The Man on the Moon

[DieterM]

I've not come here for such a long time… And I missed you, dear fellow LitNetters! Allow me to wish you all the very best for 2011!

Now, a new poem.

The Man on the Moon

A plain, sun-flooded but icy
A dusty, barren meadow of rock blossoms
A field without rye, without children
Only the Catcher stands in the middle
His black coat melting away into the dark
Dissolving into lonely soundless airless nothing
Still and unbreathing, arms stretched out,
He carries the star-spangled void upon his shoulders
His eyes, in tearless weeping, as good as blind with time
Fixed on the sparkling blue planet high above his head

His face streaked with sadness
He fondles a dream between bony fingers
A human delusion that has just floated down on him

Another one, resembling a tiny, shiny bubble,
Drifts through the empty space on silver threads
As if drawn by some indiscernible force of attraction
Another, still, and another, hundreds, thousands follow
A downpour of illusions and visions
Softly slowly gently they rain like feathers
Over the man who tries to catch them
But many bubbles fall and burst

On certain days, it looks as if
A lucid tree stood on that far-off blue globe
With countless branches reaching
For this small and unkind strip of land
Where one man bends down again and again
To find them all to watch them all to feed on them
How often, he comes too late
How often, the bubble explodes in a puff
Shatters on a pointed grey stone

Some bubbles, while falling, show colourful marvels
Sweet pieces of imagination
Others look acrid and evil
The man doesn't mind
The man doesn't make any difference
Dreams are dreams to him and
Dreams are precious gems

Sometimes, oh so rarely, he will catch one
In his hands and send it back
Hoping that one at least will come true

The dreamcatcher on the moon
Never stops never wonders never hesitates
Where we end, there he begins
Almost human, bending and collecting
Sad and sadder he becomes
For he will never be allowed
To dream himself

[Delta40]

I did not feel the barreness of the moon at all. As soon as you suggested a tree, I imagined this silent giant standing by some babbling brook catching bubbles in his huge hands. Anyway, what I am saying is, the poem, without too much analysis, transported me briefly to a thing of wonderment and beauty and if that is your intent, you succeeded with me.

Welcome back and a happy new year to you!

[DieterM]

Thanx Delta40. What a strange thing indeed, the way the poem worked on you! More often than not, I start out with a vision, an image I have before my 'inner eye'. Then, I try to put words to it until a poem has been formed. Here, the image I had was that of a man on the moon, all alone, collecting our human dreams while never ever being allowed to dream himself. I'm glad you felt wonderment and beauty because that's what dreams mean to me...

[hillwalker]

After getting as far as lines 3 and 4 I was suddenly picturing the Catcher in the Rye - strange how word associations work even when the words are clearly separated by others.

The concept was rather difficult to imagine - first I pictured an astronaut in his bubble-capped suit holding the American flag, somehow frozen for all eternity - then some celestial gardener tending our dreams.

An ambitious piece - enjoyable to read and with some wonderful lines - but rather more abstract than perhaps was intended.

H

[DieterM]

thanx hillwalker for your comment. I'm absolutely pleased to see that my reference to The Catcher in the Rye has worked – at least for you! I wanted it to be like an introduction to what follows because the scene where Caulfield explains the book's title is, for me, the most beautiful dream possible. Anyway, I think you're right that this version is a bit abstract (although I don't really mind abstract poems; take Rimbaud, for instance) and have therefore re-edited the whole poem on my blog (adress below). I don't want to replace the version on here because, well, silly me hasn't kept a copy of this one, you see? And I don't want to bother you readers with two versions...

[AuntShecky]

Hi Dieter, it's nice to see you back posting again.

Overall this piece was very nice, but if you know your ol' Auntie, I have a few minor quibbles.

I think you might want to rethink the punctuation (or lack of it.) What's there is inconsistent. Mainly I'm thinking of commas, which are useful to separate items in a series, such as the various descriptive images in the first strophe.

Some of the images, by the way, are truly original and apt. For instance, "human delusion" is perhaps an appropriate
way to depict the mythical idea of the "man in the moon." The way you used the term is not at all mean-spirited, but "illusion" might be better, as it has multiple layers of meaning.

Speaking of multiple layers of meaning, the fourth strophe (stanza) is a tough one for yer ol Auntie to decipher. But as I said before elsewhere in these forums the poet cannot be held responsible for his reader's educational gaps. As dense as that 4th section is, it's beautifully written, in contrast to the passage just before (stanza 3) which is a tad too wordy.

I liked your term "Catcher." It didn't remind me of Holden Caulfield as much as the name of a constellation! Again, original and apt.

The only other image I'd lose or rewrite is "star-spangled." Nothing wrong with it per se but American readers,whose National Anthem is pretty-much ingrained in our consciousness, might be spurred into thinking about a different topic not intended by your speaker.

Again, this posting as a whole was great. Hope you post some more.

Auntie

[DieterM]

Hi Auntie,

thank you for taking the time to discuss – and as you always do, rather in length and depth – my humble submission. You're absolutely right as far as the punctuation is concerned; the more I re-read the piece, the less I liked it, for exactly that reason. As I've written in response to hillwalker's comment, I've edited the whole poem before posting it on my blog because there was the basic idea – the man on the moon being sad because he wasn't able to dream – that didn't strike me as particularly apt. I'd rather see him trying to catch the dreams of us humans WITHOUT being aware that he himself is not allowed to have dreams, thus happy in a very calm, serene, unconscious way. So, what the heck, I thought why not repost that new version in this thread, too? So, if you happen to stumble upon the new version and have a few minutes left, I'd be more than happy if you read it. :-)) Btw, you'll see that even for me, a non-American, 'star-spangled' was just too much attached to the US-anthem, so well, I dropped it!

[DieterM]

The Man on the Moon
(New Version)

Sun-flooded, ice-cold, dreary,
the plain unfolds around him,
a barren, whitish desolation
where nothing grows but rocks
and where dust swivels up
in oxygenless atmosphere
and in slow motion

A stone field where
no rye wafts,
no child yells with glee,
no wave crushes
where the catcher stands
alone in the middle

His limp coat weds the black horizon,
dissolves into the soundless nothing
The void feels heavy on his shoulders,
seems to suck him upwards
His eyes blurry from unfiltered light
As good as blind with time

He turns his head
toward the stars' cold glimmer
and the blue planet high above his head,
the only thing that feels real
The man's face showing mirth
and private joy
He fondles dreams
between his bony fingers,
human delusions

These dreams resemble tiny, shiny bubbles
Born on the blue planet, they drift
across the empty space on silver threads,
drawn by some unseen force of attraction
One, ten, hundreds, thousands
A downpour of illusionary visions
Softly, slowly, gently
they float down like feathers

The man tries to catch them
and when he fails,
the bubbles fall and burst, unseen
and dreamdust mingles
with the lonely satellite's dirt

On certain days, there are so many bubbles
that it looks as if a lucid tree
stood on that far-off blue globe,
with countless branches reaching
for the man's outstretched hands
Forever and ever, he reaches out
To catch them, to feed on them
Much too often, he comes too late
Much too often, a bubble explodes in a puff
Shattered on a pointed grey stone

Some bubbles, while falling, show colourful marvels
Sweet pieces of imagination
Others look acrid and evil
The man doesn't mind
The man doesn't make any difference
Dreams are dreams to him and
Dreams are precious gems

By any chance, sometimes
a bubble lands unharmed
in his trembling hands
and he can send it back,
sending his hope as well,
a mumbled prayer
that this dream may come true

Catcher of dreams, man on the moon
Never stops, never wonders, never hesitates
Where we end, there he begins,
Happy to pursue his task
Because he doesn't know
That dreams only belong
to that other, that blue world far away,
unaware that he will never be able
to dream

[jajdude]

Excellent stuff.

I particularly liked "He fondles dreams"

"Sweet pieces of imagination" and "dreamdust" are good expressions as well.

For some reason I was reminded of a great poem by Robert Graves called "Warning to Children" :

http://wonderingminstrels.blogspot.com/2000/10/warning-to-children-robert-graves.html

[AuntShecky]

The bubble imagery in the second version resonates!
Great job!