There's the bright orange of my room's two lights.
There's the darkness outside pitted with brief lights.
There's the half full moon inverted
over our voyeur neighbor's house.
I'm naked but the aircon's never cool enough.
I suspect I'm not in the right country.
I think my phone is dead but say lobat
then look out over the sterile snow...
Sometimes I mingle memories with dreams
but this one I remember clearly: her elaborate
right arm tattoo, her mousy face,
her thin frame glasses and the piercings through
her nose, her ears, her half-American voice,
my gaze shifting here and there...
Sometimes I watch her welcome me
in a foreign tongue,
toss away her legged bag and lift
her dress above her chin.
Sometimes I look out
over her shoulder
and see the world passing us by,
then rage against my choice
of looks, words, advances,
as if there was a choice.
Sometimes I close my eyes.
...that suddenly turns to mist like those rough bodies
we proselytizers and infertile mothers loved, hands clasped
in the dark. No I will not succumb. There is no night
that will not lead our eyes to close, nor blindness when oracular dreams
refuse to answer Hineni, Hineni. There is no turn approaching.
There is a voice crying out
over the wilderness,
over the eternal fireworks
lighting up Boracay,
over the sterile snow
Fallout
There's the bright orange of my room's two lights:
the eye-glazing screen and the power-sucking bulb --
there's the darkness outside pitted with brief lights
and the half-full moon inverted over our house --
I'm naked but the aircon's never cool enough,
I suspect I'm not in the right country,
I think my phone is dead but say lobat,
I look out over the sterile snow
Sometimes I mingle memories
with dreams
but this one I remember
clearly: her elaborate
right arm tattoo, her mousy face,
thin frame glasses and the piercings
through her nose, ears,
half-American voice,
my gaze shifting
Sometimes I watch her welcome me
in a foreign tongue,
toss away her legged bag and lift
her dress above her chin.
Sometimes I look out
over her shoulder
to the world passing us by,
then rage against my choice
of looks, words,
advances,
as if there was a choice.
Sometimes I close my eyes.
that suddenly turns to mist like those rough bodies
we proselytizers and infertile mothers loved, hands clasped
in the dark. No I will not succumb. There is no night
that will not lead our eyes to close, nor blindness when oracular dreams
refuse to answer Hineni, Hineni. There is no turn approaching.
There is a voice that cries
out over the wilderness,
over the eternal fireworks
lighting up Boracay,
over the sterile snow --
Home, after a restless vacation after Louise Gluck
There's the bright orange of the two lone lights
still open in my room: the eye-glazing screen
and the power-sucking bulb; there's the darkness outside
pitted with brief lights
and the half-full moon inverted
over my voyeur neighbor's house; I'm naked but the aircon's
never cool enough; I suspect I'm not in the right country,
I think my phone is dead but say lobat,
I look out over the sterile snow
Sometimes I mingle memories
with dreams
but this one I remember
clearly: her elaborate
right arm tatoo, her mousy
face, her thin frame
glasses and the piercings
on her nose, her ears
her half-American voice
my gaze shifting here and there
Sometimes I watch
her welcome me
in a foreign tongue,
toss away her legged bag and lift
her dress above her chin.
Sometimes I look
out over her shoulder
to the world passing us by,
then rage over my choice
of thoughts, words,
advances,
as if I had a choice.
Sometimes I close my eyes.
that suddenly turns to mist like the rough bodies of those we
proselytizers and infertile mothers loved, hands clasped
in the dark. No I will not succumb. There is no night that will
not lead our eyes to close, nor blindness when oracular dreams
refuse to answer Hineni, Hineni. There is no turn approaching.
There is a voice that cries
out over the wilderness,
over the eternal fire-
works over Boracay,
over the sterile snow--
(02-26-2018, 01:11 AM)RiverNotch Wrote: Home, after a restless vacation
after Louise Gluck
There's the bright orange of the two lone lights
still open in my room: the eye-glazing screen
and the power-sucking bulb; there's the darkness outside
pitted with brief lights
and the half-full moon inverted
over my voyeur neighbor's house; I'm naked but the aircon's i don´t get the significance of the voyeur neighbor, but those one and a half lines that follow are just great!
never cool enough; I suspect I'm not in the right country,
I think my phone is dead but say lobat,
I look out over the sterile snow hate to suggest an "ing", but maybe here it would work: "i suspect my phone is dead but answer `lobat`,/ looking outside over sterile snow"
Sometimes I mingle memories maybe "dreams sometimes mingle with memories"
with dreams
but this one I remember
clearly: her elaborate
right arm tatoo, her mousy
face, her thin frame
glasses and the piercings
on her nose, her ears
her half-American voice
my gaze shifting here and there very visual description, you could get rid of a few "her"s i think. and maybe "my dizzied gaze shifted" or some such (and leave out "here and there")
Sometimes I watch would like "her welcome me" up in this line
her welcome me
in a foreign tongue,
toss away her legged bag and lift
her dress above her chin.
Sometimes I look i´d think "out" belongs in this line
out over her shoulder
to the world passing us by,
then rage over my choice
of thoughts, words, you could leave out thoughts (because those we can´t really choose, at least i can´t imagine how)
advances,
as if I had a choice. just to avoid to many "I"s: "as if there was a choice"
Sometimes I close my eyes.
that suddenly turns to mist like the rough bodies of those we "... like those rough bodies/ we proselytizers and infertile mothers loved..." and maybe start "suddenly this turns to mist" though i don´t quite know how mist is like rough bodies.. it seems like there´s just a link i miss.
proselytizers and infertile mothers loved, hands clasped
in the dark. No I will not succumb. There is no night that will a separate line for "no, i will not succumb"?
not lead our eyes to close, nor blidness when oracular dreams "bliNdness" (but i still think an answer is received with ears, so deafness instead of blindness could be an option.. the fire below would still work in my opinion)
refuse to answer Hineni, Hineni. There is no turn approaching. love the desperately faithful sound of this "hineni, hineni"
There is a voice that cries you could cut this 2nd "there is"+ "that" (and i´d pull up "out" in this line, to finish the poem with a series of lines starting "over")
out over the wilderness,
over the eternal fire- i probably miss the enjambment´s purpose, so i imagine fire-works to be united in one line, too
works over Boracay,
over the sterile snow-- am still searching the connection of infertile mothers and sterile snow... there must be one, i´m just to obtuse to get it. proselityzers got me to think the relationship didn´t work out for differences in faith.
so, here is a load of probably far too suggestive suggestions, anyway, maybe you find something useful : )
many thanks! super useful -- i'll not post any edits until i have a few more bits of feedback, though i think my notepad edition's gonna get somewhere. just a few notes:
this piece was written in a bit of a frenzy, trying to work with a particularly hard IISZ prompt. i accomplished the prompt by mirroring the pieces' line and stanza lengths, as well as hinting at a few of their images (or, in the case of "sterile snow", copying them wholesale), while talking about the still-fresh emotions i had felt throughout, and right after, our brief time in Boracay.
last stanza is another play at fragmentation: it's supposed to continue directly after the first stanza, thus the spacing and the rather broken first line. i can't tell if my recent experiments at it have been working, though (and here i refer to "Galatea" and "the nightmall dream").
perhaps, in the narrative of your reading, it's not just faith but an infertility incompatible with one of the partners' faiths that caused the relationship to break apart, with the imagery of snow (or the white sand beaches of Boracay) contrasting with the imagery of fire (also the bright orange lights that start the piece, and the corresponding lust of both the voyeur neighbor and the speaker him/herself)?
and i'm thinking of changing the title: the fact that i wrote this after an unsatisfying ending to an otherwise splendid vacation, and the fact that this was originally a response to an IISZ prompt, should be immaterial to the rest of the piece. maybe "Fallout", or is that too apocalyptic?
got a little impatient, especially since some of the changes considered led to a few more changes than first expected. i'm growing more uneasy at just how rough this piece is. further feedback welcome.
Hi RiverNotch. I was curious what goes on in this forum and I see some good stuff going on, including this! Now granted I wasn't really pulled in until second stanza, but after that, it was rather captivating. I don't yet know what it's exactly about (I would need to spend more time with it, learn some of the names used.) But the images...! That's what I enjoyed. I do wish it was more accessible as far as meaning, the last stanza loses me rather than ties things together, but I still enjoyed the read.
"The best way out is always through."-Robert Frost dwcapture.com
S1: I think this verse is overwritten.
Three 'there's the...' which don't resolve.
L5 seems to me to be a much stronger opening line.
(pitted darkness is pretty good).
I'm assuming 'lobat' is low battery? If so
who says it?
S2: To what purpose does N 'mingle memories
with dreams'? Or is he/she just confused?
Too many repetitions of 'her'.
S3: I think 'watch' could be deleted to
avoid the confusion of how N watches
a foreign tongue. Maybe just simplify slightly.
'the world passing us by' is disappointing.
S4: (Hineni - might make for a better title ?)
Is there any way to move Boracay closer
to the start? By this time I've imagined a
location and then reading this is like being
told I was wrong, and throws me out of the
piece.
