DocHeart's poetry corner

[MorpheusSandman]

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:

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.

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).

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.

[Hawkman]

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

[PrinceMyshkin]

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!

[Alexander III]

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.

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.

[cogs]

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?

[DocHeart]

Thanks very much everyone, for your kind responses and critique. It's very enjoyable to share these fora with you all, and in fact you've helped me improve a lot since I started here.

I'm particularly pleased you all enjoyed "To L"! There were some very interesting attempts at interpretation which I didn't expect. I don't really intend to be obscure, I don't want to set riddles. Sometimes I enjoy surprising myself with words that are unexpected, with notions that don't go well together -- as long as "the whole" has a taste, and leaves me with a definite sense of something when I reread it.

(I'd be interested to hear your views on whether the above is a healthy attitude to writing poetry, by the way!)

By the time I got to line 3

I 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.

Yes! The smoke is what blurs the vision and spoils the fragrance of the future. The speaker's respondent is invited to look behind it.

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.

Thank you so much, Miyako.

You hit the nail on the head. "To L" is indeed the effort of a guy to be understood by a woman.

(I feel a sexist joke coming up, so I'll move right along.)

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).

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.

Thank you, Morpheus! I am inclined to agree with you that the double metaphor in the first stanza is a bit too much. One too many layers to remove before one sees the pieces of the puzzle -- and even then they're hard to put together.

(I only do this when I've had a few drinks, I think. I must stop. Stop doing it, not stop drinking.)

With regards to the white thing with wings: it's meant to create the image of an angel, which (to my drunken mind) worked well with the devil of the next line.

As for the imperceptibility, I'll just let you enjoy it rather than explain it away. I hope you don't mind

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

Thanks so much, Hawk!

The poem addresses a woman. I won't go into it much more, otherwise I'd be like the guy who tells a joke and then has to explain it.

You are absolutely right, however, about "yesterdays dies" -- it just doesn't roll of the tongue. This is a top priority for when revision time comes.

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.

Thank you so much, Alexander! Great to meet you.

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?

Thanks for your input, cogs! I don't mean to be enigmatic. I blame my recent wanderings into the realm of surrealism in cinema and poetry. It'll pass, I promise

As I said before, the poem is about a woman.


Best health to all!

DH

[MorpheusSandman]

With regards to the white thing with wings: it's meant to create the image of an angel, which (to my drunken mind) worked well with the devil of the next line.

Ah! An angel makes perfect sense and I feel a bit of a dope for not latching onto the clue about the devil! Thanks for the response, and I certainly don't mind you keeping it somewhat of a mystery. Mysteries are what makes a Lazarus of a poem (I guess that makes readers Jesuses!).

[DocHeart]

An evening with Miles


You push air through that trumpet
Forcing red shadows out of your lungs
And setting them against backgrounds
Of kisses wading through scotch --

Ah! You make our hearts vibrate.
Cry now, permit our skins
To sense that syncopated whip
Harder! Attack our hesitations
Make us snap out of it all!

And let the rain percuss the city's chest
Outside;
Let the cement and the asphalt
Be yours.

[Hawkman]

It's all there Doc, the low light, cigarette smoke suspended in the bliss of jazz, late at night, in a bar, in the city... I should have known - jazz is the neon of noire, flickering in the rain, buzzing with the electric pulse of joy and sorrow, a pulse that Doc keeps at his fingertip.

Thanks for this

H

[Jack of Hearts]

Monsieur Hawk has a habit of putting it in exactly the right words.






J

[MorpheusSandman]

I've never been a huge fan of jazz, but I do love Miles Davis, and that poem is a piece of Round About Midnight, yes it is. I can just see the smokey club full of well-dressed by slightly sleazy patrons with their sweating drinks and sweaty faces foggy through the cigarette smoke whispering sweet nothings in their sweethearts' ears while Miles plays it cool like the music for a mating dance.

A few quibbles: I'm not quite sold on "kisses wading through scotch," as it seems like an awkward image. Am I supposed to imagine lips literally swimming in a glass of scotch? I like the sexual connotations that begin with S2, and the way that "vibrate" develops to the rain percussing the city's chest. Although, I feel more could be done with it, as if it could be developed into a metaphorical conceit with out the prose-y nature of "cry now, permit our skins", which seems like a lag after that opening line.

[cogs]

well, i am a fan of modern jazz. funny how you mimicked the syncopated beat. lol, i wrote a jazz piece a while ago, and determined that only when i improve will i write another. 'attack' is apropos for a trumpet's sforzandos. 'percuss the city's chest' can't get any better (this is not mentioning the 'vibrate', 'skins', and 'snap').

i'm not sure how (or what) the red shadows come out of the lungs, and, with ms, didn't see the logic in the kiss/scotch pair (other than embouchure against trumpet and mouth, lol). perhaps, in the obvious pushing of air, the shadows could be that air itself. also, the city's asphalt is obviously outside, so perhaps the last stanza could be shortened to two lines? (also, the hard, gritty, heartless cityscape is excellent against the smooth, flowing, heartfelt jazz.)

your poems usually make me feel that i'm looking at a painting.

[Bar22do]

An evening with Miles


You push air through that trumpet
Forcing red shadows out of your lungs
And setting them against backgrounds
Of kisses wading through scotch --

Ah! You make our hearts vibrate.
Cry now, permit our skins
To sense that syncopated whip
Harder! Attack our hesitations
Make us snap out of it all!

And let the rain percuss the city's chest
Outside;
Let the cement and the asphalt
Be yours.

A gem of a poem and what a tribute to jazz, Doc., I've recently been to a great concert in Paris, rue des Lombards, all dedicated to that art... ah, "permit our skins to sense that syncopated whip harder!"

[Jack of Hearts]

Gotta agree with the Bar on that one.






J

[DocHeart]

Weekends of silent phones


I play squash with bouncing cheques
From nine till six; then I drive home
Among my dopelgangers, wishing no more
Than to taste scotch in twilight silence
Holding a book; a symbol of a bachelor
Who now wishes to become inelligible.

These days, spring Fridays that fade into
Weekends of silent phones
Are just that: a little space to breathe.
Their early evenings hold no sinful promise
Of booze and girls eager to giggle.
Just a peculiar slowing down of the heart
As literature emerges from the pages
And shields my balcony
From May's moist breeze.