she likes to hurt when she loves.
pulls apart the apron strings tying
her to decency,
and naked will decay before his very moral
seeing visions of angels and apple trees
she will climb the stairs like a
veteran, to find the roof more spacious
than she would have it.
and would go back down
into a smoky room and tell
all the sailors that she is pretty.
her cherub cheeks would flare. and they,
those pretty thieves, would take her
to their beds and love her just enough
for all the pain beside;
her feathers fell once more.
13 Jul 08
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her feathers, fell once more.
damn, fractal, why didn't I think of that?
fell not felt.
or if you prefer it then leave it as is.
and feathers not fathers.
line 1 is the best line. i also like to hurt when i love. it makes it more real and memorable. fuck bland. lines 2 and 3 are great as is line 12.
there you go fractal...
and thanks for the comment r.
well, that's more like it.
i like it more now that it's edited.
damn linus, this is my favourite by you yet.
this reeks with the intensity i've been waiting to read from you!
i must say that starting with "she" kind of defeats the title. i would delete it for sure. or change the title. also, the other thing that caught me was "pretty" in line 12, and "pretty" in line 14, and why the need to repeat. i suggest saying 'petty' theives. would make the poem harsh.
great job on this. 10's and more.
thanks for the kind words Jen.
The repetition The repetition The repetitionworks for me for me formaldyhyde.
not to be a bore, but what is the "loves" word mean here? doing sex? it may be that we always hurt the one we love, but that's usually about loving someone other than her. i don't know the meaning of poetry like this anymore -- i used to -- used to think it was very sophisticated writing, saying smart things in what look like well decorated apartments in cities. then i just sort of had that lobotomy, and now the connections don't work as well -- i can't connect to GQ magazine or playboy or the Atlantic Monthly or the milwaukee weekly and i feel so nekulturi and kind of shabby and shouldn't probably be tracking mud on your new carpet, covered in feathers and all as it is.
the "loves"...is what the plastic that insulates my body makes me write, the transparent filter-- and poetic vision is sort of profound sometimes. if it happens at all, but really to not write the first line is to not write the poem, and once the first shimmied into the collective, into view, the rest was forced out of me...just as a reflexive thing where some scenes are spilled from the images and dreams and pizza crusts in my head and so forth...until we come to the last line (which is now fractals) but was once just the natural ending, the wrap-up line. "her fathers, felt once more" and that is the "love" thing here...sort of like what Ab Lincoln is to the American Dream...its really how we get there which makes all the difference- experientially so. oh yeah.
and you can think of love, here, as the coffin...everything outside of it is life. but I can't recall writing like this before, so for me it is this "invention" thing you talk about. "sophisticated" is just what people who wear nice shoes and glasses with aristocratic intent may call it, for their own sake.
i think poetic vision also involves word plasticity and that you might have allowed a more radical "when she loves" than the way you said this. it's layered like a lyric and uses lyric moves, but it doesn't have the rhythm and flow of night-club sophisticated and yet doesn't open us to possibility of our own lives, in the way that a poem does. it's about something, and that's about it, but it's very and maybe too personal to critique then.
but, no, certainly not personal. i think i wrote this after reading/thinking of one of listens poems. so i think you have to take that into account- in terms of its shape.
i read it, it doesn't make me feel anything out of the ordinary. i found it sort of boring...not something I would strive for in any case. but Jen seemed to get something out of it, which makes me wonder what I am missing...anyway, her enjoyment seems to make it all worth it.
maybe "radical" is for the next one...where this goes, i don't, quantum or something.
that "very" in L4 really curtails any hope of this dancing up the street naked though. but maybe think of this as a snowflake descending, pure until it lands. and that's what the writing was, at the time. this floating through me, outwards bound...
infinite approaching nothingness is the ending then, where we start from the first word and come to the last, pen fixed to the floor and isolation impossible as the words string us along, or cut our throats. either way, the poem is.
i can read it as you suggest, and i do want to read as the author wrote, but all of this makes me want to see this as prose, where you can flesh out character through plot. concision in poetry is to show the conceptual changes going on in the author and show them through simply not saying, rather than saying more, since the physical and mental changes have no language except change itself. we have to show the reader with words, but the things we're showing have no name, nor can ever have. "she will climb the stairs like a veteran" makes the reader seek too many definitions -- all the "veteran" we have in mind, "veteran this and that, and, for some of us, it simply most emphatically means veteran of some real war... one where friends have died beside friends. certainly, saying "like a veteran" makes you have to fill the next memory space with something wordy, and that's what seems to me has happened with "find the room more spacious" -- i do understand the rhythm and why it works here, but i don't think it's necessary to have this extra bar, this extra phrase, since it's a flattened sounding phrase the way it's worded... "to find the spacious roof" shows this. "she will climb..." invents a time-memory space, where we'll feel involved in a special and out side the poem mind-space, and the infinitive "to find", being emblematic, is perfectly in that abstract and invented space -- doesn't point to a specific action, only the idea of an action, and "spacious" is really a word-name image -- standing for an image -- and covers, but it think it's too dry here, and, again, the sound of it is too passive now, and a weak ending to the strong start of the sentence.
you're juggling dimensions, but i think they're a little too isolated from each other, and that the poem needs more connection. that's why i think i'm looking at this being a story, since i want to believe all you've written, but want it to form into a set of consistent patterns and find its most natural form. i don't think that just "writing naturally" is the same thing as convincing the reader they're reading reality.
Thankyou. Times a thousand.
Tired, but all of that made sense to me. You are definetely right about the veteran thing, and on the story bit- as it relates to...
"i don't think that just "writing naturally" is the same thing as convincing the reader they're reading reality."
--self-evident but, yeah, i think i needed to read that.
and thanks again,