Si renderanno conto un giorno

[DanielBenoit]

Please comment and criticize.

Yes, the Italian is a translation.



Si renderanno conto un giorno
Saprà un giorno

Maybe ignorance will tire fault
And the clouds will overcome the moon
The moon, will be at fault.

Haze of hazelnut coffee
Dreary over eyes
Too much of late;
9:45
Humid, no rain
(It rained last night).
Pressure over my head
Sleep brought over my head

Bulb falling from the ceiling
Bouncing off the table
Smashing upon the ground into a thousand little pieces
Banging fist on the table

The moon, the deer, the forest
Black sky, dark as black space.
Full moon not to return until the end of the month
Or was it a new moon?

For others, full moons do not return
And new moons are begun in the celestial cycle.

I returned to the forest on Saturday
The sky was blank
The spring had dried
The trees were bare
(But there had been no snow).
That doe which had stood in the moonlight,
Gone.
The crickets were dead
The night was still
A silence, an unpeaceful silence
Like an axe cutting through oak.
Immutable silence




By the way, just because I'm paranoid, to the guy on Arab Dreams stealing the works posted in this forum, my work is copyrighted by Creative Commons, for more information check the link in my signature from which this work is derived.

[Left Field]

There's nothing to criticize, DB. I thought it was excellent. :thumbs_up

[PrinceMyshkin]

Wonderful how this builds to a magnificent conclusion:



I returned to the forest on Saturday
The sky was blank
The spring had dried
The trees were bare
(But there had been no snow).
That doe which had stood in the moonlight,
Gone.
The crickets were dead
The night was still
A silence, an unpeaceful silence
Like an axe cutting through oak.
Immutable silence




By the way, just because I'm paranoid, to the guy on Arab Dreams stealing the works posted in this forum, my work is copyrighted by Creative Commons, for more information check the link in my signature from which this work is derived.

[firefangled]

I like the expectation this sets up in the opening, that the absense of the moon may become the fault of the forest's silence. I also like the metaphor of the light bulb falling.

It seems the end sound is at fault for both a persistent silence and consequence that continues.

[Virgil]

I thought this was pretty good too. I can't make the connection with the bulb falling from the ceiling with the rest of the poem, but i trust it connects in some way. The power of the poem is in the last stanza and there is much to like there:

I returned to the forest on Saturday
The sky was blank
The spring had dried
The trees were bare
(But there had been no snow).
That doe which had stood in the moonlight,
Gone.
The crickets were dead
The night was still

Good tangible imagery, wonderful pacing in the rythm, especially contrasting with the long sentences of the ealier sections. But I do have to quibble with the concluding simile:

A silence, an unpeaceful silence
Like an axe cutting through oak.
Immutable silence
First I think you mean an axe chopping through oak. Second I guess that line strives to reach some sort of poetic charge through a paradox, but to me it doesn't reach a paradox so much as an impossible absurdity. A paradox requires an element of truth and I can't physically see how it's remotely possible for an axe striking an oak to be silent. For me it's a stretch too far. What I think is disorienting is that you use the axe and tree as the comparative element of the simile and that comparison doesn't hold water. What you compare to must be based in reality. Or at least I think so. But perhaps others see it differently.

A good poem overall. :)

[DanielBenoit]

Hey thanks everybody for the wonderful comments. Since I am rather idiosyncratic with my poems, it's pretty weird to talk about them.


I thought this was pretty good too. I can't make the connection with the bulb falling from the ceiling with the rest of the poem, but i trust it connects in some way. The power of the poem is in the last stanza and there is much to like there:

Good tangible imagery, wonderful pacing in the rythm, especially contrasting with the long sentences of the ealier sections. But I do have to quibble with the concluding simile:

First I think you mean an axe chopping through oak. Second I guess that line strives to reach some sort of poetic charge through a paradox, but to me it doesn't reach a paradox so much as an impossible absurdity. A paradox requires an element of truth and I can't physically see how it's remotely possible for an axe striking an oak to be silent. For me it's a stretch too far. What I think is disorienting is that you use the axe and tree as the comparative element of the simile and that comparison doesn't hold water. What you compare to must be based in reality. Or at least I think so. But perhaps others see it differently.

A good poem overall. :)


Basically what I was thinking with that second to last line was a sort of isolating feeling I get when hearing a an ax in the forest, cutting through wood. With each stam, there seems to be an echoing silence, making explicit the openness of the forrest, and yet its solidarity and emptiness. This is purely a subjective phenomenon and a personal one, for I grew up in upstate New York and would remember my Uncle and I at Christmas going out in to the shed (which was by a huge snowy forest) to cut some wood. The sound of the axe just made me feel so lonely.

I heisitated at that line at first, for reasons you correctly pointed out. But since its such a personal line to me, I supposed to leave it in.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Hey thanks everybody for the wonderful comments. Since I am rather idiosyncratic with my poems, it's pretty weird to talk about them.




Basically what I was thinking with that second to last line was a sort of isolating feeling I get when hearing a an ax in the forest, cutting through wood. With each stam, there seems to be an echoing silence, making explicit the openness of the forrest, and yet its solidarity and emptiness. This is purely a subjective phenomenon and a personal one, for I grew up in upstate New York and would remember my Uncle and I at Christmas going out in to the shed (which was by a huge snowy forest) to cut some wood. The sound of the axe just made me feel so lonely.

I heisitated at that line at first, for reasons you correctly pointed out. But since its such a personal line to me, I supposed to leave it in.

I get what you mean and appreciate the trouble you took to lay it out. The last line of your response evokes a strong Way to go! from me because no matter how deeply we wish our poems to communicate with or to move people, in some part we write them for our own sake, and every now and then there will be a line or lines that may not make sense to anyone else but make perfectly good sense to the author who ought to keep it in no matter the response.