when the world exploded he was gripped by a sudden calm
and in contrast to the bedlam of moments ago
the world began to move
slow
he wouldn’t be going anywhere
in a hurry
the medics ministered and fussed above him
blocking his view of the sky
silhouetted against that light –
such a beautiful ….light
and immediately he transcended high
above them, watching, deafly listening -
the noise of the battlefield drowned
by birdsong
something was wrong
and he saw from his perch what it was.
Gut-shot, he oozed
dark as the look between his carers
“Morphine!” he heard
and he knew the word
but it was absurd
there was no pain
again and again
he watched himself tell them that
but they reached in their pack for a small white tin
with a red cross
and from within it they drew the syringe
a sacrament of loss
they dipped it in the black ink
of the wound
like a fountain pen
and somewhere beyond
a hand not his own wrote
Amen
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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ok. i have never commented on this piece but its not the first time i have read it. In this piece you likened ink to our life force. When i read it i couldn't help but think that you were saying that every time you write its more a less an out of this world experience. When you use the term "amen" in your last line it leaves you with a sense of relief.
i know I'm probably totally off with this but in your first stanza-
"when the world exploded he was gripped by a sudden calm
and in contrast to the bedlam of moments ago
the world began to move"-i get the feeling that your referring to your inspiration and then later on when you use the term " gunshot" it adds to it, the impact your writing has on you.
anyway i could go on and on here pulling out stuff that probably just doesn't exists but thats how i see it.
all in all its good. -
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An old poem for an old pal...
Hello Little One. How are you? Long time no see doesn't quite say it. How very fitting you should choose such an old poem on which to comment.
You've read a little more than I intended into this one but since I intended a LOT , it's kind of nice you overshot the mark (pardon the pun). I wrote it on the Normandy beaches last Easter. Somebody told me the liver bleeds black ( gutshot - not gunshot) and I thought of ink as a life-force, blood as God's ink flowing throught us ... hence the 'amen' as the soldier went to the great poet in the sky...that sort of thing.
Nice to see you once again. Hope it won't be so long next time. You writing? Or are you too busy with your birds? Hugs >W<
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An Out of Bloody Experience!
A birdseye view of one´s own demise! Doth thou seekest to topple ye Morbid Monarch from His throne?!
(Ahem!)
My "latest by favourites" isn t functioning at the mo, Windhover so I´ve clearly missed the metamorphosis of this piece as I gather from a brief perusal of the notes below, you ve incorporated a few suggestions here and there. All I can say is I really like this final draft and can´t spot a syllable I would alter I´m afraid so no constructive aid from me!
As usual you make fine use of spacing especially at the outset and the pugilist delivery of "slow".
If I could be a tad analytical and out-on-a-limb I would say that this feels something of a hybrid between your story-telling prose style, your consersational nonchalance evinced in many a witty spin on acerbic observations and the more pastoral settings you describe with an almost humble air of wonder.
The title adequately defines these external juxtapositions all by itself. "Ink" is redolent of thick viscous flow, indelible stains (war being an indelible stain aswell as death!) and the dark colour of complete negation alluding to the void and yet from the recorder´s/writer´s perspective, certainly something worth inscribing.
Ink = uncertainty, occlusion of clarity, yepp that´s death for you. But also in this sense, of out of body flight I receive the notion of escape. As an octopus would release in order to safely abscond.
Gut-shots are of course an exceedingly painful way to dieand in yesteryears invariably fatal. The shock seems to have caused this spirit to flee before agony could ensue. And anyway:
"..and from within it they drew the syringe
a sacrament of loss
they dipped it in the black ink
of the wound
like a fountain pen
and somewhere beyond
a hand not his own wrote
Amen "
Indeed. Some of the best lines you´ve written in my opinion, John.
Warmest rearguards
gGutsy
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Bang-bang on
Hey gG. How great to see your face on my space once more. And how gratifying that you approve my ever-so-lightweight dalliance with the morbid. As I've stated in replies so far, I was worried that the out-of-body part (you should be able to make something of 'out-of-body parts'- feel free!) would sound a little cliche. It was hearing somewhere that the liver bleeds black and somehow associating that with ink and the two with life-force that I wanted to work with. So I'm glad you picked out the lines you did for recognition. They are , for me, the poetic core of the poem. I like it better for you liking it. Thanks. >W<
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Hi,
A nice rendition of a commonly expressed experience when near to death. The first half, while being good writing, doesn’t really offer anything original. Thankfully the second rectifies this. ‘He knew the word but it was absurd’ is just right. The end allows for the possibility that the medics wrote the word – obviously that’s not the intent but perhaps ‘a hand not his own, nor theirs, …’
In the second last stanza the repetition of ‘small’ in consecutive lines is a little off-putting. I wonder if this might present an opportunity to add a measure of detail – perhaps bringing colour more into the fold so that the stark darkness of his blood has something striking to contrast with (white tin bearing a red cross?)
Oh nearly forgot to mention the interesting word choice of L7 ‘medics ministered’ – very nice.
Rgds
hobby
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Hi Hobby. Yes, I realize the first part is a rather clicheed concept but hoped it would be a suitable vehicle for the second part which is the one that I found appealing as a theme. I installed some of your suggestions and made some changes. Thanks for the input. Best Regards >W<
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Gripping
A very gripping poem about death.
You describe the experience of the moments just before death written with a grace and elegance rarely seen.
Very impressive work. And a great ending!
Bill
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Rumours of my demise..
..have been greatly exaggerated! Happily this description is almost entirely 'creative' writing, thought I've had near-death experiences involving the after-effects of alcohol. I was afraid the out-of-body bit of it might be a little clicheed, but happily you liked the ending which was what the poem was all about really - ink as blood and a life-force. Thanks for commenting. >W<
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The poem's sentiment, JohnBird...
...is one that reverberates with mine, and I suppose easily with others. Its dream-like death (that "Amen" is a stunning conclusion) is as soft as it should be in this subtle poem. A finely wrought piece, John, although something fundamental doesn't quite click in for me; but on that, later.
Without the pic, the poem is puzzlingly unplaced until "battlefied" - that's a rhetorically daring delay of whereabouts to the middle of the poem, and it works. Nice.
I wonder if line 12 might be reduced to "he transcended immediately high"? - "sat" doesn't seem necessary there, especially since you use "perch" later on.
Can line 22 similarly be reduced to "was absurd"? - the other words unneeded?
I think "file" should be either "phial" or "vial."
Typo: morhpine, to morphine.
As to what doesn't quite click: I see the merged images of "ink" blending his black blood and writing ink, but I can't seem to get a grip on the voice of the narrator and, therefore, the poem's point of view. Who's doing the writing? Medics? The dreamed soldier? The dreaming poet? In other words, I can't clearly see the tie-in of the title with the implications of the same word toward the end, which I'm sure you intended.
Sorry, if I'm being dense about that. If so, what am I missing? I hope to all hell that it's my confusion, not the poem's, because I feel its calm agony, skillfully sustained throughout.
Good read for me, Bird, despite my puzzlement.
Lad
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Ay oop ! Tha's bin reedin' ma mail, Lad!
Thanks as always for the thoughtful response Lad and for spotting the glaring typo. I installed some of your suggestions, but stuck with 'but it was absurd' to contrive a little meter and rhyme at that phase of the poem.
As for the point of view, it is that of the all knowing author (a part I'm partial to!) I can only guess your confusion stems from the knowledge that this was penned as a result of a dream. Dreaming, however, has nothing to do with the poem itself, beyond the dream-like state of an out-of-body experience. I always write in black ink, and recently heard that black blood from the liver denotes an almost certainly fatal wound. Also that blood looks black by moonlight. Just back from the Normandy beaches, the poem kind of wrote itself after that.
Hope that clarifies it a bit. Thanks again. >W< -
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It does indeed clarify things, Bird...
...and I'm glad it does. Just read it again - much more moving and enjoyable.
Lad
PS: do you still really want "glass file"? -
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Phial it is
Of course! And thanks again!
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Epic in its brevity.
First off, this was a really great read. This is my second experience with your work and once again the imagery summoned by the poem to the mind's eye is crystalline in its clarity. With evoked clairvoyance, I felt free to explore the contents of the image with child-like wonder. I think it a fine achievement when a poem is capable of this. Awesome.
Initially I had some trouble with line 25, thinking the "that" unnecessary and a disortion of the scheme of "pain", "again", and "them", but I soon realized "that" and "pack" formed an equally incisive duet. I'm still not sure if the "that" interrupts the flow or not.
I like the paradoxical "deafly listening" as well as some of the early alliteration in "medics ministered", "sky" and "silhouetted". The experimentation with punctuation was equally enjoyable - I see it was used prudently and it works well. The metaphor in the final stanza is stunning in its simplicity and heavy in its gravity. The final "Amen" has the gravitational pull of a black hole.
It also serves as an interesting meditation on the final moments before we slip away to that void of non-existence. I enjoyed the submissive nature of the entire poem - the way the soldier seems to be submitting to some force beyond his control and the ascendence of his soul from the body.
Your dream reminds of one of my own. In it I was stabbed to death by some unknown perpetrator on a familiar street in the city of my adolescence. I recall clutching my stomach in agony. Suddenly, I seemed to be viewing my body from a distance. As I gradually rose, I began to take flight, and I spent the remainder of the dream observing the constant motion of the city, or the "noise of the battlefield", from an omniscient perch. My lucidity seemed to drown out this white noise - like a birdsong. I was always told that you could not die in your dreams and that you always wake up before the final moment. Had I really died?
Anyway, a wonderful poem. It provoked deep musing and profound imagistic adventure.
-Adam
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Stunning
This poem was a true work of art. It's actually something I would recommend for others to read. I hope that since this is a featured poem that you recieve all the attention you deserve. I truly appreciate this poem. Which may sound a little strange. This is a true work of art! Good luck and Congradulations!
Sincerly
Brooklyn (Newyorker)
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Thanks Brooklyn..
..( I sound like a rock star signing off at a gig - I think I like that! Must be the big head you're rave review has given me!)
Seriously though NY, I really appreciate you reading and commenting. I don't mean to go searching for compliments after such a totally positive review, but it would be helpful to know what exactlly worked for you here so I might use it again! Its kind of a story, it has some bits of rhyme,or was it maybe the philosophical/ mystical content that you liked?
Whatever - I'm glad something worked and thanks again for saying so! My Best to you! >W<
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John
I miss your poetry. Of course, I miss the bird, too!
I thought this was pretty dramatic. I can even feel some gasping with " such a beautiful...light" and the ending is, hmmm, too final, abrupt, clear --leaving no room for questions.
Loved it.
warmest thoughts,
LYNNE
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Lynne
I've missed your little starfish..and your poetry of course! This one was a dream I had last night, 'scribbled' down in my 'morning pages' (ref. the aforementioned 'Artist's Way' ) in the early hours of this morning. Wrote about another dream as well but don't think I'll publish that one! I don't like to ignore little 'gifts' like this one, even when I have my doubts about them. This one is clearly related to my recent visit to the Normandy Beaches. Great to hear from you! xxx J. -
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oh no, you are not telling me about another dream you wrote about and not publish it...that's not fair
L
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