Moments of Insurgent Beauty

[PrinceMyshkin]

I have seen moments of insurgent beauty
when night locked elbows
with the death of kings,

and in photos of my grandchildren,
smiling as if the benevolent
heart of life were open
and radiant before them.

[dizzydoll]

That is so true Prince and beautifully expressed. http://forum.thescubasite.com/happy/happy0065.gif (http://www.thescubasite.com)

[Pryderi Agni]

Wow, dude! That is some heavy imagery and phraseology there! 'Night locks elbows with the death of kings'? Heavy, heavy, heavy!

[hillwalker]

Every line like a polished gem. Beautifully crafted, Prince - and a wonderfully poignant sentiment.

H

[Hawkman]

Hi Prince,

I find a curious dichotomy between the beautiful language of the first stanza and the image that it paints. "When night locked elbows with the death of kings..." Whilst I agree that the death of kings may be poingant or dramatic, even world changing, in Western philosophy at least, I do not equate such events automatically with "Insurgent Beauty". But then I am niether a Samurai or a Republican :)

Finding such moments in one's grandchildren I take as a given.

Enough said, I found this poem a beautiful read, and as previously commented, as always a polished, finely cut gem.

Thanks Prince. H

[PrinceMyshkin]

Many thanks Pryderi Agni, Hillwalker and Hawkman


Hi Prince,

I find a curious dichotomy between the beautiful language of the first stanza and the image that it paints. "When night locked elbows with the death of kings..." Whilst I agree that the death of kings may be poingant or dramatic, even world changing, in Western philosophy at least, I do not equate such events automatically with "Insurgent Beauty". But then I am niether a Samurai or a Republican :)

It's possible that I had in the back of my mind re the opening stanza a poem by Rilke, which I won't trust myself to try to spell out in German, but one translation I found opens


The kings of the world are growing old,
and they shall have no inheritors.
Their sons died while they were boys,
and their neurasthenic daughters abandoned
the sick crown to the mob.



The celebratory note in that verse was there in my mind as I wrote my own salute to the end of monarchy (meant as a symbol for all arbitrary authority)



Finding such moments in one's grandchildren I take as a given.

Enough said, I found this poem a beautiful read, and as previously commented, as always a polished, finely cut gem.

Thanks Prince. H

[MorpheusSandman]

These are my favorite kinds of poems from you, Prince. As hillwalker said, with "every line like a polished gem". Reading this is like watching light refracted through a prism. The ingredients are so simple, but what they produce is so rich and kaleidoscopic.

[Hayseed Huck]

The best here is the title.

Next best-- the poem.

HH

[Virgil]

It is nice, but the phrase is soooo good ("moments of insurgent beauty") that it screams out for a longer poem. That is one heck of a phrase, as good as anyone's I've ever read from any famous poet. If I were you I would keep that in mind and see if at some point you could expand this poem to fill out that brilliance. But I'm not saying this poem is off or anything. It's just the promise of that phrase seems to call for something more.

[lallison]

This poem asks to be felt, not analyzed. I enjoyed reading the comments about it almost as much as I enjoyed reading the poem itself. Most of what I have to say has already been said. This is the type of poem I enjoy form you, with lots of interesting contrasts, almost conceits, if you will. Everything is well polished and flows smoothly. I always question random intuitive hunches that a short poem should be longer. Lengthening a poem like this could simply water down the density. You cover both ends of the spectrum with these two quick stanzas. Perhaps the key word here is "moments," thanks for providing us with such an insurgent moment.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Many, many thanks, Morpheus, Hayseed, Virgil and lallison. Your comments are deeply appreciated.

[blank|verse]

Infused with a bit of Yeats this one, Prince.

There are some great elements in this but I'm not sure it's adds up to a satisfying whole. I'm in agreement with those who found it a bit on the short side and would certainly have liked to read more on this theme.

I found the shift in tone between the two stanzas a bit too abrupt. The dark gloom of the first stanza, with the brilliant metaphor conjuring images of the storming of the Bastille or similar, is suddenly replaced by images of a little baby and a proud grandfather. I can see the juxtaposition between death and life but think it would have worked better if it had been slowly unravelled, rather than being so blunt.

But it's an evocative piece nonetheless.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Infused with a bit of Yeats this one, Prince.

There are some great elements in this but I'm not sure it's adds up to a satisfying whole. I'm in agreement with those who found it a bit on the short side and would certainly have liked to read more on this theme.

I found the shift in tone between the two stanzas a bit too abrupt. The dark gloom of the first stanza, with the brilliant metaphor conjuring images of the storming of the Bastille or similar, is suddenly replaced by images of a little baby and a proud grandfather. I can see the juxtaposition between death and life but think it would have worked better if it had been slowly unravelled, rather than being so blunt.

But it's an evocative piece nonetheless.

I wish I could reply to your comments with self-righteous indignation and say: Read the poem again! Feel the poem! Surrender to the whole of it! but not even I can comply successfully with those exhortations.

The first three lines wrote themselves, as they often do with me; but, alone, they could not be offered as a complete poem. I wrote the latter verse in a state more like full consciousness but could see how odd a connection they made - if any - and I then added the one word, "And" to the beginning of the 2nd verse as if that proved or established their connection.

But it looks to me like a snapshot in which a smallish group of people stand at the left side of the frame and a somewhat larger group over to the right and except for the 'truth' that they both happened to be there at the same time, there is no overt relationship between them.

There is, I hope, "insurgent beauty" in the stanza about (or the reality of) my grandchildren, and perhaps it echoes the freedom I wish them in a time when dark night and authoritarians are no more. That's the best or the only argument I can make for claiming that this is one, self-sufficient poem.

Thanks once again for your characteristically articulate, well-thought out response.

[hack]

My Prince,
You know how I feel about making your point and then shutting up. Good job here.
This is a lovely poem and the change between stanzas is abrupt. The poignancy that keeps the poem a whole, unbroken piece, is the thread connecting the transition of kings to the smiles of insurgent grandchildren. There is hope, even for kings and grandfathers.
...peace...

[Lumiere]

Prince of Poetry,
this is near perfection. Sweet to the taste, and worth memorizing.
Keep doing this, please.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Prince of Poetry,
this is near perfection. Sweet to the taste, and worth memorizing.
Keep doing this, please.Thank you, lumiere, and


My Prince,
You know how I feel about making your point and then shutting up. Good job here.

I assume that how you feel about making one's point &c. is as I tried to express in an earlier poem of mine:



After the poem
comes the verbiage,
the slow leaking away
of inspiration,
the plea, as ever,
unanswered,
incomplete.

[scaltz]

Ok let me chat for once as a bastard of a chat talk addict mother. OMG HAWT!!!!! That is deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep :O! Very honest, near to perfection, marvellous ;P.

[qimissung]

I like it, Prince. I had to think about it for a minute, but that is no bad thing.

The first line is exquisite, as is the first stanza. I like the second, adjoined to it, locked in the prosaic moment forever, beautiful children with blazing smile-beneficiaries of the night that locked elbows with the king. A celebration, then, of the ordinariness of daily life. Amen.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Thanks, Scaltz and Qimissung.