Winter

[Bii]

A slightly vitriolic take on the loveliest of seasons. I challenge you not to feel slightly ill after reading this!

*DELETED*

[Riesa]

yep.


plucked chicken flesh
droops in flaccid folds,

ick. ;)

poor ol' man winter, he tries so hard to hide behind that silver sheen, but the eyes of a poet sees all. I enjoyed it, though it made me wish for a spring poem to read.

[PrinceMyshkin]

A slightly vitriolic take on the loveliest of seasons. I challenge you not to feel slightly ill after reading this!

Winter

Winter arrives
a filthy old man,
slumped
against the weight of
all the year’s
decaying waste.
Autumn has picked
the flesh from his bones,
and he sags;
plucked chicken flesh
droops in flaccid folds,
grey and sickly;
and everywhere the stench
of death precedes him.
He oozes disease,
hunger, losses
shared in the long
insipid nights.
And all this goes on
quietly disguised beneath
a silver blanket of
softly drifting snow.

It's a marvellous poem, but I inturn challenge you not to feel more charitable towards winter after you read (or preferably seek it out via Google & listen to Vigneault himself singing it) "Mon Pays" by Quebec's unofficial poet laureate, Gilles Vegneault:



Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'hiver
Mon jardin ce n'est pas un jardin, c'est la plaine
Mon chemin ce n'est pas un chemin, c'est la neige


My country is not a country, it's winter
My garden is not a garden, it's the plain
My road is not a road, it's the snow....

[Bii]

It's a marvellous poem, but I inturn challenge you not to feel more charitable towards winter after you read (or preferably seek it out via Google & listen to Vigneault himself singing it) "Mon Pays" by Quebec's unofficial poet laureate, Gilles Vegneault:



Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'hiver
Mon jardin ce n'est pas un jardin, c'est la plaine
Mon chemin ce n'est pas un chemin, c'est la neige


My country is not a country, it's winter
My garden is not a garden, it's the plain
My road is not a road, it's the snow....

Thank you, and this sounds lovely, I will seek it out (but if it's in French it might be a bit of a challenge!). Actually I love winter, but when you think about it (as I often do) it is a dangerous time.

As my mind is still on the subject of fabulous words - I am working on a way to sneak 'necrotic' into the above-mentioned poem. Necrotic is another excellent word (and rhymes neatly with 'erotic' - now there's a poem for you?!)

*edit*
Ooh, good recommendation, it is indeed very lovely :)

[Annabel Lee]

Winter

Winter arrives
a filthy old man,
slumped
against the weight of
all the year’s
decaying waste.
Autumn has picked
the flesh from his bones,
and he sags;
plucked chicken flesh
droops in flaccid folds,
grey and sickly;
and everywhere the stench
of death precedes him.
He oozes disease,
hunger, losses
shared in the long
insipid nights.
And all this goes on
quietly disguised beneath
a silver blanket of
softly drifting snow.

When I think of winer, I too think of it as death; but I don't usually think of it as being that gross. I like the first six lines and the last four lines.

[Pendragon]

It is Summer and not Winter that is my enemy, for the medications I must take to keep the old flesh moving make me sensitive to the heat. Still I have always pictured Winter as fanged with ice teeth, and recall that in my favorite legends, the Norse feared Nifelheim, a cold hell, far worse than Suterheim, the realm of fire. A cold so cold that it could sear the flesh like fire. Bravo, for your poem, well written...

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/PuppyLove.gif

[Bii]

I was thinking of making a few small changes, mainly because of a desire to use certain words, and not use certain others. Which do you think is best?

Winter

Winter arrives
a filthy old man,
slumped
against the weight of
all the year’s
decaying waste.
Autumn has picked
the flesh from his bones,
and he sags;
plucked chicken flesh
droops in pestilential folds,
grey and flaccid;
and everywhere the stench
of death precedes him.
He oozes disease,
hunger, grief
exchanged in long
necrotic nights.
And all this goes on
quietly disguised beneath
a silver blanket of
softly drifting snow.

[Pendragon]

I liked the first one better, B. Everyone can identify with that plucked chicken.

[Riesa]

second version is more precise, more succinct, better transitions between lines. it also has the appeal of not reading as 'gross', to borrow the word from annabel lee, but presents itself as a cold observation of truth, one that I'm more willing to trust, one that is a little more believable then the previous stomach-turning version. imho. I like it much better. obviously Pen disagrees. so it goes.

[Bii]

Thanks Pen - I'm having a total love of words 'thing' going on at the moment, which is where the desire to place 'pestilential' and 'necrotic' in there. I'll calm down a bit and come back to it. Glad you liked the plucked chicken!

[Bii]

second version is more precise, more succinct, better transitions between lines. it also has the appeal of not reading as 'gross', to borrow the word from annabel lee, but presents itself as a cold observation of truth, one that I'm more willing to trust, one that is a little more believable then the previous stomach-turning version. imho. I like it much better. obviously Pen disagrees. so it goes.

So it goes. Kurt Vonnegut is in heaven now!

[Riesa]

is he?

[PrinceMyshkin]

Thanks Pen - I'm having a total love of words 'thing' going on at the moment, which is where the desire to place 'pestilential' and 'necrotic' in there. I'll calm down a bit and come back to it. Glad you liked the plucked chicken!

I understand that love of words thing and while you were stuffing that chicken could you not have included "otiose," "viscid" or "gelatinous."

But not, I pray you, hermeneutics - unless you wish to include his sister Gertrude Eutics?

[Bii]

is he?

Indeed, check out this thread:

http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=23920&highlight=kurt+vonnegut

In case you haven't read it, Slaughterhouse 5 is synonymous with 'So it goes'.

[Riesa]

right. I actually have read it. if you read the thread, you'll see my comments. what I meant was...is he "in Heaven"? considering he was atheist, if my knowledge of him is accurate.


Say what you will about the sweet miracle of unquestioning faith, I consider a capacity for it terrifying and absolutely vile!~ Kurt Vonnegut

[jon1jt]

A slightly vitriolic take on the loveliest of seasons. I challenge you not to feel slightly ill after reading this!

Winter

Winter arrives
a filthy old man,
slumped
against the weight of
all the year’s
decaying waste.
Autumn has picked
the flesh from his bones,
and he sags;
plucked chicken flesh
droops in flaccid folds,
grey and sickly;
and everywhere the stench
of death precedes him.
He oozes disease,
hunger, losses
shared in the long
insipid nights.
And all this goes on
quietly disguised beneath
a silver blanket of
softly drifting snow.

at what point do you say that you've amply portrayed the scenery as filthy and vile? you do a whole lot of "telling" about your landscape, but the extent of "showing" is nil--reduced to a mere image of a chicken being plucked, a good one at that. i read on searching for 'something,' and what i come into is more coddling, more telling at the poem's conclusion, going so far as to lead us to the punchline (predictable): "and all this goes on..." but how can this mound of bile be "quietly" disguised if it's been theretofore presented to a vulgar degree??

"filthy old man." which brand?

"insipid" night---what kind of night is that exactly?

i just noticed the rewrite---"necrotic night"---"pestilential folds"---
that shows me nothing and tells me little.

glad that you're loving those words though.

[Bii]

right. I actually have read it. if you read the thread, you'll see my comments. what I meant was...is he "in Heaven"? considering he was atheist, if my knowledge of him is accurate.

~ Kurt Vonnegut

It's a joke Kurt Vonnegut made in Timequake.

[Bii]

at what point do you say that you've amply portrayed the scenery as filthy and vile? you do a whole lot of "telling" about your landscape, but the extent of "showing" is nil--reduced to a mere image of a chicken being plucked, a good one at that. i read on searching for 'something,' and what i come into is more coddling, more telling at the poem's conclusion, going so far as to lead us to the punchline (predictable): "and all this goes on..." but how can this mound of bile be "quietly" disguised if it's been theretofore presented to a vulgar degree??

"filthy old man." which brand?

"insipid" night---what kind of night is that exactly?

i just noticed the rewrite---"necrotic night"---"pestilential folds"---
that shows me nothing and tells me little.

glad that you're loving those words though.


Well, perhaps I should be honoured that, at the very least, it has prompted an uncharacteristically 'telling' response from you?

I note your views concerning the 'landscape' and 'scenery', at what point did I portray landscape? The poem is about a man, is it not? Perhaps the image was too subtle?

I understand your point, but an imagery heavy poem was not what I wanted to create here.

I'm left wondering which was more vitriolic, my poem, or your review?

[Riesa]

It's a joke Kurt Vonnegut made in Timequake.

ah. Now I see where you were coming from. got it. :)

[Logos]

Posts have been removed because they were off-topic and contained negative personal remarks directed at specific members.

Also, "If you are going to post your own poems here, please remember that you are opening yourself up to the criticism and opinions of others which might not agree with your own." (http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showpost.php?p=311611&postcount=1)