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Of these, "Hospitals" (#30) is my favorite. I also admire the diction and rhythm (as well as the imagery) in the your earlier verse about the comet which Jack copied and posted a couple of replies above.
In all of your poems, however, I absolutely love the blend of the lofty with the profane, especially your facility with colloquial venacular. All of your speakers (narrators) sound "real," like regular down-to-earth guys. You've got a well-tuned "ear."
I'm flattered to see folk still reading and commenting on these, especially since I haven't contributed anything new for a while. I guess I'm going through a slightly dry period, but there's no doubt I'll be back with more.
Thank you all for your input, and good health.
DH
I don't altogether agree with the above: I think we all measure "the distance" of any poem or poet by our inner, idiosyncratic notion of how distant any distance is, BUTQuote:
Originally Posted by Jack of Hearts
I commend JofH & envy DH for the impassioned reading of these poems that JofH undertook. Clearly he cares and cares very deeply for poetry in general and DH's poetry in particular.
That seems exactly right, Prince.
Maybe that's feedback that this poster wouldn't have given DocHeart or anybody today. At the time it was honest but maybe a little ignorant. All the feedback, all of his own poems and stories is really just this poster trying to come to grips with something. Theorizing or saying what there 'should be' in others' work is probably just that struggle manifested.
This poster is an imperfect writer, poet and giver of critique- and the more ge practices these things, the more he becomes aware of the imperfection. Or maybe it's just understanding better what perfection is and realizing how far you are away from it.
J
Raping Athena
These streets we walked,
Winding and falling
Into the ashes of the lives
Of skinny immigrants
And the whirlwinds
Of unemployed youths -
Their shattered neon lights
Are less and less a memory
Of time wasted over pool tables
And beer stains on school uniforms
And more and more
Of an uncertain monologue
Spoken by a senile Ulysses
Who somehow strayed
Into a cinema
Engulfed in dirty flames
Delivered with voicelessness.
The city says farewell, little by little;
Fewer and fewer familiar facades
To hang your once-upon-a-times on.
Perhaps you could make do
With that freshly amputated statue
Or that burned bus.
That corpse.
Wow. That was a gripping poem Doc. Absolutely lyrical, musical and vivid to the max. Had me thinking of Rodriguez for some reason!
I'm totally caught in and deeply affected by your poem, Doc. It reads so nakedly sincere, in addition to being simply beautiful, sheer poetry. I've copy/pasted it to a screen page on my computer to read and reread it for at least the next few days. Great work, Doc, thank you. I was especially moved by -
The city says farewell, little by little;
Fewer and fewer familiar facades
To hang your once-upon-a-times on.
I'm not sure you need the last line, though. Perhaps it's a bit too much (well, for me at least). Bar
Deleted double post.
I nearly missed this poem as it seemed to be lost in all the replies to this thread, one of the reasons I prefer individual threads for poems. It makes them easier to find in the back catalogue too. Anyway, what I was saying was that it is an exceptional poem, employing powerful and elegent imagery to convey its message. It communicates very well, the frustration of a society in crisis.
There is a problem in S4 though:
"Of an uncertain monologue
Spoken by a senile Ulysses
Who somehow strayed
Into a cinema
Engulfed in dirty flames
Delivered with voicelessness."
It is in the way the opening statement is split around an extended subordinate clause before concluding in the last line of the stanza.
It would read more coherently as:
Of an uncertain monologue
Delivered almost voicelessly,
Spoken by a senile Ulysses
Who somehow strayed
Into a cinema
Engulfed in dirty flames.
It's always a pleasure to read you Doc.
Live and be well - H
I like this poetry. There's strong artsy-fartsy imagery one moment, (I mean that in a good way!), and the next moment a bunch of harsh realities are being thrown at us. Good!
And the language of the poetry feels contemporary. I like that too.
Yep, it's arresting. It's not the first time you've written of this city, but it's definitely the most poignant and powerful incarnation yet.
J
I agree with Hawk about the Ulysses-stanza but, to be honest, I was so drawn into your images that I only realized it when I read Hawk's comment... Every line spoke out right to my heart; maybe (certainly) because you seem to weep a city extremely dear to me (I'm almost sur that, if there's something like reincarnation, I have been Greek long ago).
I am humbled by everyone's kind words, and very grateful for the constructive feedback on my last poem. I take the point about the Ulysses stanza fully on-board, and have edited accordingly in my own copy.
The city in which you've lived most of your life in tatters. I guess anyone can write good poetry when the subject matter is so... rich.
http://i40.tinypic.com/kcno0k.png
Dear moderators: Please do not consider this a political post. It's just an emotional post.
Dear commentators: Please refrain from making any comment of a political nature, lest the moderators consider this a political post. It's just an emotional post.
Good health to all,
DH
Tonight we speak in tongues
Tonight we speak in tongues.
Words of understanding are lost
Beneath ego tombstones.
Skies have clouds, yes,
The streets have dirt. But
We speak in languages
Known only to us.
Only our own
Dismemberment makes this legible.
Only you and I sense
Minotaurs giving birth
To unforgiving clocks
Ringing unspeakable alarms.
Words of understanding are lost
In the same place
Where unfelt tears (genuine or not)
Form labyrinths with thorny paths.
Look, rats are trespassing
Over the driveway
To our house. See? A purple
Stain is seeping
Through your silken thorax.
Outstanding poem, Doc. It flows so well and paints such tragic pictures.
Live and be well - H
This seems to continue your previous poem and gets even more tragic. You really are concerned with the terrible decadence of the place and your personal voice is powerful...
To think it was a place of glory...
Shaking, excellent poem, Doc. I never tire of reading you. Bar
Rear Window
As the asphalt goes black after sunset,
Some buildings out beyond
Have lights that blink
Like irregular heartbeats.
A church bell rings. A dog responds,
Howling. A slice of moon
Is smudged by shifting clouds.
The neighbours' canaries are silenced.
Within short minutes, darkness
Tucks the mountains in, and they're gone.
Street lights fade in; doors are locked.
Now things best done in darkness will be done.
Now thoughts that cannot thrive in daytime
Will be thought.
Excellent poetry Doc. You really hit home with me on the last stanza.Quote:
Originally Posted by DocHeart
I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Shadows
Very good, Doc. Thanks. I enjoyed it.
I like Rear Window Doc. Especially S4 although I'd remove in from
Street lights fade in; doors are locked
as it detracts from:
Tucks the mountains in, and they're gone.
What lovely imagery and great closing lines!
Ah, Doc. Doc, Doc, Doc.
J
The last two offerings both look and "sound" good, but far be it from the likes of me to speculate on their meaning. I do think you're attempting to say something quite profound, though, and significant.
The questions you bring up in the language poem (#54) are important ones--
sometimes we have to grapple with words, try to bend them into shape to express exactly what we want to express. Eliot calls it "a raid upon the inarticulate." Your piece acknowledges the limits of language --"words of understanding are lost," but at the same time realizes that language at times is the only way to embody thoughts and ideas, emotions as well. And, as far as we know, human beings are the only creatures capable of speech. We're not perfect, but at least we have language--unlike the "rats" alluded to in your concluding lines.
The latest piece is strong as well. My only comment is that the lines which
use active verbs are far more rigorous and powerful as the passive verbs, such as the construction in the closing line.
A very atmospheric Poem, Doc. I particularly liked:
"Within short minutes, darkness
Tucks the mountains in, and they're gone.
Street lights fade in; doors are locked."
Although I agree with Delta that in might not be the best word here, "up" might be better, but dispensing with a word here would make the line mean the opposite of what you were saying.
I'm not keen on the howling. It comes over as a tad too gothic and putting one word at the beginning of a line immediately followed by a full stop stalls the line. I'd be inclined to drop it completely. "silenced" for the canaries kind of implies that they are being rubbed out! Silent would be my choice.
A good poem though Doc, great images.
Live and be well - H
Dear all,
Thank you for commenting. I really do appreciate it.
I am delighted with your generous praise, and I try to study and learn from your critique.
Health to all.
DH
Title
I'm like a title, bold and profound.
I'm like a fishing net:
I shatter your liquid tranquility
And pull you up where you can't breathe.
Just like a title, I promise you
What you want to be promised.
Like babies attracted to colourful plastic
You follow my lead; you walk my way.
I'm like an overture; my violins
Thoroughly prepare you for harmony
So that you disregard cacophony
Each one of you for different lengths of time.
When spider shapes
And roofs of old women's gaping mouths
Start populating your skies
When you see me standing on the watefront
Reticent like a scarecrow
It is too late to blame me.
"I should have known," you mutter,
"I should have foreseen this."
Sounded like my parents when I was a kid. Very visual and cerebral as poetry should be.Quote:
Originally Posted by DocHeart
Somehow I missed "Casus Belli." The "homely" images resonate without slipping down the clichéd slope.
The latest:
There are lots of connotations to the word "title," not only of a work of art or poem, but also designations of nobility, as well as the descriptions with which we identify ourselves-- "your husband," "my mother," "his girlfriend," etc. That's why this one has multiple meanings and possible interpretations. Not clear with what the closing lines of dialogue "I should have known," etc. exactly mean in the context, BUT they surely sound good, and look good.
As far as producing verse, you've been really active and prolific lately, Doc.
The Title poem works for me as the song of a politician who has failed to deliver, but there is an irony within, as if the politician knew he never could, and is berating the electorate for being so gullible. There is some powerful imagery, the fishing net and the gaping roofs.
as far as the structure goes I would query the boldness of the opening line and the immediate switch to the different image of the fishing net shattering the liquid tranquility, before returning to and expanding upon the title theme in the next verse.
S3, I think, could use a comma after cocophany, and the last line of the stanza:
"Each one of you for different lengths of time."
could be tidied just a little. I'd drop the one it would read better as, "each of you for different lengths of tiime." If you want to keep it, it would be better worded as, "each one of you for a different length of time."
In the last verse I wasn't quite sure what you maent by:
"When spider shapes
And roofs of old women's gaping mouths
Start populating your skies"
If worded thus:
"When the spider shapes
of roofs gaping like old women's mouths
start populating our skies"
"(which is what I thought you meant) this stark image would have been a little clearer.
However, the power of this poem comes through forecfully and gives the reader something to think about. A good read - Thanks for posting.
Live and be well - H
Humble thanks to all who are reading, and double thanks for criticism offered.
I do apologize for the slightly incomprehensible elements here and there. I've recently become fascinated with surrealism in cinema after watching Buñuel and Dalí's "An Andalusian Dog". I thought I'd experiment with the style a little bit in these recent poems - and a couple of the ones that will follow.
Good health,
DH
Ex
A slaughtered horse
Is blinding her heartbeat.
She's got used to it;
All she asks for
Is a drive up to the forest
A good glass of wine
A decent shag.
Even now
That roses smell bitter
Like rotten liver
And wooden mosquitoes
Dance above her head -
She's so used to it,
That all she dreams of
Is a plate of salmon
And some Moet
And a kiss in the dark.
And the remaining ash,
And all the snow she feels,
Her frozen smile in the mirror,
And the burning forrests
Are her dreams
And a slaughtered horse
Is blinding her heartbeat.
Mmm. I'm interested in Ex. Trying to contextualize the slaughtered horse is a bit tricky for me though. I imagined a few ways a horse might competitively be beaten and hence 'slaughtered', right down to the horse that pulls her carriage of dreams but anyhow, I enjoyed the poem for all that.
Fine work, Doc. In the context of the title, it's a big old 'told ya so.'
J
To L
I promise you there is a future;
Not evident behind my smoke, perhaps,
But every bit as real as fragrant skin
Which patiently awaits undressing.
Inside its veins flows a magic fluid
Which can light up your cities
If you drink it; And if you bathe in it,
The itching of a hundred yesterdays dies.
It's all in white now; look, it has wings.
A far cry from the devil you imagined.
Why don't we take it to bed with us
I can kiss it. You can drink it.
By the time I got to line 3I was struggling a bit to see how both the future and (your cigarette?) smoke could be reconciled with "fragrant skin." Unless, of course, the smoke is meant to undercut the promise of the future.Quote:
Originally Posted by DocHeart
Just elegant. An honest poetic detailing of a man who wants to be understood. This one left me with fragments I tried piecing together to come up with a beautiful picture, and the picture was beautiful, very beautiful.Quote:
Originally Posted by DocHeart
I feel I've missed out on too much of your work, Doc. I must read through this thread and catch up, but in the meantime I'll comment on your latest:
A very subtle and effectively ambiguous poem. It's one of those that cries out for interpretation, but I'm not sure I'm feeling up to it just yet. I love the concept of the future as like trying to see through (what I presume is cigarette) smoke, but I'm not sure about the double metaphor with the future being like seeing through cigarette smoke, which is like skin behind dresses. It seems to muddle the elegance of both--unless I'm reading it wrong (also like Prince, I'm not sure why "fragrant" is the right adjective here, given the context).Quote:
Originally Posted by DocHeart
What I really like, though, is how you seem to synthesize the idea of that future with veins inside of skin in S2. In fact, retroactively, it's almost as if you're continuing to peel back layers of the metaphor (future through smoke, skin through clothing, veins through skin, magic fluid inside the future). The "it has wings" reminds me of Dickinson's "Hope is a thing with feathers," actually, although I'm not quite sure about the idea of it being white... unless maybe I'm missing something obvious. The end does seem to tie all of the metaphors together, but in a vaguely imperceptible way... I'd love to hear your own thoughts about it, as I could be completely wrong.
Hi Doc: Lots to like in this one. Definitely a lot to think about, as Morpheus says. Not 100% sure what you are actually referring to, Oil? Nuclear Power? or not, as the case may be. It has sinister undercurrents of despair, perhaps. The biggest problem I have with this poem is here:
"...And if you bathe in it,
The itching of a hundred yesterdays dies."
Not sure that "and" is the right conjunction here, as "but" would seem to make more sense in context. The other niggle is the successive sibillants in yesterdays dies. Not a good combination. Perhaps:
"but to bathe in it
kills the itching of a hundred yesterdays."
Just a suggestion.
Live and be well - H
I'm posting just to disagree with Hawkman re your use of "and" where he and the norm would call for "but". I think there are circumstances where the 2nd condition is (virtually?) simultaneous with rather than in opposition to the first.
And the energy in this! - as in all your poems!
Quote:
Originally Posted by DocHeart
I love this, Its a shame I did not come across your poetry before, this is poetry which is a pleasure to read, which I genuinely enjoy as poetry. Especialy the first stanza it is a great opening stanza. Very exited to have found another solid talent on this poetry forums.
:)
i understood it to be the subject, a future. at first, i considered the cities, with smog, to be the smoke, which, if lifted (undressing), could reveal something positive (fragrant).
then, the veins could be the cities' electricity, which is a metaphor for the future hope.
i'm not sure about what the itching means, apart from an expectation that meets hope.
finally, since the yesterdays died, the future is reached, which then dies, and is an angel. then, perhaps the future is a conceived child?