This is a poem about Iasos,
of moss growing on stones,
stones becoming walls
lashed by the rein of thunder gods,
lying forgotten in tall grass. The glass
like harbour at noon,
broken by rain, and rippled by the wind
dragging a cloud canvas.
Two thousand years, more,
have lapsed into silence since
they sighted this shore, steer-
ing away from the pale of Pelias.
For them, cataracts gush
from mouths of stone,
sailors who longed for a sea
rising and falling,
like a serpent, or unravelling
like a skein of ancient ways, to be
woven into tales, and tales into thought,
indivisible from our own
in poems about Iasos.
Previous versions:
Iasos (Edit 1.0, Mark)
This is a poem about Iasos,
of moss growing on stones,
stones becoming walls
sometime smitten by the rod of thunder gods,
lying forgotten in tall grass. The glass
like harbour at noon,
broken by rain, and rippled by the wind
dragging a cloud canvas.
We sheltered under ruined battlements,
heard tinkling cowbells pass us by,
the gurgling mouths of momentary waterfalls,
and through curtains of rain, the sea.
What did they achieve, in the ancient days
by sitting and dreaming of thunder gods?
Lightning on a knobby hill, and on the far side
of the harbour quicksand, adventure enough for argonauts
to weave into tales, and tales into thought,
indivisible from our own
in poems about Iasos.
Original:
Iasos
This is a poem about Iasos,
of moss growing on stones,
stones becoming walls, smitten by the rod
of thunder gods, lying forgotten
in tall grass. The glass
like harbour at noon, broken
by rain, and rippled by the wind
dragging a cloud canvas.
We sheltered under ruined battlements,
beaming light
now beyond the nearest stars,
outdistancing alpha centauri,
heading towards Sirius,
coming back - who knows when -
to Iasos in the stardust.
And likewise in the microcosm
of petty existences -
for we too are made of star stuff -
having travelled many roads
I come back to you again.
This is a poem about Iasos, I don't need this line of moss growing on stones,
stones becoming walls, smitten by the rod
of thunder gods, lying forgotten
in tall grass. The glass-likemoved "like" up, to clarify that it's water
harbour at noon, broken
by rain, and rippled by the wind
dragging a cloud canvas.my favorite section
We sheltered under ruined battlements, beaming light?? with flashlights, or eye beams?? now beyond the nearest stars,
outdistancing alpha centauri,
heading towards Sirius,I'm a bit confused by this section
coming back - who knows when - to Iasos in the stardust.I don't need this line
And likewise in the microcosmI get the contrast, yet another word would work better (earthbound?)
of petty existences -another way to say this, that is more personal, leading to the ending for we too are made of star stuff - I don't need this line. It verges on cliche
having travelled many roads
I come back to you again.
I take it this to be about the ancient city in Greece, and not the musician. Some more imagery, especially in the second section, would help this one arrive at its ending.
...Mark
Edit posted.
Mark - the reference to 'beaming light' etc was a reference to light cones and the curvature of the universe etc - out of place, and not needed. Thanks for calling out the issues.
Good job busker-
The added imagery helps this piece a lot, especially this section:
We sheltered under ruined battlements,
heard tinkling cowbells pass us by,
the gurgling mouths of momentary waterfalls,
and saw the ancient sea through curtains of rain
.
Hi Busker,
not sure it's quite there yet, the new ending, in particular, feels a bit disappointing, The switch from the place to the 'they' of 'what did they achieve' seems rushed, to me.
I think verse one could be pared back, a little. And in verse two the repetition of -ing doesn't work that well sonically. Actually, I think could cut the verse, as it stands, it's not adding anything to the poem.
This is a poem about Iasos,
of moss growing on stones,
stones becoming walls sometime smitten by the rod of thunder gods, ........I think you mean smote? Plus, 'smitten' and 'rod of thunder gods' is a whole different kettle of entendre.
lying forgotten in tall grass. The glass
like harbour at noon,
broken by rain, and rippled by the wind dragging a cloud canvas. ......................................... It's too much. Besides the waters aren't Iasos, how about more of the ruins, the agora, the altars, friezes, anything to better evoke the place. It is, as you say 'a poem about Iasos'
adventure enough for argonauts
to weave into tales, and tales into thought,
indivisible from our own ....................................... I like the idea of this. Maybe expand it into a whole verse, not just a fragment?
My two-cents worth
This is a poem about Iasos,
of stones becoming walls
of walls becoming
themselves, forgotten
in the tall grass of countless summers
Of a glass-like harbour at noon,
and the sea broken by rain,
(Out there, beyond the storm
the argonauts are ...)
.........
........
...
having travelled many roads
I come back here again.
(03-26-2022, 09:36 AM)rowens Wrote: I don't see where I added anything to the betterment of this poem.
The only thing I really said about it was the word canvas. And I didn't really mean it.
And you kept it in.
For what it’s worth, I don’t think this pome is quite there. It’s got a few possibly nice images, but in the end doesn’t really have a convincing thesis. I just wanted to finish it.
Your feedback was that something’s missing, and so was that of the others.
When I re examined the pome, I found it to be a putrid mess. The feedback helped me see it in a more critical light. The specifics are sometimes important (at least to me), sometimes not, but it’s always good to know if the pome as a whole reads well or doesn’t, and your inputs helped there (i.e. that there was a simplicity in it, in a good way)
It's a small thing but This is a poem about Iasos
After 'about' I stumble, ever so slightly, on 'of'
Would This is a poem about Iasos, about moss growing on stone, about stones becoming walls
...
work?
This is a poem about Iasos,
of moss growing on stones,
of stones becoming walls
lashed by the rein of thunder gods, ........................wrong sort of rain?
lying forgotten in tall grass. The glass
like harbour at noon,
broken by rain, and rippled by the wind ................... after 'broken' 'rippled' is rather tame.
dragging a cloud canvas.
Two thousand years, more,
have lapsed into silence since
they sighted this shore, steer- .............................awful line break
ing away from the pale of Pelias. ......................... why the gap after 'Pelias'? It's the same they/them.
For them, cataracts gush
from mouths of stone,
sailors who longed for a sea
rising and falling,
like a serpent, or unravelling
like a skein of ancient ways, to be
woven into tales, and tales into thought, ............... now if this line could be a continuation of both L18 and L8 then I think you'll have cracked it! indivisible from our own
in poems about Iasos. ........................................should the 'in' be 'and'?
This is a poem about Iasos,
of moss growing on stones,
stones becoming walls
You say this is a poem, then you make up for that statement by doing something immediately poetic, repeating the word 'stone'?
lashed by the rein of thunder gods,
lying forgotten in tall grass. The glass
Because of what you did above, this is dying to say:
By the thunder gods lashed, lying ...
But you have options here. Playing with the expectations of sound.
like harbour at noon,
broken by rain, and rippled by the wind
broken by rain could be cut. rippled by the wind The 'and' works if it's there or not. But probably you'd cut it too.
dragging a cloud canvas.
dragging clouds
Two thousand years, more,
have lapsed into silence since
they sighted this shore, steer-
ing away from the pale of Pelias.
For them, cataracts gush
from mouths of stone,
sailors who longed for a sea
rising and falling,
like a serpent, or unravelling
like a skein of ancient ways, to be
woven into tales, and tales into thought,
indivisible from our own
in poems about Iasos.
I'm stopping. You said you would let it sit. I wanted to get around to giving a critique and play with.
