Portraits

[Riesa]

Thanks in advance for reading this long poem. I appreciate any comments or criticism.


I am aware, as they are not, how certain
Attributes, escape the one, swallow the other.
So, I combine the few, mélange the many,
And suddenly I am walking with completion,
Talking of earth, grain and rain;
Chasing a-bout the mutinous laughter of him;
The splendor of him, or the adventurous
Thought of the other;
Finding myself pleased with the raw strength
Shuddering in its firm shell:

A simple heave-ho
And we now have a house!
(I add the flowers)

One…so forlorn,
Nursed on the misery of his people;
An agile American mind, profiting, profiteering ex-patriot.
His bone-history becomes his future,
As his sickening entanglements seep desecration.
Yet, the intense grasp on his cigarette,
Slant of icy-Ashkenazi eyes, coupled with the
Handling of an artist’s brush:
His bellowing gorgeous masterpieces of
Undraped wretchedness required an
Admiring
Hatred.

Or, the only son
In a Filipino Magnate’s family of seven:
Encumbered with financial calamity,
A disciple of the United Nations,
Smoking his pipe; or spilling himself
Under a Taxi on a frustrated ride.
Diving into a quickening universe
Of black eyes surprisingly familiar,
Along with a marble body sumptuous and posh;
At last….disillusioned by
Exclusive, useless, sulky charm.

Then: burning, feverish, gifted,
But devoid of grace, painfully original,
Misplaced from birth,
With his confused, cancerous father
Expiring before his eyes; leading him
To the embrace of his boy-love sailors.
His half-opened hand the focus of my gaze,
Appearing to hold libertine beauty,
Occasionally eclipsed when engaging my
Parallel spirit with his own.

These are bleak gardens,
Dazzling lights of fury,
Secret extracting of blemishes
Polished up and humbly returned.
Youth is a gift we find upon leaving,
Untainted by settling age.

[Virgil]

OK, Riesa, now tell us your real identity. You are a published poet, right? You have to be. This is again beyond our capabilities. I don't say this lightly. This is excellent. I'm in a rush right now, so I'll follow up with precise criticism. I'm just astonished. Perhaps we should examine this under the Poem of the Week thread.

[Virgil]

Like I said this is excellent. First of all it's engrossing. I can understand it and yet it's mysteriously ungraspable. Although with each reading I get it more and more. So many excellent lines:

And suddenly I am walking with completion,
Talking of earth, grain and rain;
Chasing a-bout the mutinous laughter of him;
and

Yet, the intense grasp on his cigarette,
Slant of icy-Ashkenazi eyes, coupled with the
Handling of an artist’s brush:
and

Then: burning, feverish, gifted,
But devoid of grace, painfully original,
Misplaced from birth,
With his confused, cancerous father
Expiring before his eyes; leading him
To the embrace of his boy-love sailors.

Only one off note in my ear. "sickening entanglements". "Sickening" just sounds too coloquial or slangy for this poem. Your diction everywhere else is so precise and sophisticated that this sticks out like a sore thumb. Now if you have a reason for this, then fine. But if not, I think a different adjective for "entanglements" would improve it.

The last stanza is as close to perfection as a human can reach:

These are bleak gardens,
Dazzling lights of fury,
Secret extracting of blemishes
Polished up and humbly returned.
Youth is a gift we find upon leaving,
Untainted by settling age.

Outstanding!

[Riesa]

Virgil, If I wasn't very aware how you can honestly criticize a piece of my writing when it sucks, I'd say our friendship was coloring your opinion of this piece. I did struggle with 'sickening entanglements' though, I'll work on it.
Thank you.

[Pensive]

OK, Riesa, now tell us your real identity. You are a published poet, right? You have to be. This is again beyond our capabilities. I don't say this lightly. This is excellent. I'm in a rush right now, so I'll follow up with precise criticism. I'm just astonished. Perhaps we should examine this under the Poem of the Week thread.

I could not have put it better by myself. It is absolutely an excellent piece of poetry. :D

[lavendar1]

I could not have put it better by myself. It is absolutely an excellent piece of poetry. :D

I agree. I'm no poet, so I don't feel confident enough to look critically at your poem; still, I see your talent and your love of 'playing' with words to express experience -- and to convey that experience to others. The 'speaker' in your poem has a voice that shines...don't sell yourself short.

And as women (sorry if I've 'read' you wrong) and as mothers, it's remarkable (I believe) that we even have the time to write anything --with our myriad responsibilities...that is, if we take them seriously. I recently read a biography of W.B.Yeats, wherein one of his children remarked that after a publicized "photo opportunity" with his children, she believed her father merely wanted to be 'done' with her...to get back to his writing. Rightfully or wrongfully, that remark forever tarnished him in my eyes. That's why I admre writers like Ann Bradstreet and those more contemporary -- like Tillie Olsen ("As I Stand Ironing"). They were real women in real times. And so are you, Riesa. You are a good writer...be a voice for those who cannot articulate theirs.

[blp]

Virgil says he can understand it, but I can't. I don't know who these are portraits of. One man, the him referred to in the first strophe? Or several? There could be something going on about immigrants to America. The one with Ashkenazi eyes and magisterial paintings suggests some 50s Ab Ex immigrant painter - Arshile Gorky or Rothko perhaps. Both of them killed themselves and there seems to be a sense of doom about the poem too. But I'm guessing - wildly - about a piece I find largely impenetrable - especially in its opening lines. Sorry if I'm being stupid. I agree with the others that it's beautifully written.

[holdencaulfield]

the poem reminds one of sylvia plath at her confessional best.however, the links between the stanzas pose as the main difficuly.i like the iamb-laced sound of the poem which is integral to the theme and the atmosphere it helps to build.

[Riesa]

Pensive, thank you.

Lavendar1, thanks, and that is interesting about Yeats, and yes I'm female and a mother with loads of responsibilities, and it is hard to find the time to write.

Blp, thanks for taking the time to read it and commenting, it is about several men, but men I've known personally, I'd think it would be hard to understand if you didn't know some background, and I could never think of you as 'stupid'. I just failed at making it more penetrable.

holdencaulfield, I had problems with linking the stanzas, perhaps with a little work, it could be improved. Thanks for reading it, and your comments.

[Virgil]

Virgil says he can understand it, but I can't. I don't know who these are portraits of. One man, the him referred to in the first strophe? Or several? There could be something going on about immigrants to America. The one with Ashkenazi eyes and magisterial paintings suggests some 50s Ab Ex immigrant painter - Arshile Gorky or Rothko perhaps. Both of them killed themselves and there seems to be a sense of doom about the poem too. But I'm guessing - wildly - about a piece I find largely impenetrable - especially in its opening lines. Sorry if I'm being stupid. I agree with the others that it's beautifully written.
I didn't think the point of the poem was to completely penetrate the portraits but how those portrayed affect the narrator. Here's what I took as key thematic lines:

So, I combine the few, mélange the many,
And suddenly I am walking with completion,
and then at the conclusion:

Youth is a gift we find upon leaving,
Untainted by settling age.

[Riesa]

Thanks, Virg. Spot on.

[Xamonas Chegwe]

I really love this line Riesa, "Exclusive, useless, sulky charm."

It is a great poem. I've just read it (must have missed it in 'new posts') so I need to reexamine it before I can offer much more. I've said before that you have talent; I think it just went up a level.

Thanks for posting it - you just robbed yourself, I would have paid for this - there are so many lines, beside the one I quoted, that just jump out and say, "Hey! Why didn't anyone ever put these words together like this before? Are they all stupid?" I think we must be.

[Riesa]

Thanks, Chegwé, now If I could only have a smidgeon of your cleverness I'd be rich. btw, the line you picked out to quote is my favorite line. :nod: Thank you so much for reading it, (Finally, I might add. ;) :lol: )