07-28-2017, 11:44 PM (This post was last modified: 08-05-2017, 03:54 AM by Todd.)
It won’t be like the preachers say,
as they strut like college boys with their father
into the whorehouse of their imaginings.
God is not concerned
with a back ache in Virginia,
nor does He speak in the voice
of your wife through a radio transmitter.
Their eyes fix somewhere above,
as if reading from an unseen teleprompter.
Speech spraying forth to proclaim
that at a word galaxies spun
out stars in an explosion
of so many dying fireflies,
and that we who also die
reflect the everlasting
distorted in a funhouse mirror. They love
their voices too much to hear
the whisper of the infinite. I found
it to be like an envelope torn open,
contents spilled out--a forgotten detail
never learned, like a string
never tied to an invisible finger.
There was only the name of a stranger,
her life in an intricate script,
a half-brother, my likely schizophrenia,
and the pressure to write it all down.
The next day she existed, Ex nilhio,
like a conjuror's trick or a book
I had already read. The world wobbled
like a top, and I couldn’t return to silence
no matter how I covered my ears.
Revision
It won’t be like the preachers say,
as they strut like college boys with their father
into the whorehouse of their imaginings.
God is not concerned
with a back ache in Virginia,
nor does He speak in the voice
of your wife through a radio transmitter.
They say that with a word
galaxies spun out stars in an explosion
of so many dying fireflies,
and that we who also die
reflect the everlasting
distorted in a funhouse mirror. They love
their voices too much to hear
the whisper of the infinite. I found
it to be like an envelope torn open,
contents spilled out--a forgotten detail
never learned, like a string
never tied to an invisible finger.
There was only the name of a stranger,
her life in an intricate script,
a half-brother, my likely schizophrenia,
and the pressure to write it all down.
The next day she existed, Ex nilhio,
like a conjuror's trick or a book
I had already read. The world wobbled
like a top, and I couldn’t return to silence
no matter how I covered my ears.
Original
It won’t be like the preachers say.
As they strut like college boys with their father
into the whorehouse of their imaginings.
God is not concerned
with a back ache in South Carolina,
nor does He speak in the voice
of your wife through a radio transmitter.
If light is simply His self-revelation,
and at a word galaxies spun out stars,
an explosion of so many dying fireflies.
If breath from His anthropomorphic lungs
filled our lungs, so that we would also speak,
become His image in resounding echo,
then when we hear that whisper,
the infinite will settle on our tongue
a brand unquenchable. I found
it to be like an envelope torn open,
contents spilled out--a forgotten detail
never learned, like a string
never tied to an invisible finger.
There was only the name of a stranger,
her life in an intricate script,
a half-brother, my likely schizophrenia,
and the pressure to write it all down.
The next day, she existed, Ex nilhio,
like a conjuror's trick, or a book
I had already read. The world wobbled
like a top, and I couldn’t return to silence
Hi, Todd. Every time you write, I am amazed.
I feel like most of what you write is so orderly already.
I will try to pick it apart, but I think that will be hard to do.
It won’t be like the preachers say. -I know you want to make a statement by ending this with a period, but the next L
As they strut like college boys with their father starts funky.
into the whorehouse of their imaginings. -good expression of holier men only found to be human
God is not concerned
with a back ache in South Carolina,
nor does He speak in the voice
of your wife through a radio transmitter.
If light is simply His self-revelation,
and at a word galaxies spun out stars,
an explosion of so many dying fireflies. -this stanza stops too bluntly
If breath from His anthropomorphic lungs
filled our lungs, so that we would also speak,
become His image in resounding echo,
then when we hear that whisper,
the infinite will settle on our tongue
a brand unquenchable. I found
it to be like an envelope torn open,
contents spilled out--a forgotten detail
never learned, like a string
never tied to an invisible finger.
There was only the name of a stranger,
her life in an intricate script,
a half-brother, my likely schizophrenia,
and the pressure to write it all down.
The next day, she existed, Ex nilhio, - not sure what exnilhio is, does it refer to angels?
like a conjuror's trick, or a book
I had already read. The world wobbled
like a top, and I couldn’t return to silence
no matter how I covered my ears.
I like how the poem begins with reason, and then the center, a seeming vulnerability or hint of person/speaker, and the ending, hope. Thank you so much for the privilege to read your tender poetry and to try to critique it.
Hey Todd. I do love me some religious, confessional themes, especially when they're mixed with just the right amount of cynicism and blasphemy.
(07-28-2017, 11:44 PM)Todd Wrote: It won’t be like the preachers say. -- comma at the end here?
As they strut like college boys with their father
into the whorehouse of their imaginings. -- Strong start. I love the themes of cronyism, corruption, and smug entitlement. Preachers as trust fund babies getting through Yale on their dad's money and reputation despite abysmal grades and a rape conviction. Reads like the ultimate expression of privilege.
God is not concerned -- like the line break and stanza break here so that the statement could be combined with both lines surrounding it.
with a back ache in South Carolina, -- Maybe Georgia? It sounds better to me with fewer syllables.
nor does He speak in the voice
of your wife through a radio transmitter.
If light is simply His self-revelation, -- this is a dramatic turn away from the immediacy of the previous stanzas. Honestly, I find the change of voice jarring.
and at a word galaxies spun out stars,
an explosion of so many dying fireflies. -- This stanza is not a complete sentence.
If breath from His anthropomorphic lungs -- starting to tune out. I think it's the slightly sermony voice I'm hearing that's triggering an automatic sleep response. It's conditioning.
filled our lungs, so that we would also speak,
become His image in resounding echo,
then when we hear that whisper,
the infinite will settle on our tongue
a brand unquenchable. I found
it to be like an envelope torn open, -- re-engaging here, where the personal comes back to the forefront.
contents spilled out--a forgotten detail
never learned, like a string
never tied to an invisible finger.-- mind bending -- good way to show something that can't really be shown.
There was only the name of a stranger,
her life in an intricate script,
a half-brother, my likely schizophrenia, -- I like the stranger and the allusion to a kind of ecstatic experience, but I don't know what the allusion to a woman and a half brother add to the scene. Makes me feel like part of the story is missing, since we just mention and move away.
and the pressure to write it all down. -- This is a nice visual of someone like the apostle Paul being compelled to write. I like this a lot.
The next day, she existed, Ex nilhio, -- makes me think of how we create reality through language -- once you name something, label it, you see it everywhere. I don't think you need a comma after "day."
like a conjuror's trick, or a book -- don't need a comma after "trick."
I had already read. The world wobbled
like a top, and I couldn’t return to silence
no matter how I covered my ears.
There is some imagery in the middle bit, but it's not surprising. I'd try to distill the essence of what you're trying to say in a couple of good metaphors/images. I just find the middle too telly, basically. It seems like you have a lot of ideas in this one that are still being worked out.
Hi Lizzie, thank you for calling out my loose use of commas. I'll clean those up. I think I also have an idea to push the pace in the center of the poem and ease some of the issues you raise. Some good comments and help I appreciate the help.
It won’t be like the preachers say. - The poem carries an anti-religious vibe but is not accusatory or toocritical of faith. It almost seems like the narrator understands why people are religious but is simply trying to explain why he is not. As they strut like college boys with their father into the whorehouse of their imaginings. God is not concerned
with a back ache in South Carolina, nor does He speak in the voice of your wife through a radio transmitter.
If light is simply His self-revelation, and at a word galaxies spun out stars, an explosion of so many dying fireflies.
If breath from His anthropomorphic lungs - Am I right in assuming these two stanzas are putting forth the premise that if we were created from God's image, we would know it? That there would be no doubt? Yet, the world obviously has doubt, so we cannot have been created. Why would God create us then never give us undeniable proof? I like that concept, it's philosophical and a fairly unique perspective in my opinion. filled our lungs, so that we would also speak, become His image in resounding echo,
then when we hear that whisper, the infinite will settle on our tongue a brand unquenchable. I found
it to be like an envelope torn open, - I think this stanza is describing the narrator rationalizing the separation from their faith. Or maybe describing how it was never really a part of them to begin with. contents spilled out--a forgotten detail never learned, like a string never tied to an invisible finger.
There was only the name of a stranger, - I'm assuming you are now speaking about the bible. And how the possibility could be that God was created from those who wrote the Bible rather than God creating the contents. her life in an intricate script, a half-brother, my likely schizophrenia, and the pressure to write it all down.
The next day, she existed, Ex nilhio, like a conjuror's trick, or a book I had already read. The world wobbled like a top, and I couldn’t return to silence - Once created, there was no going back. What is the meaning of or reason for this stanza? I am not reaching a conclusion here. Perhaps that is my own fault, or maybe my interpretation has been wrong the whole time.
no matter how I covered my ears.
Wonderfully complex poem, yet the theme is consistent, great work. I think I need to re-read it a few more times to grasp it. These are my initial impressions.
I've always wanted to live in a world where it's okay to pronounce both L's in my name.
I don't like "they say" - it sounds clumsy. But otherwise the new version reads better than the original, because the "if/then" argument in the latter was confusing - I now see that it represented someone else's argument, not the narrator's, and therefore was not contradicting the subsequent strophe.
Great ending. Thanks for posting.
Thank you, Achebe. I made some slight alterations (I wasn't fond of they say either). Thanks for pushing me. I hope this latest change is an improvement.
(07-28-2017, 11:44 PM)Todd Wrote: It won’t be like the preachers say,
as they strut like college boys with their father
into the whorehouse of their imaginings.
God is not concerned - Is there a way to not use the word God here? I like that you do not use it anywhere else in the poem, except the title. Just a thought.
with a back ache in Virginia,
nor does He speak in the voice
of your wife through a radio transmitter.
Their eyes fix somewhere above,
as if reading from an unseen teleprompter. - Speaks to the disconnect between the preachers and their audience. It is much easier to tell a lie if you do not make eye contact.
Speech spraying forth to proclaim
that at a word galaxies spun
out stars in an explosion
of so many dying fireflies,
and that we who also die
reflect the everlasting
distorted in a funhouse mirror. They love - I did not catch this separation of they love -> their voices on my first read through. Brings out the hypocrisy of preaching about how to listen to God.
their voices too much to hear
the whisper of the infinite. I found
it to be like an envelope torn open, - You've set us up nicely with the hypocritical preacher theme, before you describe all that crippling existentialism. At this point, I'm hoping you give me stark contrast to what they have proclaimed.
contents spilled out--a forgotten detail
never learned, like a string
never tied to an invisible finger.
There was only the name of a stranger,
her life in an intricate script,
a half-brother, my likely schizophrenia,
and the pressure to write it all down. - Disappointed (not by your writing, by my own human nature), by the vagueness here. I am human after all and I crave direct meaning! I suppose the mystery needs to remain unsolved though. I think you were going for the reader being disappointed, in that case, this is perfect.
The next day she existed, Ex nilhio,
like a conjuror's trick or a book
I had already read. The world wobbled
like a top, and I couldn’t return to silence - A top wobbling makes me think it will soon fall. The infinite noise you talk of in the ending and the infinite vagueness of God's speech above both seem to contradict an unmoving top.
no matter how I covered my ears. - Unless the spinning top was the only thing keeping the noise from reaching you?
I've always wanted to live in a world where it's okay to pronounce both L's in my name.
(08-05-2017, 03:55 AM)Todd Wrote: Thank you, Achebe. I made some slight alterations (I wasn't fond of they say either). Thanks for pushing me. I hope this latest change is an improvement.
Best,
Todd
I dig the change. "Unseen TelePrompTer" is striking. Pardon the caps.
