Your Migrant Mother

[Stalker]

I wear the veil of past Bedouin women.

Tuesday pitched in Shenzhen spring.

The trees decked out
with birds and lanterns -
sing song glow.
Sunday had been
grey skies
filled with snow,
my head in a silver fox
against Moscow’s howling winter.

My child, sobbing
in South African Summer,
brings me a Highveld hail storm.
Ice bounces high into the ether
lands in skype
to become my own hot tears.


I walk with the swollen feet of a nomad.

The seeds of alien ideas
dropped from my bag
flourish.

I peel mango with the teeth of an african,

and see the juice
coat your chin, William.

I observe with the eyes of a childless mother.
You wipe with the hand of a motherless child.

[rowens]

I like this poem. I think about a reporter speaking. I add that in myself. Imagining a reporter scurrying around.

[Stalker]

Scurrying? yeah maybe I feel like that too.

blimey.

thanks for reading.

I like this poem. I think about a reporter speaking. I add that in myself. Imagining a reporter scurrying around.

[rowens]

I still like it. I didn't have any bad critique to give it.

[Todd]

Hi Stalker (Lucy),

Here are some impressions and comments for you.

I'm not sure I'm interpreting properly but I took the poem as the speaker speaking to their child. Sort of a "let me tell you about your Migrant Mother, William" sort of thing.

I wear the veil of past Bedouin women.--This is a nice opening line. It gives the sense of nomadic wandering. This woman is one that moves from place to place. It works with the migrant in the title, and accomplishes a lot of characterization in a single line

Tuesday pitched in Shenzhen spring.--I like the phrasing. I'm not sure why Tuesday. Or why this line is sitting by itself. The other stand alone lines seem to be characterizations. Tuesday makes me think of Tuesday's child full of grace. Maybe this is a reflection back to birth. We are at the very least focusing on a different locale and starting the seasons. Spring/birth possible I guess

The trees decked out
with birds and lanterns ---Like these lines. Is this the well-wishing festival? Given that its Hong Kong. Are you purposely saying here is the new year or the beginning? Just where my mind is going. I like the personification and the quick pacing of the lines
sing song glow.--absolutely love this. This feels like something a child might say, or a parent might say to a child. The images feel like their suited again for here's the story of my life from when you entered the picture
Sunday had been--again my interpretations are probably seriously flawed but I took this to be my time before you came was grey and cold. I also like the line break on this line
grey skies
filled with snow,
my head in a silver fox--I took this to be one of those older style fur coats (who knows if they've already come back into style
against Moscow’s howling winter.--Now we've moved again. Though since we're moving backward from Tuesday. It is likely flashback

My child, sobbing--"I've disappointed you
in South African Summer,
brings me a Highveld hail storm.--This seems like a juxtaposed contrast of what you'd expect. Though not knowing the region my read might be off. It makes me mostly take the image as one of conflict.
Ice bounces high into the ether
lands in skype--The internet program is the only way I know to take this. I'm not sure if using it dates the poem too much. It does clearly show separation.
to become my own hot tears.[b]--nice line


I walk with the swollen feet of a nomad.--I sort of like these lines. I don't want to be picky but I'm not sure nomad holds its own with Bedouin earlier. I think because its a bit generic. I'd rather see you use an actual people group.

The seeds of alien ideas--something more evocative than alien perhaps. I love the image just want a more specific word.
dropped from my bag
flourish.

I peel mango with the teeth of an african,--you've already used african. Do you want to reuse it? Someplace in South America perhaps. I do love the specificity here.

and see the juice
coat your chin, William.--great transition to the personal. While they could be in the same location in this moment. It is equally possible that she is seeing her actions, her genetics, her life reflected in him. Its like the biblical proverb The fathers eat sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge.

I observe with the eyes of a childless mother.
You wipe with the hand of a motherless child.--at first I wasn't sure I liked this construction I observe with the eyes/you wipe with the hand. After a few reads, though I liked the distance it gave. I think these are powerful lines. This entire last sequence really provides it with emotional punch.

I enjoyed the poem. I'm not sure my comments are that helpful, but I hope they were.

Best,

Todd

[Stalker]

Hmmm Todd - things to think about.

Tuesday and sunday - simply because that was what happened

I think sometimes I rely on folks knowing something about me and my ridiculous life - and you are right is is a rather exclusive attitudeit doesn't matter does it which day.

I don't want to defend all the points you make - however

alien - I was thinking about australia and those melons you know that you are killing the desert, and all the other 'aliens' they have there. Anyway they say that the seeds of those melons were dropped from the saddles of camels that explorers used to travel about. The camels are not there but this unplanned spillage has called lots of problems. I am not in any of the places I visit but somehow I leave ideas behind, and I wonder about them - you know globalisation and the same sameiness of corporate doings...

that said I was also unsure if all of that comes across and I was not sure about aliens at the time of penning - so in short I kinda of agree.

glad you liked it on the whole and i appreciate your valuable input.


cheers

StalKeR

[Leanne]

I wear the veil of past Bedouin women. -- I keep reading this as "Bedouin women past"

Tuesday pitched in Shenzhen spring. -- I like the specificity of Tuesday

The trees decked out -- just a thought: if you use "bedecked" it picks up the b in "birds" for a bit of a sonic chain
with birds and lanterns -
sing song glow.
Sunday had been
grey skies
filled with snow,
my head in a silver fox
against Moscow’s howling winter. -- the geographical contrasts make an interesting map of difficulties

My child, sobbing
in South African Summer,
brings me a Highveld hail storm.
Ice bounces high into the ether -- probably don't need "high", that's implied by "the ether"
lands in skype -- nice!
to become my own hot tears. -- hot tears is a bit of a cliche... you could consider something like "heated by my tears"


I walk with the swollen feet of a nomad.

The seeds of alien ideas -- *Afghan melons -- although the camels are still there (not a suggestion for change, just saying...)
dropped from my bag
flourish. -- I love this idea -- I've used a similar theme but mine are always weeds, nothing edible (no matter how bitter)

I peel mango with the teeth of an african,
and see the juice
coat your chin, William.

I observe with the eyes of a childless mother.
You wipe with the hand of a motherless child. -- these lines demand a repeat reading, so they don't instantly close the poem with a punch, but they definitely hold the attention so that's a winner as far as I'm concerned

[tectak]

I wear the veil of past Bedouin women. If I dwell on your meaning in this line its sense changes. After a while I am left wondering if the veils of contemporary Bedouin are different to past Bedouin women. So I checked....an they're not. What does this line really mean, then? I don't know but I suspect it is simply that "past" is more romantic. Using "past" is possibly overkill. "I wear the veil of the Bedouin women" is cleaner.

Tuesday pitched in Shenzhen spring. Yes to this as a stand alone line...but why is it standing alone? I am not yet feeling the spirit in the poetry because of disconnects. Could you not pull the purse strings together to set a scene? All the gems are scattered about. Look what you have in just a few lines: Veils (mystique), Bedouin ( intrigue), pitched (adventure), Shenzhen( travel) and spring ( rebirth). Fantastic collection but they need poetic linkage to really sing in harmony. The richness, after another crevice, continues. This is poetic suicide by leaping off high places. Why the gap? I am bewildered

The trees decked out
with birds and lanterns -
sing song glow. Bird sing and lanterns glow...so should this read " The trees decked out with bird's and lantern's sing-song glow" ? Time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana
Sunday had been
grey skies
filled with snow,
my head in a silver fox
against Moscow’s howling winter. Very,very nice sentence. Commendable

My child, sobbing
in South African Summer,
brings me a Highveld hail storm.
Ice bounces high into the ether
lands in skype Not like skype. Not like lands in skype. Out of time with the spirit of the piece. Aether?
to become my own hot tears......but the rest I visualise with refreshing ease


I walk with the swollen feet of a nomad. I have seen Saharan nomadic tribes. They had thin, flat feet and wore interesting sandals. Swollen must be telling me something that I need to know because I believe you. Why swollen feet?

The seeds of alien ideas
dropped from my bag
flourish.

I peel mango with the teeth of an african,

and see the juice
coat your chin, William.

I observe with the eyes of a childless mother.
You wipe with the hand of a motherless child. The last 8 lines are rather like the result of a lucky dip. They are of some value intrinsically, and worth having. I cannot connect them together, though.

There is a lot good here but also there.....it is just too here and there. Unlike a lot of poetry criticised for lack of imagery, this excels in imagery but needs less space in the collage. There is too much empty background. It only needs pulling together. I wish that I had half your imagination.....oh,I have
Best,
tectak

[Stalker]

I told you Todd that I thought this was not without problems - and actually the problems I had been aware of are the exact ones pointed out.

well except sing song glow of course which is the brilliant thing the trees are doing, oh and past - since bedouin claims these days are all about origins.

and so I must think on.

and again except for the african teeth - which I think is crucial to link me to my african child and his sticky chin.

interestingly the swollen feet, i was thinking of those folks who walk and walk and walk in somalia and drought ridden places, to find a future, but had rejected somalian because it was african again. Infact they are not really nomads are they? - they are displaced folks - a description that perhaps better fits me. And nomads respect their ecosytem - you know like not taking all the honey at once - does that fit in with my own doubts about corporate doings and competition and cash out mentality I have in my current contract worker incarnation?

I am forced to re-look my claim to be a migrant on this basis - cos migrants usually stay a while and go perhaps go back, - I am a gypsy?

this bloody question which has haunted me for years when I was an immigrant in south africa - immigrant, exile, ex-pat

now it is migrant, nomad, gypsy.

and the point being? answering that never helped me when I decided I was an exile and answering the new version wont help the kids.

[serge gurkski]

I wear the veil of past Bedouin women. If I dwell on your meaning in this line its sense changes. After a while I am left wondering if the veils of contemporary Bedouin are different to past Bedouin women. So I checked....an they're not. What does this line really mean, then? I don't know but I suspect it is simply that "past" is more romantic. Using "past" is possibly overkill. "I wear the veil of the Bedouin women" is cleaner.

Tuesday pitched in Shenzhen spring. Yes to this as a stand alone line...but why is it standing alone? I am not yet feeling the spirit in the poetry because of disconnects. Could you not pull the purse strings together to set a scene? All the gems are scattered about. Look what you have in just a few lines: Veils (mystique), Bedouin ( intrigue), pitched (adventure), Shenzhen( travel) and spring ( rebirth). Fantastic collection but they need poetic linkage to really sing in harmony. The richness, after another crevice, continues. This is poetic suicide by leaping off high places. Why the gap? I am bewildered

The trees decked out
with birds and lanterns -
sing song glow. Bird sing and lanterns glow...so should this read " The trees decked out with bird's and lantern's sing-song glow" ? Time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana
Sunday had been
grey skies
filled with snow,
my head in a silver fox
against Moscow’s howling winter. Very,very nice sentence. Commendable

My child, sobbing
in South African Summer,
brings me a Highveld hail storm.
Ice bounces high into the ether
lands in skype Not like skype. Not like lands in skype. Out of time with the spirit of the piece. Aether?
to become my own hot tears......but the rest I visualise with refreshing ease


I walk with the swollen feet of a nomad. I have seen Saharan nomadic tribes. They had thin, flat feet and wore interesting sandals. Swollen must be telling me something that I need to know because I believe you. Why swollen feet?

The seeds of alien ideas
dropped from my bag
flourish.

I peel mango with the teeth of an african,

and see the juice
coat your chin, William.

I observe with the eyes of a childless mother.
You wipe with the hand of a motherless child. The last 8 lines are rather like the result of a lucky dip. They are of some value intrinsically, and worth having. I cannot connect them together, though.

There is a lot good here but also there.....it is just too here and there. Unlike a lot of poetry criticised for lack of imagery, this excels in imagery but needs less space in the collage. There is too much empty background. It only needs pulling together. I wish that I had half your imagination.....oh,I have
Best,
tectak

I almost feel inclined to reply to inanities of the kind spilled out right above my lines here.
Need more alcohol to get in the mood to reply to a brilliant mind like "tec''s. ;-)

[tectak]

I wear the veil of past Bedouin women. If I dwell on your meaning in this line its sense changes. After a while I am left wondering if the veils of contemporary Bedouin are different to past Bedouin women. So I checked....an they're not. What does this line really mean, then? I don't know but I suspect it is simply that "past" is more romantic. Using "past" is possibly overkill. "I wear the veil of the Bedouin women" is cleaner.

Tuesday pitched in Shenzhen spring. Yes to this as a stand alone line...but why is it standing alone? I am not yet feeling the spirit in the poetry because of disconnects. Could you not pull the purse strings together to set a scene? All the gems are scattered about. Look what you have in just a few lines: Veils (mystique), Bedouin ( intrigue), pitched (adventure), Shenzhen( travel) and spring ( rebirth). Fantastic collection but they need poetic linkage to really sing in harmony. The richness, after another crevice, continues. This is poetic suicide by leaping off high places. Why the gap? I am bewildered

The trees decked out
with birds and lanterns -
sing song glow. Bird sing and lanterns glow...so should this read " The trees decked out with bird's and lantern's sing-song glow" ? Time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana
Sunday had been
grey skies
filled with snow,
my head in a silver fox
against Moscow’s howling winter. Very,very nice sentence. Commendable

My child, sobbing
in South African Summer,
brings me a Highveld hail storm.
Ice bounces high into the ether
lands in skype Not like skype. Not like lands in skype. Out of time with the spirit of the piece. Aether?
to become my own hot tears......but the rest I visualise with refreshing ease


I walk with the swollen feet of a nomad. I have seen Saharan nomadic tribes. They had thin, flat feet and wore interesting sandals. Swollen must be telling me something that I need to know because I believe you. Why swollen feet?

The seeds of alien ideas
dropped from my bag
flourish.

I peel mango with the teeth of an african,

and see the juice
coat your chin, William.

I observe with the eyes of a childless mother.
You wipe with the hand of a motherless child. The last 8 lines are rather like the result of a lucky dip. They are of some value intrinsically, and worth having. I cannot connect them together, though.

There is a lot good here but also there.....it is just too here and there. Unlike a lot of poetry criticised for lack of imagery, this excels in imagery but needs less space in the collage. There is too much empty background. It only needs pulling together. I wish that I had half your imagination.....oh,I have
Best,
tectak

I almost feel inclined to reply to inanities of the kind spilled out right above my lines here.
Need more alcohol to get in the mood to reply to a brilliant mind like "tec''s. ;-)

OY! Are you critting the crit you critter? You can be confined to mild for that......nothing worse except Vogon poetry.
tectak