Ins and Outs of Dead Men on the Rivers of Isis (milo, billy)

[Truerenigma]

It may still need some work, but I think I've spent enough time away from it to run it through workshop it again. Tetrameter accredited to milo.



Ins and Outs of Dead Men on the Rivers of Isis

First revision:

We wrap the bones in burlap - hide
our skeletons in sweat and blood
under the dust of our outsides.

Our heartbeat's thump is locked inside
a storage unit with the crud.
We wrap the bones in burlap hide.

We box old limbs in chests beside
a book we never understood.
Under the dust of our outsides

the rain exposes veins in slides
of rock, canyons, boneyards, mud.
We wrap the bones in burlap, hide

ourselves in weathered pelts applied
to vessels stoppered for the flood.
Under the dust of our outsides

the dead man dies again inside -
his phallus is a lifeless stud.
We wrap his bones in burlap, hide
under the dust of our outsides.



ORIGINAL

We wrap the bones in burlap - hide
our skeletons in sweat and blood
under the dust of our outsides.

Our heartbeat's thump is locked inside*
a storage unit with the crud.
We wrap the bones in burlap hide.

Our irises contract when eyed
gardenias drown and envies bud
under the dust of our outsides.

The rain exposes veins in slides
of rock, canyons, boneyards, mud.
We wrap the bones in burlap, hide

ourselves in weathered pelt applied
to vessels stoppered for the flood.
Under the dust of our outsides

the dead man dies again inside
a sack aboard a skiff, and scuds.
We wrap his bones in burlap, hide
under the dust of our outsides.

*first edit inline (from milo)

[milo]

We keep our heartbeats locked inside
a storage unit with the crud.
We wrap the bones in burlap hide.

I remember this part from the original and it was "thumping heartbeats" or some such and I remember calling out the "thumping" as superfluous but a thought occurred to me much later that the "sound" could be what is locked inside (and then of course the heart itself indirectly. the benefit is that now, as readers, we are locked outside but we can hear that diconnected thump inside and it could be quite terrible. What am I going on about? i wonder if you would consider:

Our heartbeat's thump is locked inside

In addition, it removes a pronoun and the "keep/locked" dilemma.

Anyway, that comment is carried over from many months before. i will read through and see if I have anything new to offer over the next couple days.

[Truerenigma]

We keep our heartbeats locked inside
a storage unit with the crud.
We wrap the bones in burlap hide.

I remember this part from the original and it was "thumping heartbeats" or some such and I remember calling out the "thumping" as superfluous but a thought occurred to me much later that the "sound" could be what is locked inside (and then of course the heart itself indirectly. the benefit is that now, as readers, we are locked outside but we can hear that diconnected thump inside and it could be quite terrible. What am I going on about? i wonder if you would consider:

Our heartbeat's thump is locked inside

In addition, it removes a pronoun and the "keep/locked" dilemma.

Anyway, that comment is carried over from many months before. i will read through and see if I have anything new to offer over the next couple days.

Thank you, the suggestion is perfect. I will take it as is, in a gesture of grateful, graceful, and unabashed thievery.

[billy]

almost perfect true. the line change you made reads very well and as explained holds the sound for the reader to hear.
the fact isis and skiff are both used makes me think of the thames and possibly the plague though i know it's not the case but i can't help but think of it as so. nothing apart from the one nit and to tell you great vill

It may still need some work, but I think I've spent enough time away from it to run it through workshop it again. Tetrameter accredited to milo.



Ins and Outs of Dead Men on the Rivers of Isis

We wrap the bones in burlap - hide
our skeletons in sweat and blood
under the dust of our outsides.

Our heartbeat's thump is locked inside*
a storage unit with the crud.
We wrap the bones in burlap hide.

Our irises contract when eyed
gardenias drown and envies bud
under the dust of our outsides.

The rain exposes veins in slides
of rock, canyons, boneyards, mud.
We wrap the bones in burlap, hide

ourselves in weathered pelt applied
to vessels stoppered for the flood.
Under the dust of our outsides

the dead man dies again inside
a sack aboard a skiff, and scuds. how does he scud if he's dead inside a sack?
We wrap his bones in burlap, hide
under the dust of our outsides.

*first edit inline (from milo)

[Truerenigma]

almost perfect true. the line change you made reads very well and as explained holds the sound for the reader to hear.
the fact isis and skiff are both used makes me think of the thames and possibly the plague though i know it's not the case but i can't help but think of it as so. nothing apart from the one nit and to tell you great vill

It may still need some work, but I think I've spent enough time away from it to run it through workshop it again. Tetrameter accredited to milo.



Ins and Outs of Dead Men on the Rivers of Isis

We wrap the bones in burlap - hide
our skeletons in sweat and blood
under the dust of our outsides.

Our heartbeat's thump is locked inside*
a storage unit with the crud.
We wrap the bones in burlap hide.

Our irises contract when eyed
gardenias drown and envies bud
under the dust of our outsides.

The rain exposes veins in slides
of rock, canyons, boneyards, mud.
We wrap the bones in burlap, hide

ourselves in weathered pelt applied
to vessels stoppered for the flood.
Under the dust of our outsides

the dead man dies again inside
a sack aboard a skiff, and scuds. how does he scud if he's dead inside a sack?
We wrap his bones in burlap, hide
under the dust of our outsides.

*first edit inline (from milo)

Thanks billy. I think an association with the Thames is inevitable for some and I'm glad the poem was able to meet you there.

"Under the dust of our outsides the dead man dies again inside a sack aboard a skiff, and scuds."

If you read through the enjambment here you can see that line is thrice removed from the possibility of anything literal. It could only be that the poem is concerned with some figurative representation of consciousness. It is not until the closing couplet and the /his/ shows up that we start thinking about any literal death or funeral rites.

I' m not sure if the problem is more the rhyme, or perhaps I'm still hanging on to some adolescent fascination with abstractions and romanticism. I'll think on it.

Thanks for the comments.

[milo]

Our irises contract when eyed
gardenias drown and envies bud
under the dust of our outsides.

I have thought about this portion quite a bit. The linebreak on eyed creates an ambiguity around "eyed irises" vs "eyed gardenias" but instead of creating two equally interesting options neither seems to really work for me. I do like word play but irises being eyed might be just too clever for their own good. Overall, I wonder if this spontaneous garden under the dust is really pulling its weight.

[Truerenigma]

Our irises contract when eyed
gardenias drown and envies bud
under the dust of our outsides.

I have thought about this portion quite a bit. The linebreak on eyed creates an ambiguity around "eyed irises" vs "eyed gardenias" but instead of creating two equally interesting options neither seems to really work for me. I do like word play but irises being eyed might be just too clever for their own good. Overall, I wonder if this spontaneous garden under the dust is really pulling its weight.

hey, good point, "drown" seems to be the only thing holding it to the rest, eh?

and yah - good one (spontaneous) *snickers* one almost expects a daffodil to go along with the scud. The gardenias seem pointless to me right now and, yes, I'm probably even willing to give up on the irises. There's gotta be something better.



Thanks for calling it to mind.

---

cool avatar btw

[Truerenigma]

Edited lines addressed by milo and billy.

[billy]

the edits to the 3rd and last work well. i wasn't keen on the irises part. the minute differences in the punctuation of the refrains make a big difference and stop them becoming rote, a small but good effort.

It may still need some work, but I think I've spent enough time away from it to run it through workshop it again. Tetrameter accredited to milo.



Ins and Outs of Dead Men on the Rivers of Isis

First revision:

We wrap the bones in burlap - hide
our skeletons in sweat and blood
under the dust of our outsides.

Our heartbeat's thump is locked inside
a storage unit with the crud.
We wrap the bones in burlap hide.

We box old limbs in chests beside
a book we never understood.
Under the dust of our outsides

the rain exposes veins in slides
of rock, canyons, boneyards, mud.
We wrap the bones in burlap, hide did i mention i liked the enjambment here, i do hide as it is makes me think of being told to hide then the carry on in the next verse alters it's meaning completely. great stuff.

ourselves in weathered pelts applied
to vessels stoppered for the flood.
Under the dust of our outsides

the dead man dies again inside -
his phallus is a lifeless stud.
We wrap his bones in burlap, hide
under the dust of our outsides.



ORIGINAL

We wrap the bones in burlap - hide
our skeletons in sweat and blood
under the dust of our outsides.

Our heartbeat's thump is locked inside*
a storage unit with the crud.
We wrap the bones in burlap hide.

Our irises contract when eyed
gardenias drown and envies bud
under the dust of our outsides.

The rain exposes veins in slides
of rock, canyons, boneyards, mud.
We wrap the bones in burlap, hide

ourselves in weathered pelt applied
to vessels stoppered for the flood.
Under the dust of our outsides

the dead man dies again inside
a sack aboard a skiff, and scuds.
We wrap his bones in burlap, hide
under the dust of our outsides.

*first edit inline (from milo)

[milo]

It may still need some work, but I think I've spent enough time away from it to run it through workshop it again. Tetrameter accredited to milo.



Ins and Outs of Dead Men on the Rivers of Isis

First revision:

We wrap the bones in burlap - hide
our skeletons in sweat and blood
under the dust of our outsides.

Our heartbeat's thump is locked inside
a storage unit with the crud.
We wrap the bones in burlap hide.

We box old limbs in chests beside
a book we never understood.
Under the dust of our outsides

the rain exposes veins in slides
of rock, canyons, boneyards, mud.
We wrap the bones in burlap, hide

ourselves in weathered pelts applied
to vessels stoppered for the flood.
Under the dust of our outsides

the dead man dies again inside -
his phallus is a lifeless stud.
We wrap his bones in burlap, hide
under the dust of our outsides.

The new tercet is (IMO) much, much better than the previous. It is no longer disruptive, the sonics and images are consistent with the whole. There really are only 2 places that still bother me but instead of talking about them as they are minor concerns I thought I would speak of meaning for a bit.

Let me preface this by saying I am positive my take from the poem is not the author's intent. First - the title. I am not overly familiar with the river Isis as it pertains to Thames and I don't really see any interesting corollaries but I love the sound of the title as it is what drew me in.

As you may know, there is another Isis river in Australia. A friend of mine once wrote 3 sets of sonnets (about 2700 in total) about the trials of Orpheus. His summary is as such"

"The whole sequence takes place on an Australian beach, with a few
memories/soliloquys about my "former life" here.
In /Sonnets to Eurydice/ http://scrawlmark.org/eurydice.html ,
Orpheus tries to lead his dead wife to life.
In /Sonnets from Thrace/ (Moorhead), Orpheus sits on a rock,
bitching in song about the sorry state of the species, the Gods, and
the world at large. For his failure to maintain their religions for
them, the women of Thrace tear him apart and throw the pieces in the
sea.
In /The Singing Head/, the head has floated to Lesbos (Australia),
where it has been cavorting and conversing with a passerby.
There are dozens of versions of the legend; that outline is common
to all."

which is an unusual take on the mythos, but that reminded me that Orpheus' remains were buried next to the river Sys.

With all of this in mind, I pictured Orpheus' head still singing from the grave (of course) enrapturing these poor men who were caught up by the song, long dead and wishing to make their journey to the underworld but forever trapped in a kind of misery/joy by the charms of the Orphic singing - hence their lament here.

Anyway, just some thoughts.

[Truerenigma]

It may still need some work, but I think I've spent enough time away from it to run it through workshop it again. Tetrameter accredited to milo.



Ins and Outs of Dead Men on the Rivers of Isis

First revision:

We wrap the bones in burlap - hide
our skeletons in sweat and blood
under the dust of our outsides.

Our heartbeat's thump is locked inside
a storage unit with the crud.
We wrap the bones in burlap hide.

We box old limbs in chests beside
a book we never understood.
Under the dust of our outsides

the rain exposes veins in slides
of rock, canyons, boneyards, mud.
We wrap the bones in burlap, hide

ourselves in weathered pelts applied
to vessels stoppered for the flood.
Under the dust of our outsides

the dead man dies again inside -
his phallus is a lifeless stud.
We wrap his bones in burlap, hide
under the dust of our outsides.

The new tercet is (IMO) much, much better than the previous. It is no longer disruptive, the sonics and images are consistent with the whole. There really are only 2 places that still bother me but instead of talking about them as they are minor concerns I thought I would speak of meaning for a bit.

Let me preface this by saying I am positive my take from the poem is not the author's intent. First - the title. I am not overly familiar with the river Isis as it pertains to Thames and I don't really see any interesting corollaries but I love the sound of the title as it is what drew me in.

As you may know, there is another Isis river in Australia. A friend of mine once wrote 3 sets of sonnets (about 2700 in total) about the trials of Orpheus. His summary is as such"

"The whole sequence takes place on an Australian beach, with a few
memories/soliloquys about my "former life" here.
In /Sonnets to Eurydice/ http://scrawlmark.org/eurydice.html ,
Orpheus tries to lead his dead wife to life.
In /Sonnets from Thrace/ (Moorhead), Orpheus sits on a rock,
bitching in song about the sorry state of the species, the Gods, and
the world at large. For his failure to maintain their religions for
them, the women of Thrace tear him apart and throw the pieces in the
sea.
In /The Singing Head/, the head has floated to Lesbos (Australia),
where it has been cavorting and conversing with a passerby.
There are dozens of versions of the legend; that outline is common
to all."

which is an unusual take on the mythos, but that reminded me that Orpheus' remains were buried next to the river Sys.

With all of this in mind, I pictured Orpheus' head still singing from the grave (of course) enrapturing these poor men who were caught up by the song, long dead and wishing to make their journey to the underworld but forever trapped in a kind of misery/joy by the charms of the Orphic singing - hence their lament here.

Anyway, just some thoughts.

Milo, the idea Orpheus being ripped apart into many pieces shows and interesting take that seems to be in conversation, probably via Isis, with the mythos surrounding Osiris. That my little vill seems to have joined that conversation doesn't bother me at all. I very much appreciate you taking the discussion of the poem to that level.

Speaking of intent--and there are a lot of parallels and conflation here--I wonder what you would think of these lines, which I had also been considering for the recently revised tercet:


We carve our caskets tall and wide
then sniff complaints of rotting wood.

---

Your link is broken.

[milo]

It may still need some work, but I think I've spent enough time away from it to run it through workshop it again. Tetrameter accredited to milo.



Ins and Outs of Dead Men on the Rivers of Isis

First revision:

We wrap the bones in burlap - hide
our skeletons in sweat and blood
under the dust of our outsides.

Our heartbeat's thump is locked inside
a storage unit with the crud.
We wrap the bones in burlap hide.

We box old limbs in chests beside
a book we never understood.
Under the dust of our outsides

the rain exposes veins in slides
of rock, canyons, boneyards, mud.
We wrap the bones in burlap, hide

ourselves in weathered pelts applied
to vessels stoppered for the flood.
Under the dust of our outsides

the dead man dies again inside -
his phallus is a lifeless stud.
We wrap his bones in burlap, hide
under the dust of our outsides.

The new tercet is (IMO) much, much better than the previous. It is no longer disruptive, the sonics and images are consistent with the whole. There really are only 2 places that still bother me but instead of talking about them as they are minor concerns I thought I would speak of meaning for a bit.

Let me preface this by saying I am positive my take from the poem is not the author's intent. First - the title. I am not overly familiar with the river Isis as it pertains to Thames and I don't really see any interesting corollaries but I love the sound of the title as it is what drew me in.

As you may know, there is another Isis river in Australia. A friend of mine once wrote 3 sets of sonnets (about 2700 in total) about the trials of Orpheus. His summary is as such"

"The whole sequence takes place on an Australian beach, with a few
memories/soliloquys about my "former life" here.
In /Sonnets to Eurydice/ http://scrawlmark.org/eurydice.html ,
Orpheus tries to lead his dead wife to life.
In /Sonnets from Thrace/ (Moorhead), Orpheus sits on a rock,
bitching in song about the sorry state of the species, the Gods, and
the world at large. For his failure to maintain their religions for
them, the women of Thrace tear him apart and throw the pieces in the
sea.
In /The Singing Head/, the head has floated to Lesbos (Australia),
where it has been cavorting and conversing with a passerby.
There are dozens of versions of the legend; that outline is common
to all."

which is an unusual take on the mythos, but that reminded me that Orpheus' remains were buried next to the river Sys.

With all of this in mind, I pictured Orpheus' head still singing from the grave (of course) enrapturing these poor men who were caught up by the song, long dead and wishing to make their journey to the underworld but forever trapped in a kind of misery/joy by the charms of the Orphic singing - hence their lament here.

Anyway, just some thoughts.

Milo, the idea Orpheus being ripped apart into many pieces shows and interesting take that seems to be in conversation, probably via Isis, with the mythos surrounding Osiris. That my little vill seems to have joined that conversation doesn't bother me at all. I very much appreciate you taking the discussion of the poem to that level.

Speaking of intent--and there are a lot of parallels and conflation here--I wonder what you would think of these lines, which I had also been considering for the recently revised tercet:


We carve our caskets tall and wide
then sniff complaints of rotting wood.

---

Your link is broken.

I think that the only thing it adds is caskets which isn't really revelatory or revolutionary here.

As for the link, it was posted by the author who is, unfortunately, dead now so all his links are dying as well it seems.

[Truerenigma]

The new tercet is (IMO) much, much better than the previous. It is no longer disruptive, the sonics and images are consistent with the whole. There really are only 2 places that still bother me but instead of talking about them as they are minor concerns I thought I would speak of meaning for a bit.

Let me preface this by saying I am positive my take from the poem is not the author's intent. First - the title. I am not overly familiar with the river Isis as it pertains to Thames and I don't really see any interesting corollaries but I love the sound of the title as it is what drew me in.

As you may know, there is another Isis river in Australia. A friend of mine once wrote 3 sets of sonnets (about 2700 in total) about the trials of Orpheus. His summary is as such"

"The whole sequence takes place on an Australian beach, with a few
memories/soliloquys about my "former life" here.
In /Sonnets to Eurydice/ http://scrawlmark.org/eurydice.html ,
Orpheus tries to lead his dead wife to life.
In /Sonnets from Thrace/ (Moorhead), Orpheus sits on a rock,
bitching in song about the sorry state of the species, the Gods, and
the world at large. For his failure to maintain their religions for
them, the women of Thrace tear him apart and throw the pieces in the
sea.
In /The Singing Head/, the head has floated to Lesbos (Australia),
where it has been cavorting and conversing with a passerby.
There are dozens of versions of the legend; that outline is common
to all."

which is an unusual take on the mythos, but that reminded me that Orpheus' remains were buried next to the river Sys.

With all of this in mind, I pictured Orpheus' head still singing from the grave (of course) enrapturing these poor men who were caught up by the song, long dead and wishing to make their journey to the underworld but forever trapped in a kind of misery/joy by the charms of the Orphic singing - hence their lament here.

Anyway, just some thoughts.

Milo, the idea Orpheus being ripped apart into many pieces shows and interesting take that seems to be in conversation, probably via Isis, with the mythos surrounding Osiris. That my little vill seems to have joined that conversation doesn't bother me at all. I very much appreciate you taking the discussion of the poem to that level.

Speaking of intent--and there are a lot of parallels and conflation here--I wonder what you would think of these lines, which I had also been considering for the recently revised tercet:


We carve our caskets tall and wide
then sniff complaints of rotting wood.

---

Your link is broken.

I think that the only thing it adds is caskets which isn't really revelatory or revolutionary here.

As for the link, it was posted by the author who is, unfortunately, dead now so all his links are dying as well it seems.

It is very unfortunate. I have the sonnets milo, if you are missing them.

[milo]

Milo, the idea Orpheus being ripped apart into many pieces shows and interesting take that seems to be in conversation, probably via Isis, with the mythos surrounding Osiris. That my little vill seems to have joined that conversation doesn't bother me at all. I very much appreciate you taking the discussion of the poem to that level.

Speaking of intent--and there are a lot of parallels and conflation here--I wonder what you would think of these lines, which I had also been considering for the recently revised tercet:


We carve our caskets tall and wide
then sniff complaints of rotting wood.

---

Your link is broken.

I think that the only thing it adds is caskets which isn't really revelatory or revolutionary here.

As for the link, it was posted by the author who is, unfortunately, dead now so all his links are dying as well it seems.

It is very unfortunate. I have the sonnets milo, if you are missing them.

I am actually. Which do you have, just the singing head ones or all of them?

[Truerenigma]

actually I'm having trouble finding the singing heads I thought they were in the same file and unfortunately they are not but I will keep looking. on topic, I have the penult 350 to euridice, along les envois addressed to shakespeare, shirley, sidney,berryman, Einseley, and rossetti.

off topic I have a lot of his other stuff too.

[Truerenigma]

With all of this in mind, I pictured Orpheus' head still singing from the grave (of course) enrapturing these poor men who were caught up by the song, long dead and wishing to make their journey to the underworld but forever trapped in a kind of misery/joy by the charms of the Orphic singing - hence their lament here.

I find that reading quite profound actually, as it supersedes my intent without bypassing it. In other words, the piece wasn't misunderstood, perhaps understood a bit differently, and you seemed to have gotten far more out of it than I could have expected.

In the interest of workshopping and reciprocation, I am going to take a moment to walk you through my intent.

Let me preface this by saying that I'm already viewing this as a sort of mentoring, as the crit has led to further reading, as well as a better understanding of my own poem and others.


In a second preface I will say that this is a much smaller poem, and in the interest of keeping it somewhat contained, I have focused my edits toward a personal, rather than literary or philosophical understanding, to give the illusion of reality and simplicity.

We wrap the bones in burlap - hide
our skeletons in sweat and blood
under the dust of our outsides.

This is quite simple really. Hiding secrets, the old cliche “skeletons in the closet” comes to mind. Burlap is often associated with preservation as well as horror. I wanted to invoke feelings of fear and intimacy, hence the idea of being under the skin, the intimacy of sweat and blood, etc.

Our heartbeat's thump is locked inside
a storage unit with the crud.
We wrap the bones in burlap hide

.

I was thinking about something rather specific here, objects in storage, curating our secrets separates us from that intimacy a bit. We want to hide them but we don’t want to destroy them.

We box old limbs in chests so wide
they never touch the rotting wood.
Under the dust of our outsides

Originally this stanza was more about keeping secrets, “lying eyes” etc. But I wanted to add to the poem rather than reiterate. I was thinking here in the edit about something one no longer keeps in the house, but is not yet ready to part with, so there is a sort of phantom-limb pain.

There is a larger idea here in the destructive connotations of innumerable limbs and the horror of keeping them. I changed L2 to “a book we never understood” for its existential connotations. I was also thinking about a post-post modern revolutionary verse that remembers both the old and the new while turning away from the new, it’s almost confessional in appearance, but it rejects the confessional, as well as postmodernism, while attempting to contain their ideas within itself. The poem is not concerned with any aesthetic or philosophical revolution or movement outside itself, but rather a new approach to experience within itself.

I also imagined a sort of existential undertaker here, packing up body parts in a war or plague, and the “misunderstood book” can be whatever book is appropriate to the age.

the rain exposes veins in slides
of rock, canyons, boneyards, mud.
We wrap the bones in burlap, hide

I’m sure you've heard the cliche “you've hit a vein” which in mining terms can be taken as either positive or negative, depending on whether you are the miner, or the earth. Rain contains more ambiguity, or ambivalence, in tone. It can be taken as a renewal, or its symbolic associations with tears and depression.

ourselves in weathered pelt applied
to vessels stoppered for the flood.
Under the dust of our outsides

I think this is rather obvious, as well as its allusions to flood mythos.

the dead man dies again inside -
his phallus is a lifeless stud.

So we've got some internal and external conflicts, some grand and some personal, eating away at us. I included the phallus as an allusion to Osiris/Iris. Osiris was cut up into many pieces by Set, and Iris found them and put him back together. She couldn't find his phallus though. In some versions of the mythos she crafted one for him out of gold. I also included it to give the feeling of something uncomfortable, intimate and personal, that most would refrain from talking about. In many ways the poem is concerned and obsessed with growing old and dying, and all the smaller “deaths” in between. Osiris is constantly dying and being resurrected, and his consciousness is considered a separate entity from himself, the phallus and other things in here represent a sort of materialistic approach.

Consequently only Plutarch tells the story with the phallus missing btw, which is not accurate to the original Egyptian mythos, so also hence a book we never understood. I double checked and one need only Google and Wikipedia #Isis to follow that story so I don't see it as a problem. It is a poem of preservation (one of the greatest responsibilities of a poet, IMO) and subversion.

We wrap his bones in burlap, hide
under the dust of our outsides.