Alice in her party dress

[DieterM]

Alice in her party dress,
eyes blackened with fear;
chalk-white determined face;
smeared lipstick like a crimson scream
echoing her dripping scarlet bracelets…
The weeping willows hum
a late lullaby while
she strides down the bank,
carrying her emptiness
on naked feet…
A siren wailing in her skull,
a siren she calls Craving.

Alice in her party dress
chooses to yield. She knows
Radiohead can't cry her tears no more;
Marylin Manson cannot yell
her anger any longer;
movie stars have ceased to act out her dreams.
Things started to grow against her will:
her breasts at first;
then body hair in strange places;
then emotional swells;
finally minutes, and nightmares.
She has fought the demons,
dark and tortured creatures,
sitting on her chest by night.

Alice in her party dress
lays back her head on river waves,
her long hair floating like a swan,
red streamlets drifting from her wrists…
She has no force left,
no will to fight.
The darkness too black,
too stark the pain,
and words too harsh yet meaningless,
and life just a daily sigh,
and still eternities to bear.
All this must end…

Alice in her party dress,
swept away by the nameless river,
dragged down into a wet womb,
Alice lifts up
and disappears into the
painless
whiteness…

[blank|verse]

A modern-day Ophelia, perhaps? Certainly this is a good character study, Dieter, of a troubled adolescence.

[Charles Darnay]

I think this poem reads better without the second-last stanza, it just seems like overkill. The character you build up stands tall enough without needing to be so blatant.

[hillwalker]

I agree that there is a wealth of imagery here - perhaps a little too much. But I actually think the first four lines of verse 3 stand out as a compelling image.

Having said that, the piece does tend to wander into prose on more than one occasion, largely because the meter is irregular. Compare the opening line and the four lines that follow - immediately we've lost the sense of any rhythm - and are left with a list of observations.

There are some memorable moments here cataloguing the decline of a young girl as the burdens of adolescence become too much for her to bear. It just needs some decluttering. Keep the good - dispose of the bland - and try to inject some poetic flow into the piece so that the whole becomes more than just the sum of its parts.

H

[PrinceMyshkin]

My God, Deiter! How bleak! There was something a littke too steady, I thought, in your account of this, as if you were not altogether involved.

[Delta40]

extremely bleak. At the moment, I can't get enough of too much imagery. I loved it.

[DieterM]

@ b/v, yes, as a matter of fact, there's some Ophelia hidden in this piece; some Eugenides as well ("Virgin Suicides", excellent novel). My main inspiration has been Sisters of Mercy, though, and their song "Alice". I never have looked up the song text but the line "Alice in her party dress", what with the singer's graveyard voice and the bleak music, has always stood out in my mind.

@Charles Darnay, hillwalker: I had started out writing the poem in a much more rhythmical style and broke the pattern deliberately because it, well, seemed to "flow" too smoothly. I do agree where the 3rd stanza is concerned, though. If you can spare a minute, just try out the new version that I'll post right below.

@Delta40 (and to all of you), thanks for reading. I do have my bleak moments (strange that they pop up in autumn rather than in spring, lol)

[DieterM]

Alice in her party dress

Alice in her party dress,
her eyes grown black with fear,
face chalk-white and intent,
her lipstick smeared, a crimson scream
that echoes dripping bracelets…
The weeping willows sadly hum
a lullaby while she strides down the bank,
her void carried on naked feet…
A siren wailing in her skull,
a siren she calls Craving.

Alice in her party dress
chooses to yield. She understands
Radiohead can't weep her tears,
Marylin Manson cannot yell
her anger any longer,
nor movie stars act out her dreams.
Things started to grow against her will:
her breasts at first; then body hair;
then, her emotions swelled as well;
finally moments, minutes, nightmares.
The demons she has struggled with,
murky and tortured creatures,
sit on her chest by night.

Alice in her party dress
lays back her head on river waves,
her long hair floating like a swan,
red streamlets drifting from her wrists…
The river's force tugs at her clothes,
the bottom deep and black and sweet.
Her life, that daily sigh which lasts
eternities, swims off at last

Alice in her party dress,
swept down the nameless river,
dragged deep into a wet womb,
Alice lifts up
and disappears into the
painless
whiteness…

(New edit Oct. 26th 2011)

[hillwalker]

I still feel the poem stumbles along rather until it reaches verses 3 and 4 because this closing section is less wordy - less clutered with phrases that seem to hinder the flow.

The weeping willows sadly hum
a lullaby while she strides down the bank,

Compare the first and second lines of the above - can you see what I'm getting at? The underlined section reads like it was bolted onto the end and disrupts the mood and rhythm.

H

[DieterM]

Darn, hill, you picked up exactly the line I was not satisfied with at all! Had a new go to find a nice 'n' smooth flow for it all ; here's thus my new version.

Alice in her party dress

Alice in her party dress
strides calmly down the river bank.
Her eyes cloud up with anxiety,
her face chalk-white and resolute,
smeared lipstick like a crimson scream
echoing bracelets, dripping red.
The weeping willows sadly hum
a lullaby while naked feet
carry her heavy emptiness…
A siren wailing in her skull,
a siren she calls Craving.

Alice in her party dress
chooses to yield. She understands
her tears won't dry with Radiohead,
Marylin Manson cannot yell
her anger anymore, nor can
celebrities act out her dreams.
Against her will, things suddenly
started to grow: her breasts at first;
then body hair; emotions next;
minutes, and nightmares, in the end.
The demons she has struggled with,
murky and tortured animals,
sat on her chest night after night.

Alice in her party dress
lays back her head on river waves,
her long hair floating like a swan,
red streamlets drifting from her wrists…
The river's force tugs at her clothes,
the bottom deep and black and sweet.
Her life, that daily sigh which lasts
eternities, swims off at last.

Alice in her party dress,
swept down a river without name,
dragged deep into a water womb,
Alice lifts up and disappears
into the
painless
whiteness…

[hillwalker]

Much better.

[DieterM]

Thanks a lot…

[qimissung]

"Her life, that daily sigh which lasts
eternities, swims off at last."

I love this line! Like Blank/Verse, I think this is an excellent character study of an adolescent. Love the allusion to Ophelia.