An Epitaph

[white camellia]

Since the day my death is exacted
It does not matter if the named shadow should
Be the reality to hold nor is the deceased spared
In a thousand words nor that my soul shrouded
In deadly silence has wandered ever since

Since the day my death is exacted
It does matter on whom you bestow another
Example and which seed of flowers you choose
Shall bloom while the yoke of fate
I am obliged to bear should serve

[PrinceMyshkin]

The syntax isn't the easiest to follow but even the difficulties of it add to the oracular solemnity of this poem.

[blp]

Very beautiful. I like the difficult syntax. The old-fashioned convention of capitalising first words in each line adds to the confusion and, thereby, the ambiguity. I'm reading Rilke a little lately and there's something of that about this, as well as all the Emily Dickinson poems about her own death as if it's already happened. The difficulty also masks repetition that could seem almost childlike otherwise.

That said, I can't swear to it, but I think you might want 'has wandered ever since' end of S1.

[jon1jt]

This starts confusing, ends abstractly, and one I can still call an excellent piece of poetry. It has a binding energy, melodic, even formal structure with the caps, which I like very much---what I mean is the flow of language is the poem. There's still a lot I don't like, Cam---it's metapoetical from line 1 on. Fate capital F and the garden metaphor take away. It speaks to itself to the point of befuddling. By the end, it keeps more than it gives.

[white camellia]

Thank you, Prince and blp. But I have no difficulty with the syntax at all.

And I just came up with another:

Paradox of Love

You had love you gave never more,
I had love you took as that of a fickle
Mind where it had been abused.

So love, though lodged with us,
Was useless but sublime as terror -
How we had lived without it.



jon, thank you. But what is about 'metapoetical' in this poem?

[PrinceMyshkin]

Paradox of Love

You had love you gave never more,
I had love you took as that of a fickle
Mind where it had been abused.

So love, though lodged with us,
Was useless but sublime as terror -
How we had lived without it.

I'm astounded at how you seem to work like some sculptors are said to do: chipping away at all the extraneous stuff until what is left but nothing but the form that was concealed in the block of marble.



jon, thank you. But what is about 'metapoetical' in this poem?

I don't believe you'll get an answer to this as I understand that Jon has left the site. You might try posting this on Writersforum.com where I believe he currently hangs out, I have no idea under what name.

[white camellia]

I'm astounded at how you seem to work like some sculptors are said to do: chipping away at all the extraneous stuff until what is left but nothing but the form that was concealed in the block of marble.
What a wonderful comment! Sculptors, oh, I wish...maybe someday.

I don't believe you'll get an answer to this as I understand that Jon has left the site. You might try posting this on Writersforum.com where I believe he currently hangs out, I have no idea under what name.
Oh, well, but the site does not work, thank you though.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I'm astounded at how you seem to work like some sculptors are said to do: chipping away at all the extraneous stuff until what is left but nothing but the form that was concealed in the block of marble.
What a wonderful comment! Sculptors, oh, I wish...maybe someday.

I don't believe you'll get an answer to this as I understand that Jon has left the site. You might try posting this on Writersforum.com where I believe he currently hangs out, I have no idea under what name.
Oh, well, but the site does not work, thank you though.

No, because I quoted the name wrong. It should have been: http://www.writingforums.com/

Good luck.

[white camellia]

Thanks, Prince. This works.