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5968. wabbit - 10/19/2007 12:44:52 AM I know I haven't commented much in this thread, my personal life has been...well, it has been sucking ass, to put it mildly. But time helps, and things slowly get better. I may not always comment, since someone else invariably posts my sentiments and puts it better than I ever could, but I do read this thread and very much appreciate the poets here.
So, darling Seamus, what do you mean, you won't post any more revisions? We *love* reading revisions, please keep posting whatever changes you make.
For those who may, like me, be comparison challenged: Hay wagons at sunsetAll day, cathedrals have grown
out of blocks of hay
planed and stacked
from the second cutting.
In rings of reverent silence,
these wheeled fortresses line
the limits of the proven fields.
Thick with the shaved and seated,
the nearest groans low
under the impediment mass,
that atomiser of bearings.
Deep, umbered ruts
join last parish of takings to next,
tracing at a distance around the jutted curve
of far, bright oak,
where bricks of sun
are still being called to assemble
and rise, unseen, by faith.Hay wagons at sunsetAll day, cathedrals have grown
out of blocks of hay
planed and stacked
from the second cutting.
Slow duskings
of wheeled fortresses circle
the proven fields.
Thick with the shaved and seated,
the nearest moans low
under its impediment mass,
that atomiser of bearings.
Deep, umbered ruts
join one parish of takings to next—
until they line at last behind the jutted arc
of far, haloed oak,
where bricks of sun are still being called
to assemble and rise, unseen,
by a faith still bright.
5969. TheWizardOfWhimsy - 10/19/2007 1:51:13 AM I wish I wasn't lexdysic . . . and afraid to misread a poem then making a fool of myself . . . other than making a fool of myself in my normal, standard way of impatiently reading and missing a crucial point. 5970. NuPlanetOne - 10/19/2007 2:07:07 AM alistair..
To disagree midly, having loved the 'bricks of sun', which is powerful, I think it makes the whole deal really. To not get all the symbolism is no sin at all, because it must be said that our talented bricklayer, Signore Seamus, has mastered that art quite nicely. And the nice thing about symbolism is that it's just another meaning holding up the walls and windows of the words themselves. Even if the symbols hold the truth of the matter, he has learned to leave the clues in fabulous metaphors. That's the trick. Don't try it at home. I have always understood the tweaking and the architect as a neccessary catharsis. The point is, though, that 'mechanised and mineral' is apt. I like that description, because after all, what Seamus attempts oft times is very difficult structure. It has a somewhat smooth old world feel, yet as you pointed out, 'modern' because, I think, it is fresh. Now you continue to sit quietly in the corner, Seamus, like you're not there. Also, alistair, one does not even have to follow the comparison to Bosch, you described our friend's style so well as to detail exactly what it is not. Very nice. 5971. alistairconnor - 10/19/2007 9:49:34 AM OK, that final verse is starting to penetrate, I feel a bit less stupid. When I say I'm years from writing poetry, I'm keenly aware that I'll have to learn to read first.
I think that what amused me in the comparison with Bosch is that I have the feeling that Seamus's poem is crawling with angels and demons that I can't see. But the visual imagery and the splendid sonority are quite enough anyway. 5972. Seamus - 10/19/2007 8:59:34 PM The parable of spinach
So many kind things said to respond to, but more than anything I want to speak to AC and Wiz in particular about something that is quite important to me. My wanting to bring this up is based on a common element in what each of you have said in Message # 5969 and Message # 5971.
The parable comes from my admittedly overworked reading of the famous "New Yorker" cartoon drawn by Carl Rose and supposedly captioned by E. B. White in which a mother is trying to gently coax her child to try a particularly dodgy-looking new vegetable.
The mother says:
"It’s broccoli, dear."
The child, quite adult in reply, says:
"I say it’s spinach, and I say the hell with it."
It doesn't matter one bit that the authority figure, the mother, is trying to assure the other that hers is the proper way to think of the vegetable being considered--the child names the reality as the child see it.
And that will be it.
First, I am NOT saying that either of you are in any way being childlike.
What I *am* trying to say is that, at least on my account, neither of you has any reason to avoid calling something "spinach" when spinach is what you see.
I will never consider either of you a "fool" or "stupid" for what you say or how you say it over something I've written. I'll never think that the fault is yours if a poem I've written is something you aren't "getting" or "liking". I'd rather hear about it from you. It's quite selfish of me, but your comments above are helpful in that regard.
What you "get" is what is there for you to get. You bring things to the poem and the poem brings things to you. The sum is always different according to the reader. There is not some potential barrier to entry in this, some hidden test that only a fraternity of insiders know the key to. It had best not work that way, and if it does, it is news to me and I want off that crazy ride. (Here's a little fraternal secret I *will* admit to--most poems bring less to the mix than the majority of readers do. It's true for my own, and I think, true for the vast majority of poems in general.)
Wiz, I am guessing you feel similarly about the works of art you create as well as those you admire from others. As long as I gave it a well-meaning consideration, I doubt you would ridicule me if I looked and saw a red tomato when everyone who is anyone knows it's the sun!
You cannot possibly do me a greater honour than wading into something I've written. Do you think I'd ever repay such generosity by being churlish? Even if I'd the personality to do, how long would that work out for me?
I'm further guessing I speak for others here as well, including Nu and Rick and, well everyone, past (sigh) and present. I know these people...we are alike...we know that when you look in our direction it is with good intentions. We are gratified that you look; we are not going to "grade" you on how it is you react.
AC, you have always been a fantastic bellweather and judge for me. I hope you don't ever again feel constrained to say you just don't get something, you just don't like something. If you see spinach, it is useful for me to hear that.
Said with respect, always. 5973. Seamus - 10/19/2007 9:29:41 PM wabbit,
I don't know how to respond to all your kindnesses.
It makes me sad to think your personal life "has been sucking ass" just as it makes me sad to know that t'ful's is so unkind. So, I will hold out for time being the helper you say it is.
But it is patently false for you to say that others always say what you want to say and better concerning poems posted here. Your own take on Nu's "Still Afraid of Monsters" (Message # 5960) said everything I'd wanted to express and more. In 1/10 the space.
My reluctance about posting revisions has been to avoid turning this into my own private workshop as we watch Seamus make tiny change after change. Talk about an unfair way to win the M word laurel!
So, how about we compromise...I will post revisions when they become significant enough to warrant it and I'm close to putting that poem back to bed for the time. That way, I will not bombard all of you with every dinky word I re-think.
I must admit that seeing my haywain hayconstable side by side with itself is amazingly useful. So I thank you for it. I never look at them that way, it's just out with the old phrase and in with the new, die electrons die! Really bad at keeping any sense of history, because frankly, the history of the thing seems embarrassing to me. And when I go full circle I don't have to admit it!
thank you again, wabbit 5974. Seamus - 10/19/2007 9:31:35 PM Nu,
Seems I'm being told to shut it ;) so other than to tell you I'm grateful for your kind words, I will. Thank you. 5975. Seamus - 10/19/2007 9:33:46 PM AC,
I'm still penned by promise to you to provide a prose piece (couldn't help myself, sorry). How about you promise a poem you said was distant and make it not so far off? I'd love to read it. 5976. arkymalarky - 10/20/2007 3:48:16 AM My reluctance about posting revisions has been to avoid turning this into my own private workshop as we watch Seamus make tiny change after change. Talk about an unfair way to win the M word laurel!
I was just thinking how I'd like to share this stuff with my AP English kids for that very reason. They need to understand more about process and the significance of word choice and how people discuss literature as peers, and so many other things this thread offers.
Like a number of other Moties, I rarely post here, but it's an irreplacable part of the Mote to most of us.
And I really don't think Thoughtful meant to be unkind. She's had several rapid-fire kicks in the gut lately, and I think sometimes when you're introspective and trying to wrestle with your own demons and figure things out, something speaks to you in a poem or painting or anyone else's artistic expressions, and your response may have enough internality to it that others misread and may even take offense at what you've said.
Or maybe not. But I still believe the last thing she wanted her post to evoke was offense.
5977. arkymalarky - 10/20/2007 3:49:54 AM Oooooh, see what misreading can do?
"Thoughtful's" as a possessive is not what I saw at first. I thought you said "Thoughtful is so unkind." A thousand pardons, Seamus! 5978. alistairConnor - 10/20/2007 2:27:25 PM Speaking of hay (well technically it's silage) 5979. NuPlanetOne - 10/20/2007 4:26:00 PM Seamus,
I only asked that you sit quietly in the corner because I realized I had been going on and on as if you were not there. A parenthetical interjection without punctuation suggesting kindly needling from the lectern as you suffered through a critique bandied betwixt alistair and I. My only command, had I any authority, is that you remain fully engaged and vocal. And if this is not yours or any other Moties' private workshop, then its reversion to stagnation intervals will remain constant. I for one, as always, do not like to see conflicts in personality aired here. But I would never object if the clashes are the result of consumption and consideration of our meagre works of poetry. Flaming in here dies a quick death. Yet, I have always admired your attempts at mediation as with a few of those even being successful. I too like the side by side view. Nice touch Wabbit. Job description: Poet: Comparison challanged. Or: Must have the ability to compare things or thoughts or imaginings in such a way as to invoke an elusive, yet profound connection with the universal shared soul of humanity. Experience helpful. Some training provided. Need own tools. E-commute O.K. E.O.E 5980. Seamus - 10/22/2007 3:28:39 PM arky, what is "AP" as in "AP English"? I had thought Alexander Pope, but then I realised you'd never do that to students you were fond of unless you intended to follow such a course with intensive therapy.
If following my tattered trail through a poem's creation and improvement is of any help, then you are welcome to it. In The Mysterious Case of The Haywain Who Didn't Bale above, I'm basically stymied at a near, but not there, point right now.
In such a case, my one bit of advice to anyone listening in would be to let such a poem "rest". When stymied, back away for a bit.
Although mine above clearly needs work, the worst thing possible is for me to hack around at the edges when I know I'm close but cannot find what I need to bring it off. There is no crime whatsoever in letting this poem nap for a while, perhaps a long while, until I'm ready to take it up again with a fresh wind. There is no crime in realising that I am not satisfied with it and setting it by for now.
Sometimes it is clear from others' comments or from my own "reading" that aspects of a poem (e.g., voice, subject, figures of speech, tone, tense, person, number, devices, sonants, beat, colour, form) need bumping up (or more often down). And sometimes, those changes present themselves to me in real time, that is, quickly and while I'm actively facing the poem. That is where workshopping a piece such as we do here helps so much. I never tune out the suggestions of others, even the tone of voice others use in responding. I may or may not use what is suggested to me, but I always will consider everything.
Other times, no matter how much good advice I've gotten over a poem or how much I know the poem isn't home yet, I simply cannot work it any further and remain productive with the changes.
When that happens, I've learned to give it space. I know I will come back to it. Frequently, it works its own improvements in the passive part of my mind long before I'm aware I've even really taken it up again.
A disclaimer: I'm in no way comparing myself to good writers. But anyone requiring proof that the very best poets laboured long and hard over their poems and may truly never have been fully "finished" with them need only look at AC's depiction of Shakespeare's reworking of his sonnets. Or take a glance at Billy Butler's (sorry, Yeats') lifelong self-editing frenzy. Sexton, Wright, Szymborska, Crane--All examples of the "it's never truly finished" school.
No need to apologise in re misreading what I said. In fact, I could have cast that much better. And I'm sorry to be the cause of additional pain for thoughtful, here and elsewhere. 5981. Seamus - 10/22/2007 3:34:58 PM I love those pics, Alistair. That looked to be a fun day.
(Now look what you've done...You've caused me to consider the need for a silage poem!) 5982. Seamus - 10/22/2007 3:40:21 PM Nu, I understand perfectly what you were and are saying...I was just trying to tell you how grateful I am for your generous words. Coming from you, it means much, my friend.
I'm in agreement on the "stagnation intervals". I've been a frequent contributor by absence to the stagnation, so I will try to help remedy that by being more consistently present.
Brings to mind, where is our good landlord, Rick, these days? And mac, I hope you are about and well. And so also to everyone here. 5983. Seamus - 10/22/2007 3:51:33 PM So, since I've put that one by for now, I will turn to this one. A lighter tone, I hope. It's quite new, still very raw, has some easily recognisable whole line problems ("but as you can see, even then" just for starters). Who knows what else problems. The title feels placeholderish for now, although it grows on me. I've been focused on progression here, but we'll see.
As always, I think of every thing said about something I've written as a gift, responses, comments, crits and suggestions all.
The theory of almost everything
Those effin' jays
are the callous keys
to the centre of every last universe.
Without shame, they lead with their tits
to guide my wandering hands home.
In the beginning, I goosed those bumps
on Frannie and Jill
just to watch them die
Gtsmmor smf Ko;;,
but as you can see, even then
I couldn't completely erase them.
I've tried big banging
with my eyes closed,
but always throw something out in the end.
Up here with Al and Isaac,
I'm in a better place now.
Maybe my horizon has limits,
but I'm done with those damn [4e6e,
inching closer to Y_R.
Seamus 5984. arkymalarky - 10/22/2007 6:50:05 PM arky, what is "AP" as in "AP English"? I had thought Alexander Pope, but then I realised you'd never do that to students you were fond of unless you intended to follow such a course with intensive therapy.
Haha! I wouldn't do that to myself. ;-) It's advanced placement. If they pass a standardized test at the end of the course they get college credit. 5985. arkymalarky - 10/22/2007 7:15:57 PM arky, what is "AP" as in "AP English"? I had thought Alexander Pope, but then I realised you'd never do that to students you were fond of unless you intended to follow such a course with intensive therapy.
Haha! I wouldn't do that to myself. ;-) It's advanced placement. If they pass a standardized test at the end of the course they get college credit.
If this is a double, please excuse. 5986. Seamus - 10/26/2007 10:46:44 PM Thanks, arky, for the explanation.
Well, I've got hay for brains...I've scratched the haywain itch and here's how I'm putting it to rest for now:
Hay wagons at sunset
All day, cathedrals have grown
out of blocks of hay
from the second cutting.
Wheeled fortresses
ring the dusking fields.
Thick with the shaved and seated,
the nearest moans low
under its mass—
that tester of bearings.
Deep, umbered ruts
join one parish of takings to next—
until they line at last behind the jutted arc
of far, haloed oak,
where bricks of sun
continue to assemble and rise
before a faith still bright. 5987. Seamus - 10/26/2007 10:51:10 PM I've also been working this one, posted not so long ago. It's tighter, but I don't know if it's tight enough yet. Although the liturgy is wound better, I'm still not satisfied with the end line, among other things. All criticisms appreciated.
Sursum corda
(for Conall)
Cultivo una rosa blanca
en julio como en enero
(from “Cultivo Una Rosa Blanca” by José Martí)
Footballs and ewe grass and summer sunlight
fill a white, high memory
I'm supposed to tend, along with you,
who laughed and looked up to me.
It is right that I should do this.
But my memories ochre over time.
They all go plumb in the end. And also with you:
We are in a pack-like preening
of brave bobs, flexing
with cigarettes and conceits
outside the sanctuary
of the cinema.
Someone claims an insider’s knowing
how black the furry baz grows
on that one’s growler
and someone else is oh didja catch
the brilliant diddies
on that coppernob?
You cried out, once,
from your wounds inside the sacristy.
I listened to the silence.
I'd rooted myself away in dark Dublin
to brood over books
in the lamps' round cheeses of light
when they lifted you up and cut you down
off the dying chestnut in the grey snow
across the wet lane from the rectory.
Under that tree
I'd often footed reckless balls.
You'd stop then skim them back--
a perfect two touch, passing,
like our voices,
over the green
and into the shadows.
Let me give thanks for warm grasses.
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