Somewhere Beyond Death

[white camellia]

Tell me if you like it, or the other way around...

The pause of our demure corresponding and
The interruption of our literate experience
Locked me in a room for pseudo science ―
Brimming with shady illusions, urgent and
Wet, unfit for self-cultivation on the land
Of remoteness, somewhere beyond death; my conscience,
Obscure and shaky, gropes lines amid omniscience:
If I had not a body, what could harm me? ―But my hand
Shakes, my eyes aching, with the knowledge
Of your substance alive and your heart awake
Your words warm but not cold as those hedged
In poets' graves by the irresponsive lake
Somewhere beyond death, beyond your luminous attic, take,
Maybe, me to a fair water's edge

[Pendragon]

Camellia, your imagery is great. I think that you are allowing yourself to be too bound by meter to really let the poem flow. I say this to everyone, so don't feel disturbed. Never allow the poem to rule you or casuse you to choose wording. Rule the poem if it means bending the rules. I have never had a poem rejected on the grounds that my meter or form was off by a bit. I have had them rejected for stilted language, forced rhyme, and just plain old careless spelling and grammer mistakes.

In your poem, when I read it aloud, something doesn't flow well, the first 8 lines aren't bad, but a little stilted and over use of the word "and". What really is out of place is in this line:

"Somewhere beyond death, beyond your luminous attic, take,"

It is a wonderful line, but the only reason for the word "take" is to keep up the rhyme, so it is forced to be there, and both looks and sounds out of place.

It is too darn good a poem to trash, it just needs a bit or rework. As I said the first 8 lines are good, cut down on the use of "and" find another word to rhyme.

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Cheers.gif

[white camellia]

I appreciate so much your comment, Pen, and you just made me smile. :D
So here I have a version of broken rhymes.

The pause of our demure corresponding,
The interruption of our literate experience,
Locked me in a room for pseudo science ―
Brimming with shady illusions, urgent and wet,
Unfit for self-cultivation on the land of remoteness,
Somewhere beyond death,
My conscience, obscure and shaky,
Gropes lines amid omniscience:
If I had not a body, what could harm me? ―
But my hand shakes, my eyes aching, with the knowledge
Of your substance alive and your heart awake;
Your words warm but not cold as those hedged
In poets' graves by the irresponsive lake.
Somewhere beyond death, beyond your luminous attic,
Take, maybe, me to a fair water's edge.

[blp]

The first two lines feel a bit overwritten to me, but the there are lots of the briliant surprises I should have come to expect from your work, except that they're surprises. 'shady illusions, urgent and wet'.

I wonder if the word you want in L7 is 'consciousness' not 'conscience'.

L12, not sure you need 'but'. Just a comma would probably do it.

The last three lines are magic, especially, saving the best for last, the last line with its 'maybe'.

[white camellia]

The pause of our demure corresponding,
The interruption of our literate experience,
Locked me in a room for pseudo science ―
Brimming with shady illusions, urgent and wet,
Unfit for self-cultivation on the land of remoteness,
Somewhere beyond death,
My consciousness, obscure and shaky,
Gropes lines amid omniscience:
If I had not a body, what could harm me? ―
But my hand shakes, my eyes aching, with the knowledge
Of your substance alive and your heart awake;
Your words warm, not cold as those hedged
In poets' graves by the irresponsive lake.
Somewhere beyond death, beyond your luminous attic,
Take, maybe, me to a fair water's edge.

[white camellia]

The demure corresponding has
Locked me in a room of
Shady illusions, urgent and wet,
Unfit for self-cultivation
On the land of remoteness,
Somewhere beyond death,
Obscure and shaky,
Groping lines amid omniscience:
If I had this body not, what could harm me?
But my hand shakes, my eyes aching, with the knowledge
Of your substance alive and your heart awake;
Your words are warm, not like those
In poets' graves by the irresponsive lake.
Somewhere beyond death, beyond your luminous attic,
Take, maybe, me to a fair water's edge.

[blp]

I prefer the long lines version. And it's growing on me. 'If I had this body not' is definitely not as good as the older version.

[white camellia]

The demure corresponding,
The literate experience,
Locked me in a room for pseudo science ―
Brimming with shady illusions, urgent and wet,
Unfit for self-cultivation on the land of remoteness,
Somewhere beyond death,
My consciousness, obscure and shaky,
Gropes lines amid omniscience:
If I had not a body, what could harm me? ―
But my hand shakes, my eyes aching, with the knowledge
Of your substance alive and your heart awake;
Your words warm, not cold as those hedged
In poets' graves by the irresponsive lake.
Somewhere beyond death, beyond your luminous attic,
Take, maybe, me to a fair water's edge.

[Pendragon]

You came, you saw, you delivered! For myself, your second verson would have done the job, but this last one is still strong and vibrant with energy and images. I knew you had that poem in there! Never give up on a poem. If it's worth starting, it's worth doing what ever it takes to make it work! Good job!

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/BonApitite.gif

[blp]

It's easy to get lost in it all, but I'm pretty sure the last version is best.

[white camellia]

The demure corresponding,
The literate experience,
Locked me in a room for pseudo science ―

Brimming with shady illusions, urgent and wet,

Unfit for self-cultivation on the land of remoteness,
Somewhere beyond death,
My consciousness, obscure and shaky,
Gropes lines amid omniscience:
If I had not a body, what could harm me? ―

But my hand shakes, my eyes aching, with the knowledge
Of your substance alive and your heart awake;
Your words warm, not cold as those hedged
In poets' graves by the irresponsive lake.

Somewhere beyond death, beyond your luminous attic,

Take, maybe, me to a fair water's edge.