behind night crystal wire

[Bar22do]

behind night crystal wire

It comes over me sometime, crude and live:
burning flames in hearts of countless names,
of torn wings, of words bled white -
and ashes: appointed in the stead of faces.
I count the passing Aprils, my bulging soul stares
into disappearance,
litanies of first names pray away in my mind,
but no bead vests itself with a face of a child,
of a pious, of a tragedy, all deaf to my firm continuance.
The ash, o, the ash, had them scattered all
and my watch is vain, begging - illusory.
As I follow spirals of the smoke of Vogue*,
my breathing vents the memory and blunders
against gory shoes: black holes amongst the stars
my cigarette will never reach, let alone bring back.
And I am perched, foolish, on a steep rock face
of bad times strata’ flint over main and evil,
wrapped in clouds of lingering smoke,
with naught to recall, not even thunder.



VOGUE is a brand of cigarettes in case you didn't know!

[Alexander III]

Wow thats a powerful poem, im not sure what exactly you were talking about, but i could clearly feel the raw power of emotion you put forth.

[PrinceMyshkin]

In case some miss it, I infer that the title contains a reference to the infamous Kristallnacht (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kristallnacht), a beacon of the horror the Nazis were about to unleash in Germany and all the countries they occupied.

A brilliant poem that must have cost Bar God only knows what agony to create.

[hack]

Bar,
It is dark and ghostly.
Like the countryside
around Auschwitz,
where if there are ghosts
anywhere, they are there.
"Hell is empty and all the
devils are here"
Hack

[Alexander III]

Ah now I understand, wow what a beautiful poem in sorrow.

[tailor STATELY]

"behind night crystal wire": Interesting choice of words.

I babble-on: I would not direct you to http://adsabs.harvard.edu/abs/2005PhRvL..95r3901V, and of course, making this up as I go, use this technology to fashion the 'apocrypha lenses' you allude to in your title, which of course cannot exist (wink-wink), to see into the not too distant future that follows in your piece. This post-apocalyptic real-time vision using the 'apocrypha lenses', as prophets use the Urim and Thummim, would afford considerable pause to the observer, if the lenses were to exist (which, of course, they do not ;) )

"litanies of first names pray away in my mind,": prey ?

(never mind this passing thought - too much like deja vu)

re: Kristallnacht/Auschwitz; perhaps even Hiroshima or Nagasaki (from a WWII perspective); Los Angeles (in film), and (a city name and date in the near future that I must withhold at this time ;) )

A prose of a dystopia (just learned that word yesterday) of bleakest proportion indeed.

[Bar22do]

"behind night crystal wire": Interesting choice of words.

I babble-on: I would not direct you to http://adsabs.harvard.edu/abs/2005PhRvL..95r3901V, and of course, making this up as I go, use this technology to fashion the 'apocrypha lenses' you allude to in your title, which of course cannot exist (wink-wink), to see into the not too distant future that follows in your piece. This post-apocalyptic real-time vision using the 'apocrypha lenses', as prophets use the Urim and Thummim, would afford considerable pause to the observer, if the lenses were to exist (which, of course, they do not ;) )

"litanies of first names pray away in my mind,": prey ?

(never mind this passing thought - too much like deja vu)

re: Kristallnacht/Auschwitz; perhaps even Hiroshima or Nagasaki (from a WWII perspective); Los Angeles (in film), and (a city name and date in the near future that I must withhold at this time ;) )

A prose of a dystopia (just learned that word yesterday) of bleakest proportion indeed.

Did you say: «(you) babble »? Could that explain why you forgot Rwanda or Bosnia?

As for valuable interesting references, I would warmly recommend to you (and others) the excellent History and Sociology of Genocide , by Frank Chalk and Kurt Jonassohn, which, amongst others, searches the ways to prevent genocides and to build a more tolerant, kind, peaceful world.

Whatever triggered this « piece » is not of much importance. It addressed contemporary (and also those buried in history) genocides, not only one in particular. And the highly conductive crystal wire, if you allow, may also be felt as innumerable human tears shed, and frozen over history in the hope that memory prevent recurrence… Mind you, « poetry explained is not poetry » – which, as it looks, your analysis aims at proving. Yet, what is the worth of criticism if it uses the lenses of mere preconceptions to judge? If my poem did not work for you, well, it cannot work for all.

My formidable critic, you do fulfill, in part, my wish to get a candid feedback, but your eagernes for bringing its temperature close to absolute zero (by the way, this can also occur, as I have just learnt, together with some of the highest temperatures!) makes it miss the opportunity to be constuctive, which is a pity. For this site is mostly a kind crucible.

Thank you, Tailor, for your attention and time.

[~Sophia~]

I read your poem Bar and then the comments. I have to say I loved it. Without the above comments I would not have tied it to the holocaust but, I did read sorrow there. Such a deep deep sigh. Simply beautiful.

[Bar22do]

Ah now I understand, wow what a beautiful poem in sorrow.


Thanks a lot, Alexander, be free to take it in as broad a sense as you feel it... yes, sometime it is dark and sorrow, as StatelyTAYLOR wrote (with excellence) in Nighshifft's recent thread:


"... sometimes it's dark
damn, it's dark
sometimes
dark

:tailor STATELY"

[firefangled]

behind night crystal wire

It comes over me sometime, crude and live:
burning flames in hearts of countless names,
of torn wings, of words bled white -
and ashes: appointed in the stead of faces.
I count the passing Aprils, my bulging soul stares
into disappearance,
litanies of first names pray away in my mind,
but no bead vests itself with a face of a child,
of a pious, of a tragedy, all deaf to my firm continuance.
The ash, o, the ash, had them scattered all
and my watch is vain, begging - illusory.
As I follow spirals of the smoke of Vogue,
my breathing vents the memory and blunders
against gory shoes: black holes amongst the stars
my cigarette will never reach, let alone bring back.
And I am perched, foolish, on a steep rock face
of bad times strata’ flint over main and evil,
wrapped in clouds of lingering smoke,
with naught to recall, not even thunder.



I read this last night and could not respond. It is a strange twist of poetry or prose when we are exquisitely reminded of the horror that coexists with the beauty of the world and that it is a living daemon made of forgetfulness and sleep.

You may appreciate this poem of William Stafford http://www.tabblo.com/studio/stories/view/176372/

[PrinceMyshkin]

I read this last night and could not respond. It is a strange twist of poetry or prose when we are exquisitely reminded of the horror that coexists with the beauty of the world and that it is a living daemon made of forgetfulness and sleep.

You may appreciate this poem of William Stafford http://www.tabblo.com/studio/stories/view/176372/

It's not my place to express appreciation for your response to Bar, but thank you for directing me (and others) to this poem by Stafford.

[Bar22do]

I read your poem Bar and then the comments. I have to say I loved it. Without the above comments I would not have tied it to the holocaust but, I did read sorrow there. Such a deep deep sigh. Simply beautiful.

Thank you Sophia, for your reading and appreciation! I am sorry the sigh was so sorrowful... but as Stafford's great poem, very much à propos suggested for reading by Fire, says - "the darkness around us is deep"... warmest regards!



I read this last night and could not respond. It is a strange twist of poetry or prose when we are exquisitely reminded of the horror that coexists with the beauty of the world and that it is a living daemon made of forgetfulness and sleep.

You may appreciate this poem of William Stafford http://www.tabblo.com/studio/stories/view/176372/

Oh yes, I love Stafford's poem, it is really deep and beautiful and very à propos here... I do read his poetry... Thank you Fire for your words, always so valuable to me.

[~Sophia~]

Oh Bar... tonight the sorrow is very deep. I have been in touch with friends in the Dominican Republic and Haiti (I lived there for a while)... the sorrow, particularly in Haiti is immeasurable.

[Bar22do]

It's not my place to express appreciation for your response to Bar, but thank you for directing me (and others) to this poem by Stafford.

It's as much your place as mine, Prince! But I want to take the little space following these letters to thank you warmly for your precious comments and help - including f. ex. this little misleading detail in my poem: VOGUE are cigarettes I smoke - you are right to tell me it would have been more clear with Marlboro! I added a note. Obrigada, my guardian angel!



Bar,
It is dark and ghostly.
Like the countryside
around Auschwitz,
where if there are ghosts
anywhere, they are there.
"Hell is empty and all the
devils are here"
Hack

.... as apparently ghosts are our hearts' hosts as well... there is a reason for that, I guess. Thank you for your poetic lines.


Oh Bar... tonight the sorrow is very deep. I have been in touch with friends in the Dominican Republic and Haiti (I lived there for a while)... the sorrow, particularly in Haiti is immeasurable.

Yes I heard... immeasurable disaster, words are inefficient to describe... with you, Sophia.

[~Sophia~]

Hugs to you Bar. I know you feel it too!

[MorpheusSandman]

This is one of the most beautiful poems I've ever read on here made all the more powerful because of the subject matter. But the language! Oh, what amazing use of poetic devices including the rhythm of the line breaks, internal lines, the alliteration, assonance, and consonance... just superb.

[tailor STATELY]

If my poem did not work for you, well, it cannot work for all.

My formidable critic, you do fulfill, in part, my wish to get a candid feedback, but your eagernes for bringing its temperature close to absolute zero (by the way, this can also occur, as I have just learnt, together with some of the highest temperatures!) makes it miss the opportunity to be constuctive, which is a pity. For this site is mostly a kind crucible.

Thank you, Tailor, for your attention and time.

:cold:Brrrr:cold:

My apology for being obtuse.

My mind raced ( I babble-on ) as I typed without regard to what I was writing. Your poem 'worked' all too well for me as I appear to be writing a fractured short story evoked by your imagery. Out of place I now realize; again, I apologize.

Sigh. Rwanda or Bosnia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mass_murder) indeed.


A prose of a dystopia (just learned that word yesterday) of bleakest proportion indeed.
01-12-2010 02:26 PM - An observation of the mood I thought you had set, not a criticism of your work.

I will rein in my passions, as directed by the prophets, and diminish; and remain, humbly -

tailor STATELY

[Bar22do]

:cold:Brrrr:cold:

My apology for being obtuse.

My mind raced ( I babble-on ) as I typed without regard to what I was writing. Your poem 'worked' all too well for me as I appear to be writing a fractured short story evoked by your imagery. Out of place I now realize; again, I apologize.

Sigh. Rwanda or Bosnia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mass_murder) indeed.

- An observation of the mood I thought you had set, not a criticism of your work.

I will rein in my passions, as directed by the prophets, and diminish; and remain, humbly -

tailor STATELY



So much graceful repentance would crush a slab of rock! . It reminds me of the apology Anne of Green Gables served Rahel Linde, the neighbour, to break the ice between them! (I infer we all read this book...) Thank you, TAILOR - and if it is not too much to ask: would it be possible to read, once finished, your "fractured short story evoked by (my) imagery"?
Never rein in your passions, only channel them, they are such a great source of creativity...