The Furious Love of Small Things

[~Sophia~]

The Furious Love of Small Things


How long will you stand with the ruins
in that necropolis, the tallest of your kind.

Northern body in a leaden overcoat.
Southern vines half hitch your throat,
the echo of a conch - mollusk
evacuated long ago.

Can you see the depth of your eyes in mine;
hear the blood ocean calling you home?

Can you feel my small hands circling your face
in the urgent way of a hummingbird with
machete wings?

[PrinceMyshkin]

This is somewhere between genius and a badly truncated horror story. It's savage in the way it goes from the seeming leisurely way you set it up in that wealth of images, to that plunge into the machete wings!!!!

Amazing in the way it goes from a flamenco dance to a short, sharp stab of a dagger-blade!

[~Sophia~]

Well I hope the general concession is not that it's a badly truncated horror story!

I was sure the title "The Furious Love Of Small Things" would lead the reader to an understanding that, the humming bird with machete wings is trying to slash through the mossy growth, the choking vines... save a life. An act of love.

[Virgil]

Yes, I agree with Prince. The poem is outstanding but I don't know what to make of the machete wings. I was reading along in pleasure and then when i came to the wings, I shuddered. Wow, it is quite startling. For such a contrast, you need to have a pretty good reason. The poem is somewhat vague (not necessarily a bad thing) for me to judge the significance of that image and the contrast. One will certainly remember it. :D

[~Sophia~]

Hi Virgil. I guess that's two for two. Ah well, my red pencil is always ready. If it didn't convey what I responded to Prince then the poem failed.

I'll have to put my thinking cap on and see what I can do to make the intent clear. It's funny but I've always thought of humming birds as having machete wings.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Well I hope the general concession is not that it's a badly truncated horror story!

I was sure the title "The Furious Love Of Small Things" would lead the reader to an understanding that, the humming bird with machete wings is trying to slash through the mossy growth, the choking vines... save a life. An act of love.

Was hoping to be able to edit my comment before anyone saw it so that I could substitute "grand guignol" for horror story. But as for your hope that this would be seen as an act of love, you might want to reconsider the "furious" in the title.

[Virgil]

Hi Virgil. I guess that's two for two. Ah well, my red pencil is always ready. If it didn't convey what I responded to Prince then the poem failed.

I'll have to put my thinking cap on and see what I can do to make the intent clear. It's funny but I've always thought of humming birds as having machete wings.

Well, don't throw the baby out with the bath water. There is some fine poetry in there.

Northern body in a leaden overcoat.
Southern vines half hitch your throat,
the echo of a conch - mollusk
evacuated long ago.
"Half-hitch your throat! Excellent. :) And really the last stanza was excellent too until the machete wings:

Can you feel my small hands circling your face
in the urgent way of a hummingbird with
How about "stuttering wings" or "wrenching wings" or "percussive wings" or "lurching wings" or palpatating wings?"

[~Sophia~]

Was hoping to be able to edit my comment before anyone saw it so that I could substitute "grand guignol" for horror story. I had to look that up and it's even worse.:eek: "The name is often used as a general term for graphic, amoral horror entertainment."

Furious also means passionate, lively, unrestrained, energy, speed. The firemen worked furiously to cut the man out of the car wreck.

Thanks for giving me lots of things to consider in a potential re-write.

[~Sophia~]

And really the last stanza was excellent too until the machete wings:

How about "stuttering wings" or "wrenching wings" or "percussive wings" or "lurching wings" or palpatating wings?"

I think it's the personal interpretation of machete that is the problem here.

On the island they are sold in every corner store and 9 out of 10 men carry one with them all day. For cutting down sugar cane, thrashing the overgrowth in fields, cutting the tops off coconuts etc etc.

Very few people here can afford lawn movers, tractors, hedge clippers and the machete is probably the most common tool in the Caribbean. Truthfully, I never even considered it as a weapon in writing the poem.

I still really like the visual so I'd rather try to find another way to clarify the hummingbird machete wings. Thanks Virgil. I really appreciate your honest reaction!

[Silas Thorne]

Just saw the poem and I must admit I was rather lost in it, although I was very impressed by the weight and beauty of the words that you have used in it.

I saw the 'machete-wings' and connected it with 'necropolis' the 'leaden overcoat' and the 'vines half hitch your throat' and I saw only images of death, but I saw something quite different in these lines:

Can you see the depth of your eyes in mine;
hear the blood ocean calling you home?

I've tried not to take into account anything you wrote above about your intentions, and have just tried to react from the poem itself.

[~Sophia~]

Just saw the poem and I must admit I was rather lost in it, although I was very impressed by the weight and beauty of the words that you have used in it.

Hi Silas! Thanks for taking the time to give me your initial reaction. I find I often have to read a poem more than once to decipher the clues but I’m afraid in this case I may have left too much between the lines.




I saw the 'machete-wings' and connected it with 'necropolis' the 'leaden overcoat' and the 'vines half hitch your throat' and I saw only images of death, but I saw something quite different in these lines:

Can you see the depth of your eyes in mine;
hear the blood ocean calling you home?

The poem is not about real death. It's about someone that has given up on living and the person who still loves and wants to save him.
______________________________

How long will you stand with the ruins
in that necropolis, the tallest of your kind.
(she’s asking how long he will live with one foot in the grave)

Northern body in a leaden overcoat.
Southern vines half hitch your throat,
the echo of a conch - mollusk
evacuated long ago.
(she describes his coldness, silence, suicidal thoughts, spiritual emptiness)

Can you see the depth of your eyes in mine;
hear the blood ocean calling you home?
(she is asking if he still hears her, can she bring him out of despair)

Can you feel my small hands circling your face
in the urgent way of a hummingbird with
machete wings?
(she is trying desperately to reach him, save him)



I've tried not to take into account anything you wrote above about your intentions, and have just tried to react from the poem itself.

Thank you again Silas. I don’t know how much I’ll add in the edit, I don’t want this to become a telly love poem. I’ve got to find the right balance between too much and not enough. Cheers!

[a_little_wisp]

Whoa, Sophia. Whoa. Dark, scary, wonderfully written - I didn't see it as an act of love, first. The image of the machete wings was a bit terrifying. Now that you've explained though, I see it! :D I like this!

[~Sophia~]

Thanks Ms. Wisp but I can see I have work to do on this one. It won't always come packaged with all the explanations. Scalpel!

[PrinceMyshkin]

I had to look that up and it's even worse.:eek: "The name is often used as a general term for graphic, amoral horror entertainment."

Furious also means passionate, lively, unrestrained, energy, speed. The firemen worked furiously to cut the man out of the car wreck.

Thanks for giving me lots of things to consider in a potential re-write.

Apologies for my impressionistic use of Grande Guignol: I should have looked up the full dictionary meaning of it.

As for "Furious" you surely won't overlook that it also means very angry. However one took it in the title, when one encounters the hands circling his face and most of all the "machete wings", one is thrown back to that earlier "furious" - a line appears to have been drawn all through the poem? See my responses to your detailed explanation.

And there is an interesting issue for me in your contemplation of editting the poem. It is not so much wrong as it stands but, I think, violently in-you-face. The issue is whether all poems should be tweaked, burnished or whatever until they are brilliantly polished gems - or are there those, like this one, that are better encountered in their somewhat raw, imperfect state? Now and then, I much prefer the latter, like a raw and bloody piece of the poet's heart.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Hi Silas! Thanks for taking the time to give me your initial reaction. I find I often have to read a poem more than once to decipher the clues but I’m afraid in this case I may have left too much between the lines.



The poem is not about real death. It's about someone that has given up on living and the person who still loves and wants to save him.
______________________________

How long will you stand with the ruins
in that necropolis, the tallest of your kind.
(she’s asking how long he will live with one foot in the grave)
But his kind, in the necropolis is merely the tallest among the deade, dead but perhaps not yet fully resigned to that state



Northern body in a leaden overcoat.
Southern vines half hitch your throat,
the echo of a conch - mollusk
evacuated long ago.
(she describes his coldness, silence, suicidal thoughts, spiritual emptiness)
On the other hand, the vines may be the vegation that grows up on or around an unburied corpse.


Can you see the depth of your eyes in mine;
hear the blood ocean calling you home?
(she is asking if he still hears her, can she bring him out of despair)
That depth - in view of the ominous "blood ocean" may be the depths of their mutually violent feelings for each other



Can you feel my small hands circling your face
in the urgent way of a hummingbird with
machete wings?
(she is trying desperately to reach him, save him)

There is already an element of menace in those "small hands circling" his face. And a machete - entirely notwithstanding its local use - is, I think, for most of us, the tool used for cutting down e.g. sugar cane or in the hands of the Hutus, cutting down the Tutsis.

Freud said (quoting from memory) that love always contains an element of cruelty.

I would be interested to see, but fearful of, any changes you make to this extraordinary poem, but I'm keeping the original in a file of poems I love.

[ampoule]

I adore the title of this and I heard nothing of malice, but only desperation.
I feel deeply this line..."Can you see the depth of your eyes in mine;
hear the blood ocean calling you home?" Again, a desperation.
"Small hands circling your face"...tender, loving, sweet, and the machete wings reminded me of butterfly kisses.
I wouldn't change a thing. Loved it.

[SleepyWitch]

hey Sophia, I like this a lot. I didn't have any trouble deciphering its meaning, except I didn't necessarily feel that the guy has suicidal thoughts. I did get the coldness, silence, spiritual emptiness, though. From your portrayal he sounds more like someone who is a bit lifeless and past despair or suicidal thoughts, more like someone who lives in his own bubble and has shut himself off from the world. If that's what you had in mind, then I think the machete bit is OK. If the guy doesn't want to be 'saved' etc the girls attempts would seem violent to him.

[~Sophia~]

Prince:


As for "Furious" you surely won't overlook that it also means very angry. However one took it in the title, when one encounters the hands circling his face and most of all the "machete wings", one is thrown back to that earlier "furious" -

I’m surprised you neglect the word Love in the title. Have you ever seen birds mating mid air? A she-bear protecting her cub? A mother fighting for the life of her child? They are all furious love.

A poem is read by a hundred people, each takes away a meaning based on their own lives, history.



It is not so much wrong as it stands but, I think, violently in-you-face.

I’m not sure I understand your meaning of wrong. Are there grammatical errors or typos? What’s wrong with it being in-your-face?

Shouldn’t a poem invoke something in the reader? A contemplation?


like a raw and bloody piece of the poet's heart.

Why do you call that imperfection? Isn’t every poem ever written exactly that?

__________line drawn___________________



But his kind, in the necropolis is merely the tallest among the deade, dead but perhaps not yet fully resigned to that state

Actually it’s written “stand with the ruins” monuments, gravestones, markers, memorials.


On the other hand, the vines may be the vegation that grows up on or around an unburied corpse.

There is no corpse but a necropolis is an old cemetery. Vines have grown over the monuments. He’s been standing with these monuments for so long, they cover and choke him now too.


That depth - in view of the ominous "blood ocean" may be the depths of their mutually violent feelings for each other

Blood and Ocean’s are the source of life. She is calling him back to life. Again, personal interpretation.


There is already an element of menace in those "small hands circling" his face. And a machete - entirely notwithstanding its local use - is, I think, for most of us, the tool used for cutting down e.g. sugar cane or in the hands of the Hutus, cutting down the Tutsis.

Freud said (quoting from memory) that love always contains an element of cruelty.

Have a lover’s or a child’s hands never gently circled your face or as ampoule so aptly put it “butterfly kisses”? Did your mother or wife never pat your forehead, wipe away the sweat when you were sick?


I would be interested to see, but fearful of, any changes you make to this extraordinary poem, but I'm keeping the original in a file of poems I love.

Whether I edit this poem or not Prince, one thing I think I can be certain of, it’s evoked a lot of feelings in you. Thanks for this furious discussion on it’s meanings! :)

[~Sophia~]

I adore the title of this and I heard nothing of malice, but only desperation.
I feel deeply this line..."Can you see the depth of your eyes in mine;
hear the blood ocean calling you home?" Again, a desperation.
"Small hands circling your face"...tender, loving, sweet, and the machete wings reminded me of butterfly kisses.
I wouldn't change a thing. Loved it.

Whew, and thanks!!! It thrills me to know that you read it this way!!

______________________________________________


SleepyWitch... thanks for reading and commenting!


Originally Posted by SleepyWitch
I didn't necessarily feel that the guy has suicidal thoughts. I did get the coldness, silence, spiritual emptiness, though. From your portrayal he sounds more like someone who is a bit lifeless and past despair or suicidal thoughts,

Would you agree that someone who has given up on life to this degree has already slashed his wrists and is waiting to die? Metaphorically speaking of course. A dead man walking?

[PrinceMyshkin]

Prince:



I’m surprised you neglect the word Love in the title. Have you ever seen birds mating mid air? A she-bear protecting her cub? A mother fighting for the life of her child? They are all furious love.

Of course I held the term "furious love" in abeyance to see what resolution the poem might provide of those sometimes antithetical words.


A poem is read by a hundred people, each takes away a meaning based on their own lives, history.




I’m not sure I understand your meaning of wrong. Are there grammatical errors or typos? What’s wrong with it being in-your-face?

What was/is wrong to me and possibly only to me is that I long to understand something or someone I deeply love - and I deeply love this poem, and the in-your-faceness of those small hands circling and the machete wings is that it required a new, re-reading of the poem. Not at all a bad things by any means, but in contradiction with your offered explanation.




Shouldn’t a poem invoke something in the reader? A contemplation?



Why do you call that imperfection? Isn’t every poem ever written exactly that?

__________line drawn___________________




Actually it’s written “stand with the ruins” monuments, gravestones, markers, memorials.



There is no corpse but a necropolis is an old cemetery. Vines have grown over the monuments. He’s been standing with these monuments for so long, they cover and choke him now too.



Blood and Ocean’s are the source of life. She is calling him back to life. Again, personal interpretation.



Have a lover’s or a child’s hands never gently circled your face or as ampoule so aptly put it “butterfly kisses”? Did your mother or wife never pat your forehead, wipe away the sweat when you were sick?

I assumed, and still assume that "small" is there for a reason. It might of course be taken to mean "tender" but in my reading it iterates the persona's relative impotence before this lead-cloaked figure, hands being representative of the way we work in the world, the power we have - or in this case, I believe, lack. And circling, I submit, in place e.g. of "caressing" & al, is ominous





Whether I edit this poem or not Prince, one thing I think I can be certain of, it’s evoked a lot of feelings in you. Thanks for this furious discussion on it’s meanings! :)

Yes, I've sort of enjoyed our debate. Naively, perhaps, on my part, I'm a bit sad to think that I read a different poem from the one you wrote (or intended to write?).

[~Sophia~]

Yes, I've sort of enjoyed our debate. Naively, perhaps, on my part, I'm a bit sad to think that I read a different poem from the one you wrote (or intended to write?).

It saddens me too because your reading and interpretation of this poem is your own. http://www.websmileys.com/sm/sad/171.gif Hug!

[PrinceMyshkin]

Coming as it does both in the title and in the last verse, "small," I think calls for a bit of extra attention. To me it means, in this poem, feeling inadequate to one's desired ends, from which I assume comes sadness, frustration, resentment - or anger.

[~Sophia~]

Or, like a hummingbird which is physically small, the N has small hands. But also like the hummingbird whose wings are extraordinarily strong (they are the only bird that can fly in every direction including backwards and upside down, the N will use all the strength she can muster in those small hands to hack away the vines of depression strangling the person she loves. You say tomato, I say potato. LOL... whose poem is this anyway?

[PrinceMyshkin]

whose poem is this anyway?

Yours, mine, Sleepy's, Ampoule's, Virgil's, Silas Thorne's, A_Little_Wisp's, most of whom seem to me either to share your interpretation or have no issues with the poem. But poems do not, I hope, live or die by Gallup Poll. In any case all of us who have responded thus far DO agree: it's an extraordinary poem!

Yours,
J. Newman & Associates, Mining & Tunneling, Inc.

[~Sophia~]

Here's the thing J.Newman. I don't have an interpretation. I wrote it and know exactly what it's about. No hidden Freudian meanings, no nightmares, I don't want to sleep with my mother or kill my father.

And I really, really, really do appreciate that you (and others) think it is an extraordinary poem. I believe editing is out of the question now. I like that the reader takes away their own understanding of my poem. :nod:

S. Sophia, Sole Proprietor

[PrinceMyshkin]

Here's the thing J.Newman. I don't have an interpretation. I wrote it and know exactly what it's about. No hidden Freudian meanings, no nightmares, I don't want to sleep with my mother or kill my father.

And I really, really, really do appreciate that you (and others) think it is an extraordinary poem. I believe editing is out of the question now. I like that the reader takes away their own understanding of my poem. :nod:

S. Sophia, Sole Proprietor

Reminds me of how Flannery O'Connor, devout Roman Catholic that she was, was asked by one of her secular acquaintances what the RC position was on a certain matter.

"There is no Roman Catholic position," she replied: "there is only the truth!"

[SleepyWitch]

Would you agree that someone who has given up on life to this degree has already slashed his wrists and is waiting to die? Metaphorically speaking of course. A dead man walking?
metaphorically speaking, yes.

[qimissung]

~sophia~ the verdict seems to be in, but I wanted to say that I liked your poem, too. I didn't understand it necessarily, but so what? I love the title, and I did not see menace in the poem anywhere, and the 'machete wings' is a wondorous description of a hummingbird.

[~Sophia~]

~sophia~ the verdict seems to be in, but I wanted to say that I liked your poem, too. I didn't understand it necessarily, but so what? I love the title, and I did not see menace in the poem anywhere, and the 'machete wings' is a wondorous description of a hummingbird.

Thanks Q! While the verdict may be in, I've decided not to edit the poem. I think if I did, I'd hate myself in the morning LOL.


metaphorically speaking, yes.

It's very hard to reach someone in that state. I know, I tried and failed. Thanks for replying.

[Mr. Bergstrom]

Strong poem. I had to read it a few times to appreciate it, but I enjoyed myself in the process!. It's a very deep poem, a lot left between the lines. The images really did stand out in certain parts, very inspiring!

'How long will you stand with the ruins
in that necropolis, the tallest of your kind.'

This certainly did make sense when you pointed out the whole 'one foot in the grave' situation. I will go back and read your explanations in depth tomorrow, I'm just in a rush at the moment!

'Northern body in a leaden overcoat.
Southern vines half hitch your throat,'

Very vivid, I could literally picture a tombstone here. I hope I haven't missed the point here. The leaden overcoat and southern vines are fantastic images. My perception of what the poem was about did change throughout. I do need to read it a few more times to appreciate it!

'Can you see the depth of your eyes in mine;'

Loved this line! Although it did throw me off course from what came before. Again, I need to go through your explanations tomorrow.

'hear the blood ocean calling you home?'

I don't want to be ignorant but 'the blood ocean' was a bit vague, what is it exactly? I have a rough idea in my head what it could be.

'machete wings'

Fantastic image! It's lateral thinking at it's best, and that is for me one of the main talents of a poet!

Very interesting poem, I notice little things everytime I read it.

[Makai]

The Furious Love of Small Things


How long will you stand with the ruins
in that necropolis, the tallest of your kind.

Northern body in a leaden overcoat.
Southern vines half hitch your throat,
the echo of a conch - mollusk
evacuated long ago.

Can you see the depth of your eyes in mine;
hear the blood ocean calling you home?

Can you feel my small hands circling your face
in the urgent way of a hummingbird with
machete wings?


I loved every word, every metaphor, every line. This poem has power, beauty and grace, it sings your heartbreak and acceptance mingled into the same tempestuous teapot.

If someone finds the taste bitter they do not need to drink...I find it invigorating, wonderful and swallow it whole. Thank you for writing this heartbreak of yours. Your courage and poetic voice sings powerfully to me...

[PrinceMyshkin]

~Sophia~, hopefully you will accept my sincere apology for trying to cram my interpretation of your poem down your and everyone else's throats. I had the right to read the poem in my own way. I did not have the right to semi-highjack your thread.

[~Sophia~]

'machete wings'

Fantastic image! It's lateral thinking at it's best, and that is for me one of the main talents of a poet!

Very interesting poem, I notice little things everytime I read it.

Thanks Mr. Bergstrom! All the questions and comments you've posed have been discussed throughout the thread but - if you don't want to go through the litany :lol:please pm me and I'll be happy to explain. :)

-------------------------------------------------------

No worries Prince, I'll get over it someday http://www.websmileys.com/sm/aliens/alien.gif

[~Sophia~]

I loved every word, every metaphor, every line. This poem has power, beauty and grace, it sings your heartbreak and acceptance mingled into the same tempestuous teapot.

If someone finds the taste bitter they do not need to drink...I find it invigorating, wonderful and swallow it whole. Thank you for writing this heartbreak of yours. Your courage and poetic voice sings powerfully to me...

Oh my goodness Makai, thank you very much. You have no idea how much your comment means to me!

[Makai]

Your welcome Sophia, your poem is beautiful, strong, poetic heartbreak~tender and sharp~ which is how heartbreak feels. I truly love it and admire the heck out of you for writing it.

Thank you dear poetess (ps I lived in Hawaii for years, and I've used machetes)

[firefangled]

The Furious Love of Small Things


How long will you stand with the ruins
in that necropolis, the tallest of your kind.

Northern body in a leaden overcoat.
Southern vines half hitch your throat,
the echo of a conch - mollusk
evacuated long ago.

Can you see the depth of your eyes in mine;
hear the blood ocean calling you home?

Can you feel my small hands circling your face
in the urgent way of a hummingbird with
machete wings?

Sophia, I received a PM about your poem yesterday from Prince, but I could not read it at the time. I did not want to read what's been said so far and at such length before I read the poem.

First, cemetaries facinate me for poetry, as does the final stanza of this poem.

I picture this person drawing out the essence of the visage with his or her hands through touch like a sightless person familiarizes herself with something she can't see (the vines being in the way), or the way a humminbird draws out the essence of a flower.

The metaphor of the hummingbird's machete wings is a marvelous representation of how the small hands are feeling and what is needed.

For this last stanza, the title and the first stanza prepared me. This reminded me of Shelley's Ozimandius. In the end there is only what we call nature, of which we are a part, in spite of our efforts to set ourselves objectively beyond it somehow.

For me, the hands, the vines, the hummingbird are all on the same plane. What is very interesting is the way you gave a man-made object to describe the wings of the hummingbird. It sort of blended all these things together full circle.

I loved every word!

[~Sophia~]

Thank you dear poetess (ps I lived in Hawaii for years, and I've used machetes)

No, thank you Maki!! (I've only used a machete once to take the top off a coconut but the locals here are brilliant with them. I've seen a field mowed in a day by two men with machetes!)

___________________________________________

Hi firefangled, nice to see you!


Originally Posted by firefangled

What is very interesting is the way you gave a man-made object to describe the wings of the hummingbird. It sort of blended all these things together full circle.

It was a way to say that even small things (like hands and hummingbirds) can be strong when they need to be. I don't seem to be able to communicate what was going through my head when I wrote that. Perhaps the easiest way is to akin it to the adrenaline rush that gives someone the strength to lift a car to save a life. Hope that makes sense.

Glad you liked it and thanks for taking the time to comment!