Scarlet

[symphony]

Inspired by the Nonnet-form going on in the form poetry contest, i wrote this something in the form of nonnets, though in the last 2 stanzas i reversed the syllable order to give it a good shape altogether.


Scarlet

It was in a sunny summer’s morn
That Mother gave her the paint brush,
“Paint away, dear”, Ma has said,
“Give the world its colors”,
And has flashed a smile.
Everything came
In colors
Ever
Since.


The summer was suddenly yellow,
The sun shone golden on the day.
The smile Mom gave was orange—
Dad’s words were crescent blue.
The li’l pup was brown.
The garden- green.
The canvas
Ne’er was
White.



Then
One night
Those strange men
In green stormed in.
Shouting loud harsh words--
Their voices- a dark teal,
Their actions- a dappled grey,
The huge black guns screamed in their hands—
A moment later, the world turned red.


Red
With death,
Stilled and hushed,
And marooned deep—
Mother’s frozen eye
Shadowed in red lashes;
There lay Dad, glasses askew.
The li’l paint brush rolled on the floor.
The world was now a world in scarlet.


On the Liberation War in Bangladesh, 1971.

[CdnReader]

This is a really great piece, Symphony. Well done. Have you tried this style? (I don't know what it's called...sorry....)

Life
is a
constant hedge
against those who
who would steal away
our innocence, who would
demand that we give up our
beliefs, and substitute theirs, who
make us question the power of peace.
who make us wonder if there is a God.
For how could he leave us to face the
enemy, unarmed, unready,
with only our faith to keep
us safe and unharmed in
the face of evil.
I despair that
we can be
patient
souls.

OK, it's not great....but you get the idea. ;)

[symphony]

havent tried exactly that, but the following may be a shorter version of the above form by u.

From the ashes
Of the old me, rose
A new self, unforeseen;
The world rejoiced once more--
A new phoenix has born today.
What remains now is just memories--
Distant echoes of yesteryears.
And now, afresh with fresh dreams,
Anew with a new birth--
A gold face arose
From grey ashes.

[CdnReader]

Yup, similar idea. But mine uses the same 1 through 10 syllable pacing as your original "Scarlet."

[symphony]

hmmm noticed

[PrinceMyshkin]

havent tried exactly that, but the following may be a shorter version of the above form by u.

From the ashes
Of the old me, rose
A new self, unforeseen;
The world rejoiced once more--
A new phoenix has born today.
What remains now is just memories--
Distant echoes of yesteryears.
And now, afresh with fresh dreams,
Anew with a new birth--
A gold face arose
From grey ashes.

Form-shmorm - it's a damned good poem!

[Pensive]

Inspired by the Nonnet-form going on in the form poetry contest, i wrote this something in the form of nonnets, though in the last 2 stanzas i reversed the syllable order to give it a good shape altogether.


Scarlet

It was in a sunny summer’s morn
That Mother gave her the paint brush,
“Paint away, dear”, Ma has said,
“Give the world its colors”,
And has flashed a smile.
Everything came
In colors
Ever
Since.


The summer was suddenly yellow,
The sun shone golden on the day.
The smile Mom gave was orange—
Dad’s words were crescent blue.
The li’l pup was brown.
The garden- green.
The canvas
Ne’er was
White.



Then
One night
Those strange men
In green stormed in.
Shouting loud harsh words--
Their voices- a dark teal,
Their actions- a dappled grey,
The huge black guns screamed in their hands—
A moment later, the world turned red.


Red
With death,
Stilled and hushed,
And marooned deep—
Mother’s frozen eye
Shadowed in red lashes;
Dad lay in a pool of red.
The li’l paint brush rolled on the floor.
The world was now a world in scarlet.


On the Liberation War in Bangladesh, 1971.

This is wonderful, symphony! Out of all your poems I have read yet, I have liked this one the most! I have liked the whole idea. It's dark but effective.

[Virgil]

Wonderful Symphony. The two halves are so stark, and the form really adds to it. Goodness, it sent shivers down me. And such fine lines. Even a simple one such as this, "The sun shone golden on the day" has such subtle originality (the sun shining on the day). Love these lines:


Everything came
In colors
Ever
Since


Their voices- a dark teal,
Their actions- a dappled grey,


Mother’s frozen eye
Shadowed in red lashes;

[Riesa]

Wow, you really take me from a feeling of freshness and charm to cold horror, I got chills reading this.


“Give the world its colors”,
And has flashed a smile.
Everything came
In colors
Ever
Since.

this is wonderful! although I don't believe you need this 'has' here.



The summer was suddenly yellow,
The sun shone golden on the day.
The smile Mom gave was orange—
Dad’s words were crescent blue.
The li’l pup was brown.
The garden- green.

there's something about this that sits so well with me, especially this line :
"the li'l pup was brown"...reminiscent of Dick and Jane readers, but from an artist's eye. cool.


Virgil quoted the other lines that particularly stood out to me too.

this reminds me, in a way, though he's talking of listening and not of seeing, of something I read about Dylan Thomas the other day, (if you don't mind the tangent.) :)

words were to him "as the notes of bells, the sounds of musical instruments, the noises of wind, sea and rain, the rattle of milkcarts, the clopping of hooves on cobbles, the fingering of branches on the window pane, might be to someone, deaf from birth, who has miraculously found his hearing."

[motherhubbard]

Inspired by the Nonnet-form going on in the form poetry contest, i wrote this something in the form of nonnets, though in the last 2 stanzas i reversed the syllable order to give it a good shape altogether.


Scarlet

It was in a sunny summer’s morn
That Mother gave her the paint brush,
“Paint away, dear”, Ma has said,
“Give the world its colors”,
And has flashed a smile.
Everything came
In colors
Ever
Since.


The summer was suddenly yellow,
The sun shone golden on the day.
The smile Mom gave was orange—
Dad’s words were crescent blue.
The li’l pup was brown.
The garden- green.
The canvas
Ne’er was
White.



Then
One night
Those strange men
In green stormed in.
Shouting loud harsh words--
Their voices- a dark teal,
Their actions- a dappled grey,
The huge black guns screamed in their hands—
A moment later, the world turned red.


Red
With death,
Stilled and hushed,
And marooned deep—
Mother’s frozen eye
Shadowed in red lashes;
Dad lay in a pool of red.
The li’l paint brush rolled on the floor.
The world was now a world in scarlet.


On the Liberation War in Bangladesh, 1971.

this is vivid and wonderful. You are another young talent that amazes me.

[symphony]

In the middle of all this commenting and complimenting, I'd like to thank everyone who's taken the time to read it. :)
I dont write much(unless u count little haikus), it really is a pleasure to be so warmly complimented when I do. :)



This is wonderful, symphony! Out of all your poems I have read yet, I have liked this one the most! I have liked the whole idea. It's dark but effective.
Thanks so much. 'Dark but effective'- Exactly what i meant for it to be. :) Thanks again.

Wonderful Symphony. The two halves are so stark, and the form really adds to it. Goodness, it sent shivers down me. And such fine lines. Even a simple one such as this, "The sun shone golden on the day" has such subtle originality (the sun shining on the day).

Wow, you really take me from a feeling of freshness and charm to cold horror, I got chills reading this.

this is wonderful! although I don't believe you need this 'has' here.

Coming from u, Virgil and Riesa, those are great compliments and I really appreciate ur views. I'm keeping that "has" though.
Very glad that u liked it. :)


Form-shmorm - it's a damned good poem!
But u didnt like 'Scarlet' did u? :(


this is vivid and wonderful. You are another young talent that amazes me.
U should see the grin on my face :D .

So thanks everyone. :)

[Riesa]

:lol: perfect! reading it again, it all goes well as is, right on. :)

[Virgil]

words were to him "as the notes of bells, the sounds of musical instruments, the noises of wind, sea and rain, the rattle of milkcarts, the clopping of hooves on cobbles, the fingering of branches on the window pane, might be to someone, deaf from birth, who has miraculously found his hearing."

Interesting. The poet it reminded me of was Wallace Stevens. Here's one where he uses color to suggest emotion and ideas:


Peter Quince at the Clavier
by Wallace Stevens


I

Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the self-same sounds
On my spirit make a music, too.
Music is feeling, then, not sound;
And thus it is that what I feel,
Here in this room, desiring you,

Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,
Is music. It is like the strain
Waked in the elders by Susanna;

Of a green evening, clear and warm,
She bathed in her still garden, while
The red-eyed elders, watching, felt

The basses of their beings throb
In witching chords, and their thin blood
Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna.

II

In the green water, clear and warm,
Susanna lay.
She searched
The touch of springs,
And found
Concealed imaginings.
She sighed,
For so much melody.

Upon the bank, she stood
In the cool
Of spent emotions.
She felt, among the leaves,
The dew
Of old devotions.

She walked upon the grass,
Still quavering.
The winds were like her maids,
On timid feet,
Fetching her woven scarves,
Yet wavering.

A breath upon her hand
Muted the night.
She turned --
A cymbal crashed,
Amid roaring horns.

III

Soon, with a noise like tambourines,
Came her attendant Byzantines.

They wondered why Susanna cried
Against the elders by her side;

And as they whispered, the refrain
Was like a willow swept by rain.

Anon, their lamps' uplifted flame
Revealed Susanna and her shame.

And then, the simpering Byzantines
Fled, with a noise like tambourines.

IV

Beauty is momentary in the mind --
The fitful tracing of a portal;
But in the flesh it is immortal.

The body dies; the body's beauty lives.
So evenings die, in their green going,
A wave, interminably flowing.
So gardens die, their meek breath scenting
The cowl of winter, done repenting.
So maidens die, to the auroral
Celebration of a maiden's choral.

Susanna's music touched the bawdy strings
Of those white elders; but, escaping,
Left only Death's ironic scraping.
Now, in its immortality, it plays
On the clear viol of her memory,
And makes a constant sacrament of praise.

[Bii]

Inspired by the Nonnet-form going on in the form poetry contest, i wrote this something in the form of nonnets, though in the last 2 stanzas i reversed the syllable order to give it a good shape altogether.


Scarlet

It was in a sunny summer’s morn
That Mother gave her the paint brush,
“Paint away, dear”, Ma has said,
“Give the world its colors”,
And has flashed a smile.
Everything came
In colors
Ever
Since.


The summer was suddenly yellow,
The sun shone golden on the day.
The smile Mom gave was orange—
Dad’s words were crescent blue.
The li’l pup was brown.
The garden- green.
The canvas
Ne’er was
White.



Then
One night
Those strange men
In green stormed in.
Shouting loud harsh words--
Their voices- a dark teal,
Their actions- a dappled grey,
The huge black guns screamed in their hands—
A moment later, the world turned red.


Red
With death,
Stilled and hushed,
And marooned deep—
Mother’s frozen eye
Shadowed in red lashes;
Dad lay in a pool of red.
The li’l paint brush rolled on the floor.
The world was now a world in scarlet.


On the Liberation War in Bangladesh, 1971.

I like this symphony, and I think it could be even better with a little careful editing. You've got some excellent lines, many of which have been mentioned already, and the theme is emotive and very palpable. The final stanza was particularly strong, though I'd consider replacing one of the "red" with another word, as you've got it repeated in two consecutive lines.

I'm glad you're enjoying the nonnet form - once you've written one there's some sort of compulsion to write more, and it's quite common for the double nonnet to be used, one standard and one inverted - as you have done in stanza's 2 and 3.

Nicely done :)

[symphony]

Interesting. The poet it reminded me of was Wallace Stevens. Here's one where he uses color to suggest emotion and ideas:
Great one, Uncle Virg. *Sigh* I wonder if i'll ever be able to write like that!


I like this symphony, and I think it could be even better with a little careful editing. You've got some excellent lines, many of which have been mentioned already, and the theme is emotive and very palpable. The final stanza was particularly strong, though I'd consider replacing one of the "red" with another word, as you've got it repeated in two consecutive lines.

I'm glad you're enjoying the nonnet form - once you've written one there's some sort of compulsion to write more, and it's quite common for the double nonnet to be used, one standard and one inverted - as you have done in stanza's 2 and 3.

Nicely done :)

Thanks Bii. Yeah this form's quite addictive. About the repeatation of "red", i noticed it too and was debating on whether to change the beginning of the final stanza. Does "Stained| With death" sound any better?

[Riesa]

Peter Quince at the Clavier
by Wallace Stevens


I

Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the self-same sounds
On my spirit make a music, too.
Music is feeling, then, not sound;
And thus it is that what I feel,
Here in this room, desiring you,

Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,
Is music. It is like the strain
Waked in the elders by Susanna;

Of a green evening, clear and warm,
She bathed in her still garden, while
The red-eyed elders, watching, felt

The basses of their beings throb
In witching chords, and their thin blood
Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna.

II

In the green water, clear and warm,
Susanna lay.
She searched
The touch of springs,
And found
Concealed imaginings.
She sighed,
For so much melody.

Upon the bank, she stood
In the cool
Of spent emotions.
She felt, among the leaves,
The dew
Of old devotions.

She walked upon the grass,
Still quavering.
The winds were like her maids,
On timid feet,
Fetching her woven scarves,
Yet wavering.

A breath upon her hand
Muted the night.
She turned --
A cymbal crashed,
Amid roaring horns.

III

Soon, with a noise like tambourines,
Came her attendant Byzantines.

They wondered why Susanna cried
Against the elders by her side;

And as they whispered, the refrain
Was like a willow swept by rain.

Anon, their lamps' uplifted flame
Revealed Susanna and her shame.

And then, the simpering Byzantines
Fled, with a noise like tambourines.

IV

Beauty is momentary in the mind --
The fitful tracing of a portal;
But in the flesh it is immortal.

The body dies; the body's beauty lives.
So evenings die, in their green going,
A wave, interminably flowing.
So gardens die, their meek breath scenting
The cowl of winter, done repenting.
So maidens die, to the auroral
Celebration of a maiden's choral.

Susanna's music touched the bawdy strings
Of those white elders; but, escaping,
Left only Death's ironic scraping.
Now, in its immortality, it plays
On the clear viol of her memory,
And makes a constant sacrament of praise.


oooh lah.

[symphony]

exactly :D

(makes me sigh though! :( )

[Bii]

Thanks Bii. Yeah this form's quite addictive. About the repeatation of "red", i noticed it too and was debating on whether to change the beginning of the final stanza. Does "Stained| With death" sound any better?

Yes, stained with death sounds good. How about:

Stained
With death,
Stilled and hushed,
And marooned deep—
Mother’s frozen eye
Shadowed in red lashes;
Dad lay in a russet pool.
The li’l paint brush rolled on the floor.
The world was now a world in scarlet.

?

[symphony]

i wonder if the various shades/synonyms of "red" (as in maroon, scarlet) sounds too much for the usage of another one (russet) though?
Instead of that, would the repeatation of "red" sound odd?

[Bii]

i wonder if the various shades/synonyms of "red" (as in maroon, scarlet) sounds too much for the usage of another one (russet) though?
Instead of that, would the repeatation of "red" sound odd?

That is how you have it at the moment, but with the two lines together it really stands out, as follows:


Shadowed in red lashes;
Dad lay in a pool of red.

So, in the original version you have the word 'red' three times in the same stanza.

I would be inclined to change two of them to something else, and for some reason I'd leave 'shadowed in red lashes' the way it is, because it just feels right. How about:

Stained
With death,
Stilled and hushed,
And marooned deep—
Mother’s frozen eye
Shadowed in red lashes;
Dad lay in a spreading pool.
The li’l paint brush rolled on the floor.
The world was now a world in scarlet.

Or something along those lines?
Or ignore me! Either is fine ;)

[formality hater]

I simply loved it!:)

[symphony]

Bii,
Sounds good that way too... but I'll do this:

Stained
With death,
Stilled and hushed,
And marooned deep—
Mother’s frozen eye
Shadowed in red lashes;
There lay Dad, glasses askew.
The li’l paint brush rolled on the floor.
The world was now a world in scarlet.

[symphony]

I simply loved it!:)

:) thanks.

[Virgil]

Great one, Uncle Virg. *Sigh* I wonder if i'll ever be able to write like that!



Well, Wallace Stevens is in my opinion the finest American poet of the 20th century. Even finer than T.S. Eliot, who I also love. Stevens is a little hard to understand, and I don't claim to always understand, but his poetry is well worth reading and studying.

[symphony]

I havent read any of his works, except the one u posted a while ago.
I'll try to get hold of some of his poems. :)
Understanding a poem is a pleasure I rarely encounter. But there are still these poems where u just like the way it sounds. I love those poems too. :) Feels likes a beautiful mystery behind a veil which I crave to touch but cant.

[Virgil]

I havent read any of his works, except the one u posted a while ago.
I'll try to get hold of some of his poems. :)
Understanding a poem is a pleasure I rarely encounter. But there are still these poems where u just like the way it sounds. I love those poems too. :) Feels likes a beautiful mystery behind a veil which I crave to touch but cant.

Oh Wallace Stevens loved th sound of words. He wrote some poems not because of any high philosophic meaning, but just for the sounds. Check out this one:


Bantams in Pine-woods
by Wallace Stevens

Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan
Of tan with henna hackles, halt!

Damned universal c**k, as if the sun
Was blackmoor to bear your blazing tail.

Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! I am the personal.
Your world is you. I am my world.

You ten-foot poet among inchlings. Fat!
Begone! An inchling bristles in these pines,

Bristles, and points their Appalachian tangs,
And fears not portly Azcan nor his hoos.

He doesn't mean that word that got stars in any sexual sense.

[ktd222]

For Paul Celan, music derives from here:

With a variable key
you unlock the house in which
drifts the snow of that left unspoken.
Always what key you choose
depends on the blood that spurts
from your eye or your mouth or your ear.

You vary the key, you vary the word
that is free to drift with the flakes.
What snowball will form round the word
depends on the wind that rebuffs you.


P.S. Hope this doesn't give anyone nightmares

[Bii]

Bii,
Sounds good that way too... but I'll do this:

Stained
With death,
Stilled and hushed,
And marooned deep—
Mother’s frozen eye
Shadowed in red lashes;
There lay Dad, glasses askew.
The li’l paint brush rolled on the floor.
The world was now a world in scarlet.

I like this :)

It is a wonderful poem symphony.

[symphony]

Oh Wallace Stevens loved th sound of words. He wrote some poems not because of any high philosophic meaning, but just for the sounds. Check out this one:

Cool one. I do like the way it sounds! :D


For Paul Celan, music derives from here:

With a variable key
you unlock the house in which
drifts the snow of that left unspoken.
Always what key you choose
depends on the blood that spurts
from your eye or your mouth or your ear.

You vary the key, you vary the word
that is free to drift with the flakes.
What snowball will form round the word
depends on the wind that rebuffs you.


P.S. Hope this doesn't give anyone nightmares
wow ....

[symphony]

I like this :)

It is a wonderful poem symphony.

And thanks again, Bii.
I appreciate the suggestions u've provided to help me improve.
Glad that u like it.

[Pendragon]

Inspired by the Nonnet-form going on in the form poetry contest, i wrote this something in the form of nonnets, though in the last 2 stanzas i reversed the syllable order to give it a good shape altogether.


Scarlet

It was in a sunny summer’s morn
That Mother gave her the paint brush,
“Paint away, dear”, Ma has said,
“Give the world its colors”,
And has flashed a smile.
Everything came
In colors
Ever
Since.


The summer was suddenly yellow,
The sun shone golden on the day.
The smile Mom gave was orange—
Dad’s words were crescent blue.
The li’l pup was brown.
The garden- green.
The canvas
Ne’er was
White.



Then
One night
Those strange men
In green stormed in.
Shouting loud harsh words--
Their voices- a dark teal,
Their actions- a dappled grey,
The huge black guns screamed in their hands—
A moment later, the world turned red.


Red
With death,
Stilled and hushed,
And marooned deep—
Mother’s frozen eye
Shadowed in red lashes;
There lay Dad, glasses askew.
The li’l paint brush rolled on the floor.
The world was now a world in scarlet.


On the Liberation War in Bangladesh, 1971.

C'est merveilleux! I admit I wonder what color "crescent blue" is, but the poem, merveilleux! Colors always seem to me the best for expressing emotions. If you are not too timid, check out the two sestinas on my blog http://www.online-literature.com/forums/blogs/viewblog.php?userid=6613

Pen

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

[symphony]

Yes it was worth checking, Uncle Pen. I ...erm...*gulp* commented.