Ashes of Our Time (revision 3)

[RC James]

(for Anna Akhmatova)

You’ll see my body, ages past,
drawn to itself in strident winds,
at the center of the raging
conflagration we called ours.

When I start down the avenue
lined with our history's truth,
I trust that you will guard with 
care the ashes I can't claim.

Survivors, now in different corners unknown, nurse the memories we felt then.
Weather now holds promises, the dank cells held none, only sweat, congealed blood.
When you look at the moon you look into the future we did not have.
Let the moon illuminate your way to sun swept field,
a calm sea welcome you.

Remember metal on metal before we were fully awake 
there in the sodden keep, the thud and crunch, threnody
of soldiers’ boots, shouts, and cries of the tortured.

Black Marias careened with their human load, we met
to console each other, understanding that Russian speech
was our only true homeland. Dementia thrived in our suffering.

Only the corpses smiled, frozen grins, chains finally unfastened;
our proud Russia could do nothing but writhe under the Jack-boots.

I am working on the annhiliation of all emotion. I am weaving a dark shawl 
to protect our memories. I remember the words you all spoke, behind bars, 
out of desolation, just as I have remembered your faces and movements.

I will remember this forever, even through new sorrows, it will be there, 
for me to return to when I want to summon you, my dearest friends; 
together you moan and scream through my mind.

Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea nor in Litenyi, 
but there in front of the steel doors where I stood
for hundreds of hours and no one slid open the bolt,

where the shrill cries of an old woman still echo through us.
I will welcome the ships coming up the Neva.
The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever. 









(rev 2)
I am weaving a dark mantle to protect our memories. 
I remember the words you all spoke out of desolation, 
just as I have remembered your faces and movements 
peculiar to each of you. I will remember this forever, 
even through new sorrows it will be there for me to return to 
when I want to summon you, my dearest friends; 
together you moan and scream through my brain.

Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea, 
nor in Litenyi, but there in front of the steel doors 
where I stood for hundreds of hours and no one slid open the bolt. 

Where the almost ecstatic cries of an old woman still echo through us. 

I will welcome the ships coming up the Neva.

The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever. 







(rev. 1)
You’ll see my body, 
on ancient winds,
at the center of constraints
we knew as ours.

When I travel the road
lined with testimony,
I trust you will guard 
the ashes I cannot claim.

Survivors, now in different corners unknown, 
nurse the bitterness we felt then. 
Weather now holds promises, dank cells held
only sweat and congealed blood.
When you look at the moon you look into the future 
we did not have. Let the moon guide you home 
to that field that lies by the wide open arms of a calm sea 
welcome you into an expanse unthought of for us then.

Remember metal on metal before we were fully awake 
there in the sodden keep, the thud and crunch, threnody
of soldiers’ boots, shouts, and fearsome cries of the tortured.
Black Marias careened with its human load, destination death. 
We dead met in the dark to console each other.
All of understood that Russian speech was our only true homeland.

Only the dead smiled,  permanent grins, chains finally unfastened.
Dementia was epidemic among us from the effect our sentences had on us.  
Our proud Russia could do nothing but writhe under the Jack-boots.

You might as well have been a corpse when they took you at dawn,
I trailed along in mourning, over childrens’ wails, a candle at the icon of Mary.
Deathly cold your forehead, everything covered with black fabric;
there were no lights then, pure night.

Lev my son, I was seventeen months before the moving altar at the feet
of póker faced butchers, trying to get word of you. I saw your face
as it was there in Tsarskoe Selo the day you told me you would be a translator.
You told a joke in French and explained it in Russian. Your smile was triumph.

I am weaving a dark mantle to protect our memories. I remember the words 
you all spoke out of desolation, just as I have remembered your faces 
and each distinct movement peculiar to each of you.
I will remember this forever, even through new sorrows, it will be there, 
for me to return to when I want to summon you, my dearest friends; 
together you moan and scream through my mouth.

Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea nor in Litenyi, 
but there in front of the steel doors where I stood for hundreds of hours
and no one slid open the bolt. Where the almost ecstatic cries of an old woman 
still echo through us. I will welcome the ships coming up the Neva.
The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever. 






(original)
You’ll see my body, 
on ancient winds,
at the center of constraints
we knew as ours.

When I travel the road
lined with our testimony,
I trust you will guard 
the ashes I can't claim.

Survivors, now in different corners unknown, 
nurse the memories of bitterness we felt then. 
Weather now holds promises, dank cells held none, 
only sweat, congealed blood, a sovereign despair.
When you look at the moon you look into the future 
we did not have. Let the moon circle you home 
to that field beyond pain, wide open arms of a calm sea 
welcome you into an expanse unthought of for us then.

Remember metal on metal before we were fully awake 
there in the sodden keep, the thud and crunch, threnody
of soldiers’ boots, shouts, and fearsome cries of the tortured.
Black Marias careened with its human load, destination death. 
We dead met in the maelstrom to console each other, understanding 
that Russian speech, our only true homeland, persevered in our beyond,

Only the dead smiled, frozen grim grins, chains finally unfastened.
Sentences, suffering, raised an epidemic of dementia among us. 
Our proud Russia could do nothing but writhe under the Jack-boots.

You might as well have been a corpse when they took you at dawn,
I trailed along in mourning, over childrens’ wails, a candle at the icon of Mary.
Deathly cold your forehead sweat, everything covered with black fabric;
there were no lights then, pure night.

Lev my son, I was seventeen months before the moving altar at the feet
of póker faced butchers, trying to get word of you. I saw your face
as it was there in Tsarskoe Selo, playful, so intelligent. Animals or humans,
the cruelty was the same, the same unconscious thrust of menace. 

I am working on the annhiliation of memory, the discard
of all emotion, let it boil in its own useless juices, 
then I'll pick myself up into the heights I remember as life. 

I am weaving a dark mantle to protect our memories. I remember the words 
you all spoke out of desolation, just as I have remembered your faces 
and each distinct movement peculiar to each of you.

I will remember this forever, even through new sorrows, it will be there, 
for me to return to when I want to summon you, my dearest friends; 
together you moan and scream through my mouth, I will be remembered in this way.

Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea nor in Litenyi, 
but there in front of the steel doors where I stood for hundreds of hours
and no one slid open the bolt. Where the shrill almost ecstatic cries of an old woman 
still echo through us. I will cry icy tears from bronze eyelids and I will welcome the ships
coming up the Neva. The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever. 

[Todd]

Hi RC, I know her basic story but have not read her work. Let me try to address what you've written. 

You may want to pull the for Anna Akhmatova out of the title and italicize it below the title, just a thought. 

You’ll see my body, --I like these first two strophes. They sort of sit like a more intimate take on the poet's voice that sits around us now, before she goes back to live through the former days.
on ancient winds,
at the center of constraints
we knew as ours.

When I travel the road
lined with our testimony,--Optionally you could cut "our"
I trust you will guard 
the ashes I can't claim.--The diction here feels more formal. Consider making the change of cannot for can't

Survivors, now in different corners unknown,--The first comma makes this a form of address. I like that. She seemed to describe her own desire to leave Russia as if she would be a traitor.  Content question: would she care about different corners unknown if it meant geographical distance outside of Russia? If you mean the lost and the dead I can see it.
nurse the memories of bitterness we felt then. --I realize this suggestion will make this more of a direct abstraction, but I still think it would be better. I would suggest cutting of memories (those of constructions product so little). You could tweak it a bit with imagery to soften the new construction though honestly I think it would work fine with just cutting those words.
Weather now holds promises, dank cells held none,--I don't like the none here. I would consider cutting and breaking the line on held. 
only sweat, congealed blood, a sovereign despair.--I'm not sold on a sovereign despair. I think one more concrete thing or a cut would be better.
When you look at the moon you look into the future--Good break, and these are some of the more vibrant lines for me. 
we did not have. Let the moon circle you home--circle you home feels a little abrupt. I know the moon draws tides and maybe you can work something like that in. I see where your going and I'm not arguing necessarily for tidal imagery just something that seems to logically follow with the image. 
to that field beyond pain, wide open arms of a calm sea --Again this could be a style choice on my part but I'm not a huge fan of the beyond pain. If you could do something like what you do in the next phrase (personify, play with the image a bit) it may be more effective.
welcome you into an expanse unthought of for us then.

Remember metal on metal before we were fully awake 
there in the sodden keep, the thud and crunch, threnody
of soldiers’ boots, shouts, and fearsome cries of the tortured.--This is very strong building sequence which I like a lot. I especially like threnody of soldiers' boots. I don't however like fearsome.
Black Marias careened with its human load, destination death. --I like the line. Question: I assume Russia used the Black Marias term during her lifetime.
We dead met in the maelstrom to console each other, understanding--I think in the maelstrom weakens the line. We dead met to console each other is more arresting. 
that Russian speech, our only true homeland, persevered in our beyond,--This construction is a bit jarring with the two ours. I like where you're going with it, but feel you could condense a bit.

Only the dead smiled, frozen grim grins, chains finally unfastened.--Frozen grim is pushing the number of modifiers in my opinion.
Sentences, suffering, raised an epidemic of dementia among us.--this may need to be condensed a bit to give it more power. 
Our proud Russia could do nothing but writhe under the Jack-boots.--like this

You might as well have been a corpse when they took you at dawn,
I trailed along in mourning, over childrens’ wails, a candle at the icon of Mary.
Deathly cold your forehead sweat, everything covered with black fabric;--Deathly cold feels a bit cliche maybe Your forehead sweat ______ (some replacement)
there were no lights then, pure night.

Lev my son, I was seventeen months before the moving altar at the feet
of póker faced butchers, trying to get word of you. I saw your face
as it was there in Tsarskoe Selo, playful, so intelligent. Animals or humans,--something else that conveys playful intelligence
the cruelty was the same, the same unconscious thrust of menace. --consider cutting "the cruelty was the same,"

I am working on the annhiliation of memory, the discard
of all emotion, let it boil in its own useless juices, --for parallel structure maybe cut the of
then I'll pick myself up into the heights I remember as life. 

I am weaving a dark mantle to protect our memories. I remember the words 
you all spoke out of desolation, just as I have remembered your faces 
and each distinct movement peculiar to each of you.

I will remember this forever, even through new sorrows, it will be there, 
for me to return to when I want to summon you, my dearest friends; 
together you moan and scream through my mouth, I will be remembered in this way.--Might be stronger to end on mouth and cut this final phrase.

Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea nor in Litenyi, 
but there in front of the steel doors where I stood for hundreds of hours
and no one slid open the bolt. Where the shrill almost ecstatic cries of an old woman --for me this is either shrill or almost ecstatic but not both
still echo through us. I will cry icy tears from bronze eyelids and I will welcome the ships--Might be stronger without the two uses of will.
coming up the Neva. The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever. 

This is a dense solid piece that covers a lot of ground. I enjoyed reading it and hope to see what you do with it upon revision. I hope the comments help some.

Best,

Todd

[Achebe]

I had an opposite experience to Todd's. I don't see how the first two strophes add anything. 
'Ancient winds' and 'travel the road' are worn out phrases. 'Ancient winds', in fact, is as meaningless as 'old air'.
Liked the change from 'our' to 'the' in S2 L1.
The last strophe is gorgeous.

Other than that:

and each distinct movement peculiar to each of you. - not sure why you had 2 eaches and the pointless 'distinct'. 
together you moan and scream through my mouth. [i]- could be fresher

[/i]

[RC James]

Todd - I used many of your suggestions in this revision. thanks, RC

[RC James]

I made some corrections to this. RC

[Erthona]

"You’ll see my body, ages past,"   (who is this ages past person?)

This reads as though ages past will see your body.
______________________________________________
drawn to itself in strident winds, (how can something be drawn to itself?)
at the center of the raging
conflagration we called ours.  (I really get little image out of this)

When I start down the avenue
lined with our history's truth,
I trust that you will guard with
care the ashes I can't claim. (tense)
__________________________________
The obvious difference in line length creates disruption to the poem, thus weakens it. It would be very easy to keep to the same general line length.

"Survivors, now in different corners unknown, nurse the memories we felt then.
("Survivors, now in different corners unknown,
nurse the memories we felt then.")
("Then" is redundant.)
Weather now holds promises,(while) the dank cells held none,(holding) only sweat (and) congealed blood.
When you look at the moon you look into the future we did not have. (How does this connect? How does the moon show the future?)
Let the moon illuminate your way to sun swept field, (how can that happen)
a calm sea welcome (to) you. (or a calm sea welcomes you)

Remember metal on metal before we were fully awake(?)
there in the sodden keep, the thud and crunch, threnody (this word seems pretentious should be preceded by an object)
of soldiers’ boots, shouts, and cries of the tortured.

Black Marias careened with their human load (They actually didn't careen with their human load any more than they danced with their human load), we met
to console each other, understanding that Russian speech
was our only true homeland. Dementia thrived in our suffering.

Only the corpses smiled, (colon) frozen grins, chains finally unfastened;
our proud Russia could do nothing but writhe under the Jack-boots.

I am working on the annhiliation(sic) of all emotion. I am weaving a dark shawl
to protect our memories. I remember the words you all spoke, behind bars,
out of desolation, just as I have remembered your faces and movements.

I will remember this forever, even through new sorrows, it will be there,
for me to return to when I want to summon you, my dearest friends;
together you moan and scream through my mind.

Erect my monument not anywhere nowhere  near the sea nor in Litenyi,
but there in front of the steel doors where I stood
for hundreds of hours and no one slid open the bolt,

where the shrill cries of an old woman still echo through us.
I will welcome the ships coming up the Neva.
The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever. "

___________________________________________________________________________
This poem presumes that the reader has a lot of information that he probably doesn't have and thus narrows the scope of the readership. The writer could put more explanatory passages throughout the poem, or possible a synoptic footnote at the end to make the poem more accessible. 

Although still full of the usual Russian depression, this seems to step outside the usual themes, so there is a possible freshness which could be enhanced, raising this above the usual unending of many Russian works.

Best,

dale

[RC James]

"You’ll see my body, ages past,"   (who is this ages past person?)

This reads as though ages past will see your body.
______________________________________________
drawn to itself in strident winds, (how can something be drawn to itself?)
at the center of the raging
conflagration we called ours.  (I really get little image out of this)

When I start down the avenue
lined with our history's truth,
I trust that you will guard with
care the ashes I can't claim. (tense)
__________________________________
The obvious difference in line length creates disruption to the poem, thus weakens it. It would be very easy to keep to the same general line length.

"Survivors, now in different corners unknown, nurse the memories we felt then.
("Survivors, now in different corners unknown,
nurse the memories we felt then.")
("Then" is redundant.)
Weather now holds promises,(while) the dank cells held none,(holding) only sweat (and) congealed blood.
When you look at the moon you look into the future we did not have. (How does this connect? How does the moon show the future?)
Let the moon illuminate your way to sun swept field, (how can that happen)



You have so many questions, questions only you yourself can answer, for me they're answered.  your 
approach is quite rigid. RC

























a calm sea welcome (to) you. (or a calm sea welcomes you)

Remember metal on metal before we were fully awake(?)
there in the sodden keep, the thud and crunch, threnody (this word seems pretentious should be preceded by an object)
of soldiers’ boots, shouts, and cries of the tortured.

Black Marias careened with their human load (They actually didn't careen with their human load any more than they danced with their human load), we met
to console each other, understanding that Russian speech
was our only true homeland. Dementia thrived in our suffering.

Only the corpses smiled, (colon) frozen grins, chains finally unfastened;
our proud Russia could do nothing but writhe under the Jack-boots.

I am working on the annhiliation(sic) of all emotion. I am weaving a dark shawl
to protect our memories. I remember the words you all spoke, behind bars,
out of desolation, just as I have remembered your faces and movements.

I will remember this forever, even through new sorrows, it will be there,
for me to return to when I want to summon you, my dearest friends;
together you moan and scream through my mind.

Erect my monument not anywhere nowhere  near the sea nor in Litenyi,
but there in front of the steel doors where I stood
for hundreds of hours and no one slid open the bolt,

where the shrill cries of an old woman still echo through us.
I will welcome the ships coming up the Neva.
The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever. "

___________________________________________________________________________
This poem presumes that the reader has a lot of information that he probably doesn't have and thus narrows the scope of the readership. The writer could put more explanatory passages throughout the poem, or possible a synoptic footnote at the end to make the poem more accessible. 

Although still full of the usual Russian depression, this seems to step outside the usual themes, so there is a possible freshness which could be enhanced, raising this above the usual unending of many Russian works.

Best,

dale