Loss (for Prince)

[RC James]

West African melodies dance veiled softly,
belying tough guy stance in blossom frills.
Feeling filtered through masquerade, lofty
messages from beyond the righteous hills,
mourning beauties go to their window sills

----------------------------------------------------

African griots are in the wind above Minneapolis,
their sounds are an elegy to a brother passed.
The whirlwind of performance he maintained
spread through skies caressed in childrens’ eyes.

He summoned the grace, the sensual breath
of beauty in female form, thought, voice,
and led the tribe of urban spirit raiders, televised.

Wry, conspiratorial glances went back and forth
among his chosen, those who stood with him
on that cliff of recognition, plunging night
after night into the brew of hysterical applause.

All the melodies, the trances, the prayers
lie suspended inside memories pulsing.

[Tracy Mitchell]

RC -

I am surprised this homage to Prince provokes strong reactions in me.  I was not a noted Prince devotee like some of my friends, although I do appreciate his music, and even more appreciate him as a person.  He was truly one of a kind, a vastly talented and genuine person who seemed to be able to find his way - a rare accomplishment in the world in which he lived and created.  

I don’t feel like the person who should be reviewing this poem.  It hasn’t drawn any comments yet, so I’ll take a stab.  I lack the background to assess how this tribute plays with respect to Prince’s art.  I am sorry if I don’t recognize specific lyrics quotes infused into the poem.  If there are, then I’d suggest italicizing them to alert readers like me to the fact.  

I also can’t gauge the import of the opening line of the poem - did Prince use West African music as a recurring element in his music?  If so, then it’s a beautiful opening.  If not, then it’s a red herring that needs to be cut.

I don’t usually mind unconventional presentations, as this may be considered, with two distinct sections separated by a line and substantively by form.  Stanza one is metered and end-rhymed, while the four stanzas of the second part are neither.  This carries the suggestion that the author lost the enthusiasm, nerve, or energy to write the whole poem in one style.  I tried to view S.1 as a preamble or epigram or some such, but the overlap of subject matter made that untenable for me.  My only suggestion to make this work as written would be to add a third and perhaps a fourth section with equally disjointed styles which may then be viewed perhaps as like tributes written by different authors on a wall, a web page, or a tribute journal.  Otherwise, my view is pick one style or the other and run with it.

As to the first stanza, the sounds and cadences are wonderful - it feels so right reading this aloud.  Alternating the line endings - feminine, masculine, feminine, masculine - reinforces the substance of lines two and three.  The way line one rolls off the tongue is marvelous.  Less marvelous, though, is the way the sense, the meaning, seems to deteriorate as the stanza unfolds.  The last two lines seem like stretching exercises to make the rhymes.  What exactly, I ask myself are righteous hills?  And what are the mourning beauties on the window sills?    Sorry if I am just being dense, but these lines seem like sense is completely sacrificed to the needs of the hard rhyme.  

Stanza two - first part of the poem’s free verse presentation.  The voice seems to open here to an objective narration.  The opening lines are gorgeous - the griots are mourning Prince’s passing in the wind above.  I was hoping this theme might be continued or echoed, or somehow followed up on.  I also wondered whether there would be some attempt to suggest Prince as in some ways a griot himself.  

The reference to the air above Minneapolis strikes me as a reference to the downtown street gatherings on the nights following his death.  Consider whether your narrative would be strengthened by substituting Chanhassen for Minneapolis.  Chanhassen, the site of  Paisley Park, would perhaps suggest the musical productions born in his studio there, his residence, and the site of the nightly gatherings I imagined could be referenced in stanza four.  Opening with a Chanhassen reference would point more toward his life than his death, I think (even though as a factual matter he did die in the elevator at Paisley Park).  

The closing image of stanza one doesn’t work for me - Prince’s schedule spreading in the sky caressed in children’s eyes.  I don’t make sense of it - maybe its just me. Also, the line rhyme in stanza two, line four, feels too heavy handed, especially in the absence of a pattern of line rhymes in the poem.

Stanza three - love the phrase the tribe of urban spirit raiders, so much that I may try to steal it in a few months when you aren’t looking.  

However, I see the word ‘televised’ as wrong on lots of levels.  Sonically, it kills the momentum created by the beastly-good phrase which immediately precedes it.  The strength of the line is lessened by the extra syllables, the extra accents, the misplaced caesura, and the seeming abrupt change of subject.  And substantively, Prince was not a TV guy (although admittedly he pretty much created MTV and the music video phenomenon).  He was such a private person when not performing, and his spiritual life and kinship with his tribe was something that happened 100% outside the view of TV.   Removing that word would at least keep the narrative neutral on the subject.

Stanza four is another strong but erratic set of lines.  My major quibble would be with the last word, applause, for similar reasons as previously stated.  Prince’s tribe assembled at Paisley Park for impromptu concerts, informal performances, and general tribal business.  It was the mass audiences which generated the applause, but they were not the co-conspirators, the chosen, those who stood on the cliff with him - his tribe shared the nights at Paisley Park when all creation was afoot.  At least that is the way I understood his world.  Perhaps substitute for applause something like performance, creation, or music.  
Melodies, trances, prayers - wonderful threesome for this poem.

All of this is just my opinion - perhaps a better understanding of Prince’s life and craft would have caused me to view this differently.  As it is, there is much here to like, and several great turns of phrase

Thanks for posting.  It's a good tribute and much of this needs to be said.  And you got my head buzzing.

T

[billy]

the problem i have with the poem is it doesn't show me prince or "His" effect on his fans or fellow stars who were also fans. blossomed frills yes, but 20 other soul singers wore frills, personally i felt an opportunity was missed with the absence of purple, doves and a number of other associative words that the man created. no mention of of his free performances, of his love and dedication to being the sole creator of his works from the first word to the last note. on first read you may get who the poem's about [title excluded] but it doesn't trigger any memories i had of the man.

West African melodies dance veiled softly, the meter feels off here by a half foot. i think it also needs a comma or semi colon after dance
belying tough guy stance in blossom frills.
Feeling filtered through masquerade, lofty feeling or feelings?
messages from beyond the righteous hills,
mourning beauties go to their window sills these last two lines don't work for me. what mourning beauties?

----------------------------------------------------

African griots are in the wind above Minneapolis,
their sounds are an elegy to a brother passed.
The whirlwind of performance he maintained
spread through skies caressed in childrens’ eyes.

He summoned the grace, the sensual breath
of beauty in female form, thought, voice,
and led the tribe of urban spirit raiders, televised.

Wry, conspiratorial glances went back and forth
among his chosen, those who stood with him
on that cliff of recognition, plunging night
after night into the brew of hysterical applause.

All the melodies, the trances, the prayers
lie suspended inside memories pulsing.

[RC James]

 
I did not try to write a mini-biography of Prince, or a compendium of his works/songs.
I did not imply that he was the only singer who wore frills, but his overall style was very different from any soul/pop/rock/jazz Singer, all his own, that.
What I did write was my feeling about the shock of his early death. My feelings, and reaction to a brilliant and unique musician.  Why mention Purple and Doves, everybody knows what they need to know about those, those are their feelings, my feelings took the form of partial fantasy, “mourning beauties” could be fans, groupies, lovers, grandmothers who took a liking to his music, nobody by name. Come on, free performances, his being the sole creator of his songs, those didn’t happen to be a part of my feelings at the time I wrote this. What did enter into it was respect and admiration for an enormously successful musician who didn’t seem to lose his humility, and treated success as part of the performance game, not flaunting it, but what I caught was a dedication to his craft.
I did not write an all-inclusive piece about his fans’ respect for him, I didn’t have all their names.
Part of the fantasy reaction, if you read into it, showed my feeling that he was one in the ancient tradition of African griots, troubadors, who worked hard to bring a new message to their audiences, and in passing, a mention of his melodic brilliance being similar to what you find in West African music. I think he was heads above any contemporaries in accomplishing that task, he did work hard at it and produced.
The passage you so objected to, with an icon no less, I hate icons whether they’re approving or otherwise, “skies caressed by children’s eyes” if you suspend just a fragment of disbelief, could be about children hearing the griot music in the skies above Minneapolis and wondering where it was coming, who was producing it.
So, in the end, I guess it’s about me, and the effect his passing had on me, certainly not your straightforward elegy, but, as I am a performing musician, singer and songwriter, deeply felt.

[billy]

sorry but i'm not that bothered about you the person or poet. i gave feedback on the poem as to how it affected me the reader. in truth in didn't and let's be honest here, it damn well should have. i wasn't affected by any feelings and i should have been. apart from a few words it gave me nothing, i didn't want an elegy. i wanted to be moved and possibly inspired. the poem did none of that. i'm fine you post in a poetry work shop and ask for serious feedback. just don't cry if you don't like what you see, if you feel a need to explain the piece after one or two pieces of feedback then just maybe the poem isn't getting across to the reader what you want to get across to the reader. to do a poem about such an established and well esteemed artist; it needs to be exceptional, it needs to make the reader feel some of what you feel. show me the ME you shout of, not some generic fan.
in response to:

as I am a performing musician, singer and songwriter, deeply felt.

that's the person's feelings i want to know of; sorry but i just didn't see it in the poem.

i'm fine being called out but usually it's just best to say thanks and ignore feedback you don't like or can't accept.

[RC James]

sorry but i'm not that bothered about you the person or poet. i gave feedback on the poem as to how it affected me the reader. in truth in didn't and let's be honest here, it damn well should have. i wasn't affected by any feelings and i should have been. apart from a few words it gave me nothing, i didn't want an elegy. i wanted to be moved and possibly inspired. the poem did none of that. i'm fine you post in a poetry work shop and ask for serious feedback. just don't cry if you don't like what you see, if you feel a need to explain the piece after one or two pieces of feedback then just maybe the poem isn't getting across to the reader what you want to get across to the reader. to do a poem about such an established and well esteemed artist; it needs to be exceptional, it needs to make the reader feel some of what you feel. show me the ME you shout of, not some generic fan.
in response to:

as I am a performing musician, singer and songwriter, deeply felt.

that's the person's feelings i want to know of; sorry but i just didn't see it in the poem.

i'm fine being called out but usually it's just best to say thanks and ignore feedback you don't like or can't accept.

In no way am I crying, My feelings are my own, if you can't accept them for what they are, fine. RC

This is a workshop, please stick to the poem. If you would like this moved to Misc. just let me know. Thanks, ella/mod