanish for wings.
Almas: Spanish for souls.
Zonas Francas: Free trade zones, where foreign companies can manufacture products, taking advantage of low wage markets at reduced rates of taxation.
Afuera: Spanish for "outside". "Trabajo afuera" is often used as an expression for working out of the country.
Karma: Sanskrit for willful action. Here it refers to the momentum, or energy resulting from willful action that propels existence
Posts: 23
Threads: 3
Joined: Oct 2013
Hi,
I enjoyEd this poem because of the subject and passage of time. The first two stanzas set up well and intrigued me as a reader.
the arroyos in front
and back of my house
aren't filled
by a flood of history
there is no desire
to break their banks
carve a new path
create a new order
These three lines seem out of place and should perhaps come after the following stanza rather than before or be combined with it.
streams and rivers change
when overwhelmed
by volume and force
A tad confusing, why do they remind you?
The rains have come
reminding me
my view of revolution
has changed
Whose children?
the children tease:
men don’t sweep,
nor scrub dishes,
nor wash clothes
by hand in the river
Consider omitting back
I smile back
in my world they do,
or at least they can
Nice imagery In next two stanzas
victories are first won
snapping soapy cloth
between fists,
rinsing plates,
and coaxing dirt
I spend my mornings
sweeping out the wings
of flying, mating, dying insects
sweeping them out by the thousands
frustrated as they resist
These next seven lines could stand to be tightened, not repeating line "floating up and settling down" is one idea
caught up in currents of air
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began
wings - alas the children tell me
reminding me of the word for soul
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began.
Perhaps creating stanzas with the same number of lines would assist the reading flow however I like the imagery as it describes the termites very nicely
Years later
same rough hewn planks
same translucent wings
but instead of history's
inevitable march,
alas, o almas perdidas,
I see the tumult of air
rather than the flutter of matter
I see conflict of gravity, inertia
the trajectory of energy
a sweeper moved by
the same thinly-veiled forces
insubstantial as the
membrane of rising
and falling wings
these termites pass instinct
through generations of young
moment to moment
life to life
each sweep
each flight and fall
backwards and forward
learning and relearning.
finally, wings flutter into sunlight
out the door, settling into mud
Great idea here. Consider incorporating punctuation through out, your powerful poem will flow more effectively.
it seems so little has changed.
I recognize their faces
in their sons & daughters,
but men with brooms & soap
are no longer foreign.
wives and girls working
zonas francas,
maids in towns,
o afuera
making-do is not the same
as overcoming
roaring torrents
a mass of humanity beyond breaking,
a single life beyond control,
or a violent rush of beginningless karma
I catch what's left
of myself
I feel the last bit here needs tightening.
it's still about liberation, but
instead of the sweep of revolution
I see the movement of action and intention
I mind the breath and whisper
be determined, be patient, and finally be free.
Over all a very powerful poem with strong imagery, good points, depth and causing me to see the issues along with the termites. Bravo!
Love the ending! Absolutely love it, it really makes the whole piece come together and also brings some much power to the message. I also must say you have such an eye for detail, your descriptive language is out of this world.
Posts: 1,827
Threads: 305
Joined: Dec 2016
[quote='bbcashdollar' pid='163827' dateline='1399544244']
the arroyos in front
and back of my house
aren't filled
by a flood of history
there is no desire
to break their banks
carve a new path
create a new order
streams and rivers change
when overwhelmed
by volume and force
The rains have come
reminding me
my view of revolution
has changed
the children tease:
men don’t sweep,
nor scrub dishes,
nor wash clothes
by hand in the river
I smile back
in my world they do,
or at least they can
victories are first won
snapping soapy cloth
between fists,
rinsing plates,
and coaxing dirt
I spend my mornings
sweeping out the wings
of flying, mating, dying insects
sweeping them out by the thousands
frustrated as they resist
caught up in currents of air
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began
wings - alas the children tell me
reminding me of the word for soul
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began.
Years later
same rough hewn planks
same translucent wings
but instead of history's
inevitable march,
alas, o almas perdidas,
I see the tumult of air
rather than the flutter of matter
I see conflict of gravity, inertia
the trajectory of energy
a sweeper moved by
the same thinly-veiled forces
insubstantial as the
membrane of rising
and falling wings
these termites pass instinct
through generations of young
moment to moment
life to life
each sweep
each flight and fall
backwards and forward
learning and relearning.
finally, wings flutter into sunlight
out the door, settling into mud
it seems so little has changed.
I recognize their faces
in their sons & daughters,
but men with brooms & soap
are no longer foreign.
wives and girls working
zonas francas,
maids in towns,
o afuera
making-do is not the same
as overcoming
roaring torrents
a mass of humanity beyond breaking,
a single life beyond control,
or a violent rush of beginningless karma
I catch what's left
of myself
it's still about liberation, but
instead of the sweep of revolution
I see the movement of action and intention
I mind the breath and whisper
be determined, be patient, and finally be free.
________________________________________________________
I guess this would read well on a phone, but the extreme verticalness of the poems layout is wearying on the reader(at least this one). I understand the desire to show the passage of time, but I think it could be done in half the vertical space
Overall, a very nice extended metaphor. The idea of termite wings adds nice texture to the poem.
Dale
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
Posts: 25
Threads: 5
Joined: May 2014
Hi bbcashdollar!
This my first post. Here goes...
Quote:the arroyos in front
and back of my house
aren't filled
by a flood of history
there is no desire
to break their banks
carve a new path
create a new order
I am intrigued. Do you regret that the arroyos around your house "aren't filled by a flood of history..." or do you welcome it (and perhaps envy them a bit)? Your tone is ambiguous and I am curious to see how the rest of your poem answers this question (or not). Floods can be enormously destructive or (like the annual Nile floods before they built the Aswan High Dam) life-giving.
Quote:streams and rivers change
when overwhelmed
by volume and force
Correct but have the arroyos around your house been so overwhelmed?
Quote:The rains have come
reminding me
my view of revolution
has changed
What does revolution have to do with it? You pique my curiosity further.
Quote:the children tease:
men don’t sweep,
nor scrub dishes,
nor wash clothes
by hand in the river
I smile back
in my world they do,
or at least they can
victories are first won
snapping soapy cloth
between fists,
rinsing plates,
and coaxing dirt
A revolution in family mores?
Quote:I spend my mornings
sweeping out the wings
of flying, mating, dying insects
sweeping them out by the thousands
frustrated as they resist
caught up in currents of air
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began
Great image. "Flying, mating, dying" -- is this all there is to life?
"settling down
nearly where they began" reminds me of the salmon that return upstream to the place where they were spawned in order to spawn and die. The second stanza (in the above excerpt) reinforces the first; perhaps "Flying, mating, dying" is what there is to life.
Quote:wings - alas the children tell me
reminding me of the word for soul
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began.
We don't listen to our children nearly as much as we should.
Quote:Years later
same rough hewn planks
same translucent wings
but instead of history's
inevitable march,
alas, o almas perdidas,
I see the tumult of air
rather than the flutter of matter
I see conflict of gravity, inertia
the trajectory of energy
a sweeper moved by
the same thinly-veiled forces
insubstantial as the
membrane of rising
and falling wings
these termites pass instinct
through generations of young
moment to moment
life to life
each sweep
each flight and fall
backwards and forward
learning and relearning.
finally, wings flutter into sunlight
out the door, settling into mud
it seems so little has changed.
Again, do you regret that so little has changed or does it comfort you?
Quote:I recognize their faces
in their sons & daughters,
but men with brooms & soap
are no longer foreign.
wives and girls working
zonas francas,
maids in towns,
o afuera
making-do is not the same
as overcoming
roaring torrents
a mass of humanity beyond breaking,
a single life beyond control,
or a violent rush of beginningless karma
I catch what's left
of myself
I'm not at all clear why you should have to "catch what's left of" yourself? Where did the rest of you go?
Quote:it's still about liberation, but
instead of the sweep of revolution
I see the movement of action and intention
I mind the breath and whisper
be determined, be patient, and finally be free.
Aha! Methinks you have finally really realized that changelessness, i.e. (to cite the beginning of your poem), that not breaking new banks or carving a new path or creating a new order can be just as liberating as (a) revolution. Freedom often comes to the one who is patient.
nb
Posts: 57
Threads: 11
Joined: May 2014
(05-10-2014, 08:55 PM)Graystar Wrote: Hi,
I enjoyEd this poem because of the subject and passage of time. The first two stanzas set up well and intrigued me as a reader.
the arroyos in front
and back of my house
aren't filled
by a flood of history
there is no desire
to break their banks
carve a new path
create a new order
These three lines seem out of place and should perhaps come after the following stanza rather than before or be combined with it.
streams and rivers change
when overwhelmed
by volume and force
A tad confusing, why do they remind you?
-Interesting thought. The rains impact on the steams, the chores remind me. I like the thought of swapping out the third and 4th stanza, would that resolve the issue of remind?
The rains have come
reminding me
my view of revolution
has changed
Whose children?
-I never thought about that. This part is 20 years old and when I was working as an development extension volunteer. "the children" would have been understood by everyone I served with, but probably not beyond that circle. Not sure how to address that... The village children, Clavijo's children. Don't want to get maudlin.
the children tease:
men don’t sweep,
nor scrub dishes,
nor wash clothes
by hand in the river
Consider omitting back
-will do, I think that works
I smile back
in my world they do,
or at least they can
Nice imagery In next two stanzas
victories are first won
snapping soapy cloth
between fists,
rinsing plates,
and coaxing dirt
I spend my mornings
sweeping out the wings
of flying, mating, dying insects
sweeping them out by the thousands
frustrated as they resist
These next seven lines could stand to be tightened, not repeating line "floating up and settling down" is one idea
-this could be tougher, I'll give it some thought.
caught up in currents of air
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began
wings - alas the children tell me
reminding me of the word for soul
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began.
Perhaps creating stanzas with the same number of lines would assist the reading flow however I like the imagery as it describes the termites very nicely
-this is much newer. I'll see what I can do.
Years later
same rough hewn planks
same translucent wings
but instead of history's
inevitable march,
alas, o almas perdidas,
I see the tumult of air
rather than the flutter of matter
I see conflict of gravity, inertia
the trajectory of energy
a sweeper moved by
the same thinly-veiled forces
insubstantial as the
membrane of rising
and falling wings
these termites pass instinct
through generations of young
moment to moment
life to life
each sweep
each flight and fall
backwards and forward
learning and relearning.
finally, wings flutter into sunlight
out the door, settling into mud
Great idea here. Consider incorporating punctuation through out, your powerful poem will flow more effectively.
it seems so little has changed.
I recognize their faces
in their sons & daughters,
but men with brooms & soap
are no longer foreign.
wives and girls working
zonas francas,
maids in towns,
o afuera
making-do is not the same
as overcoming
roaring torrents
a mass of humanity beyond breaking,
a single life beyond control,
or a violent rush of beginningless karma
I catch what's left
of myself
I feel the last bit here needs tightening.
it's still about liberation, but
instead of the sweep of revolution
I see the movement of action and intention
I mind the breath and whisper
be determined, be patient, and finally be free.
Over all a very powerful poem with strong imagery, good points, depth and causing me to see the issues along with the termites. Bravo!
(05-11-2014, 02:49 AM)Eugene_Moon Wrote: Love the ending! Absolutely love it, it really makes the whole piece come together and also brings some much power to the message. I also must say you have such an eye for detail, your descriptive language is out of this world.
-thanks. The ending was the reason I revisited this poem. I'm wondering how to handle it after introducing the part about the zone francas and ofuera part
(05-11-2014, 06:45 AM)Erthona Wrote: [quote='bbcashdollar' pid='163827' dateline='1399544244']
the arroyos in front
and back of my house
aren't filled
by a flood of history
there is no desire
to break their banks
carve a new path
create a new order
streams and rivers change
when overwhelmed
by volume and force
-I don't think it is generally understood. I think most people assume divinity, force of will brings about change
The rains have come
reminding me
my view of revolution
has changed
the children tease:
men don’t sweep,
nor scrub dishes,
nor wash clothes
by hand in the river
I smile back
in my world they do,
or at least they can
victories are first won
-Good thought, I'll consider it.
snapping soapy cloth
between fists,
rinsing plates,
and coaxing dirt
I spend my mornings
sweeping out the wings
of flying, mating, dying insects
sweeping them out by the thousands
frustrated as they resist
caught up in currents of air
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began
wings - alas the children tell me
reminding me of the word for soul
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began.
Years later
same rough hewn planks
same translucent wings
but instead of history's
inevitable march,
alas, o almas perdidas,
I see the tumult of air
rather than the flutter of matter
I see conflict of gravity, inertia
the trajectory of energy
a sweeper moved by
the same thinly-veiled forces
insubstantial as the
membrane of rising
and falling wings
-physical lessons, dharma lesson, I'll give this some thought and see if I can't make it less verbose.
these termites pass instinct
through generations of young
moment to moment
life to life
each sweep
each flight and fall
backwards and forward
learning and relearning.
finally, wings flutter into sunlight
out the door, settling into mud
it seems so little has changed.
I recognize their faces
in their sons & daughters,
but men with brooms & soap
are no longer foreign.
wives and girls working
zonas francas,
maids in towns,
o afuera
making-do is not the same
as overcoming
- the last two stanzas were the reason I came back to this piece, but after adding the above, it feels a little uncomfortable.
roaring torrents
a mass of humanity beyond breaking,
a single life beyond control,
or a violent rush of beginningless karma
I catch what's left
of myself
it's still about liberation, but
instead of the sweep of revolution
I see the movement of action and intention
I mind the breath and whisper
be determined, be patient, and finally be free.
________________________________________________________
I guess this would read well on a phone, but the extreme verticalness of the poems layout is wearying on the reader(at least this one). I understand the desire to show the passage of time, but I think it could be done in half the vertical space
Overall, a very nice extended metaphor. The idea of termite wings adds nice texture to the poem.
Dale
-about the length. I have a piece that is much, much longer. It'll be interesting to get your thoughts on that. Thanks for the critique.
(05-11-2014, 10:40 PM)northwardb Wrote: Hi bbcashdollar!
This my first post. Here goes...
Quote:the arroyos in front
and back of my house
aren't filled
by a flood of history
there is no desire
to break their banks
carve a new path
create a new order
I am intrigued. Do you regret that the arroyos around your house "aren't filled by a flood of history..." or do you welcome it (and perhaps envy them a bit)? Your tone is ambiguous and I am curious to see how the rest of your poem answers this question (or not). Floods can be enormously destructive or (like the annual Nile floods before they built the Aswan High Dam) life-giving.
-no regret or welcome, just recognition.
Quote:streams and rivers change
when overwhelmed
by volume and force
Correct but have the arroyos around your house been so overwhelmed?
-yes
Quote:The rains have come
reminding me
my view of revolution
has changed
What does revolution have to do with it? You pique my curiosity further.
-It's original reference was political revolution morphing into the role of personal change in creating social change, into personal liberation, that's the imagery of the arroyo being overwhelmed.
Quote:the children tease:
men don’t sweep,
nor scrub dishes,
nor wash clothes
by hand in the river
I smile back
in my world they do,
or at least they can
victories are first won
snapping soapy cloth
between fists,
rinsing plates,
and coaxing dirt
A revolution in family mores?
Quote:I spend my mornings
sweeping out the wings
of flying, mating, dying insects
sweeping them out by the thousands
frustrated as they resist
caught up in currents of air
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began
Great image. "Flying, mating, dying" -- is this all there is to life?
"settling down
nearly where they began" reminds me of the salmon that return upstream to the place where they were spawned in order to spawn and die. The second stanza (in the above excerpt) reinforces the first; perhaps "Flying, mating, dying" is what there is to life.
-hopefully not, it's still about liberation
Quote:wings - alas the children tell me
reminding me of the word for soul
floating up and settling down
nearly where they began.
We don't listen to our children nearly as much as we should.
Quote:Years later
same rough hewn planks
same translucent wings
but instead of history's
inevitable march,
alas, o almas perdidas,
I see the tumult of air
rather than the flutter of matter
I see conflict of gravity, inertia
the trajectory of energy
a sweeper moved by
the same thinly-veiled forces
insubstantial as the
membrane of rising
and falling wings
these termites pass instinct
through generations of young
moment to moment
life to life
each sweep
each flight and fall
backwards and forward
learning and relearning.
finally, wings flutter into sunlight
out the door, settling into mud
it seems so little has changed.
Again, do you regret that so little has changed or does it comfort you?
-just an observation
Quote:I recognize their faces
in their sons & daughters,
but men with brooms & soap
are no longer foreign.
wives and girls working
zonas francas,
maids in towns,
o afuera
making-do is not the same
as overcoming
roaring torrents
a mass of humanity beyond breaking,
a single life beyond control,
or a violent rush of beginningless karma
I catch what's left
of myself
I'm not at all clear why you should have to "catch what's left of" yourself? Where did the rest of you go?
-relates to Anatta, the concept of no-self. Might be little rushed.
Quote:it's still about liberation, but
instead of the sweep of revolution
I see the movement of action and intention
I mind the breath and whisper
be determined, be patient, and finally be free.
Aha! Methinks you have finally really realized that changelessness, i.e. (to cite the beginning of your poem), that not breaking new banks or carving a new path or creating a new order can be just as liberating as (a) revolution. Freedom often comes to the one who is patient.
-Thanks for your thoughts. I appreciate the critique
nb
|
