View of a Working Man

[Il Penseroso]

this was originally part of the Sanskrit poet's game, though I've made some edits to make it more personal. If you'd like to see the original, I refer you through the annals (two posts or so up) in that thread.




A wheelbarrow still
stands in Minnesota twilight
with an expression
of obtuse discordance,
the metal twists and rusted bolts
bent under the strain of weary hands
grappling with an uncontrolled
inclination to topple, without
theft of balance,
is still a meaning without focus
and uncentered in this world.

The break of furtive atoms
is no more a mystery than
the way his fingers slide and tumble
in dust like the rolling tongue
of water spread from crackling
valves into mounds of dirt.

In the charged air of afternoons
his human eye glistened,
the pulse his voice carried
was more than motion
pushed through veins,
and I will rest his speech
alongside the stones.

[kiz_paws]

I did not find the game you referred to, IP, so if someone has a link t'would be most appreciated ... ;)

Nonetheless, I really loved this poem! :)

Though the entire poem captivated my attention and my smiles, my favorite lines would have to be:
with an expression
of obtuse discordance.and
and I will rest his speech
alongside the stonesAmazing stuff! :thumbs_up

[Il Penseroso]

thanks kiz, I'm glad you liked it.

Here (http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=14298&page=6) is where the original is located

[PrinceMyshkin]

So many telling details, seemingly spontaneous flow and an utter absence of authorial ego, and you bring it to such a triumphant conclusion with


I will rest his speech
alongside the stones.

[jon1jt]

A wheelbarrow still
stands in Minnesota twilight
with an expression
of obtuse discordance,
the metal twists and rusted bolts
bent under strain from wearied hands
grappling with an uncontrolled
inclination to topple, without
theft of balance,
is still a meaning without focus
and uncentered in this world.

The break of furtive atoms
is no more a mystery than
the way his fingers slide and tumble
in dust like the rolling tongue
of water spread from crackling
valves into mounds of dirt.

In the charged air of afternoons
his human eye glistened with more spark
than 10,000 atom thrusts at crime,
the pulse his voice carried
was more than motion
pushed through veins,
and I will rest his speech
alongside the stones.

Okay, before I kick my heels and celebrate with you over how keats-esque your poesy is, ;) let me point out some minor things that bugged me. Oh you know what I mean. :p

To begin, I don't know what the hell this means. Perhaps that's my fault.


of obtuse discordance,

I've seen each word used separately, but never together. That's all I'm going to say about that. And just so you know, I like how you set up the image that comes like a snap shot right before you go into a very raw description about metal and rusty bolts. :thumbs_up

The last two lines of S1 are overextended, runny. Perhaps it's "is still" and "and" ---I'm not sure.

Lastly, charge and spark---thrust and pulse and motion. I don't get anymore in meaning when I come to the second of each than what was earned from the first.

I bolded some words that are...er...superfluous...just a little (in my humble opinion :p )

I don't think you need to even bother pointing out that the charged air is the afternoon's. Open him up to the forces of nature like you do in what follows.

You dropped that last line into this forum and it went off like an atom bomb, cleared the air, made the landscape your own, as great lines do. IP, it's just brilliant, my favorite of yours, and overall, if I may say, the poem as well.

May the wheelbarrows of spring sing again, as yours has, maestro. :nod:

[AuntShecky]

I'm going to save this and give it a more thorough reading a little later, but allow me a brief initial comment:

anytime a new writer takes on a well-known topic, a cultural "icon," if you will, he or she must either be courageous or is not familiar with the original work. It would be like one of us attempting to do a remake of Hamlet!

In your case, the "wheelbarrow" is one of the most important images in modern American poetry. Of course I mean the famous tiny poem by William Carlos Williams.

[jon1jt]

I'm going to save this and give it a more thorough reading a little later, but allow me a brief initial comment:

anytime a new writer takes on a well-known topic, a cultural "icon," if you will, he or she must either be courageous or is not familiar with the original work. It would be like one of us attempting to do a remake of Hamlet!

In your case, the "wheelbarrow" is one of the most important images in modern American poetry. Of course I mean the famous tiny poem by William Carlos Williams.

I agree with what you're saying. But I think Williams never took possession of that wheelbarrow in the way of Plath's Tulips or say Robert Frost's Wall. Williams is a great poet, there's no doubting that. His Wheelbarrow is, however, a cute little poem. IP gives us more than Williams' Wheelbarrow could ever give, and I'd kick it off its cloudy cliff and replace it any day with what we have here.

The gods of poetry are indeed gods and on their poems we hang laurel wreaths. And sometimes mistakenly so. :)

[Il Penseroso]

AuntShecky,
Yes, the Williams poem is something I am quite familiar with, and something I did have in mind as something not to do while writing this piece. My poem is not meant really to be about a wheelbarrow. Where "The Red Wheelbarrow" is a poem that seeks to contain an image in itself, I meant to hint at my impression of this image and its relation to its surroundings, namely the man and myself.

Williams' poem in particular is one I think deserves reinterpretation (as opposed to writing a poem about a Greek urn). He may have stated the facts, but it is perhaps left to other poets to reply that the facts aren't always enough; suggestion and the viewer should have their places, at least as far as I'm concerned (in this piece :)).



jon,
thanks for the generous defense and comments. I've got to go for now, to run around with little kids for a few hours, but should be back later to give some specific thoughts on your criticisms and ideas.

[kiz_paws]

thanks kiz, I'm glad you liked it.

Here (http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=14298&page=6) is where the original is located
Thank-you for pointing me in that direction, IP.

You are brave to be in such a thread...

[Aside Note: We have genius here at LitNet. Honest.] :nod:

Carry on! :p

[Il Penseroso]

To begin, I don't know what the hell [obtuse discordance] means. Perhaps that's my fault.


hmm, I like this, and I've had others say the same. I see where you're coming from, but I still like the pause this phrase conjurs, particularly after that snapshot you so liked.





The last two lines of S1 are overextended, runny. Perhaps it's "is still" and "and" ---I'm not sure.



I made some edits, not specifically where you pointed out, but maybe they fix how the rhythm is carried through?

I expected to get the overextended/runny response from the second stanza.




I don't think you need to even bother pointing out that the charged air is the afternoon's. Open him up to the forces of nature like you do in what follows.



The mention of afternoon is supposed to be tied to twilight (relatively) with the tense shifts, to give some sort of particular (or open-ended) interpretation. I'm not really sure if it's graspable though.


thank you for the suggestions, they are very much appreciated.

[Countess]

I like this one also, though I can't say why (I'm high right now - there's the thing). I think, too, I understand why I can't /don't write like everyone else - and thank-you very much for that break-through.

My favorite is the forking water like a tongue. Nicely done.

[jon1jt]

(I'm high right now - there's the thing).


Amen sister. And I got my red wine handy. Artists are born screwed.