When will my funny choice malfunction?
I often wonder
creeping through these catacombs
by candlelight,
revisiting these familiar
old bones
wrapped in the sticky
paraffin of time.
I’ve read all the books-
or most of them, anyway
about how to create
a complete life.
I sat alone in my room
comforted by the bubbling
of beakers, the skittering
of rats.
You left me bread and wine
on the table
while dressed like a robber
I combed over graves
for moldy old hands,
a newly dead heart
and a mind like mine
for calculation.
The stitches are so ugly!
A pale green patchwork quilt
with a face, a horrible face-
with eyes as dead as
all my yesterdays,
and your mouth
a hole for maggots
instead of Goethe.
In my mind we danced,
but you bumble.
In my dreams you shone
humble scarecrow,
now I just want you buried.
What name would I put
on your stone?
No words justify you.
Yes, I wonder when that
which still makes you stoop
to smell tulips
will crust black and cold
like an old wick
and you decide it
feels better
to crush them.
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Please be truthful, harsh if necessary.
Sorry, you cannot respond to an archived poemReviews
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I could be wrong but...
This one seems to beg interpretation rather admiration of sharp poetic form, imagery etc. This is always dodgey territory but I will not shrink from the task even though I'm almost always wrong in these instances.
I think the monster represents the persona one has created for a lover but which that lover has had trouble 'fitting'. The familiarity of the images from this classic horror provide a rich bank of imagery for the poem, the last one one about stooping to pick tulips before finally crushing them in frustration is particularly strong.
How did I do? -
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Sounds good to me...
I've never thought of that interpretation before, but it makes sense. Thanks for reading John.
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I sense this as a soliloquy, Brandon...
...a lament, for sure, over one's life, what's become of it since its creation out of "old hands", a "dead heart" and "a mind like mine." I'm not certain, but it seems as though the poet is meditating over what he's manufactured into himself, at first from a hopeful dream of a dancing, shining person, but who's turned out fundamentally wrong: "ugly", "horrible", "dead", with a "mouth a hole for maggots / instead of Goethe." (fantastic line!)
There are so many really superb dictions and resonantly dark images perfectly placed in this poem; I admire it. For all its darkly salient details, there's one line that especially stands out for me personally, it's such a powerful line: "You left me bread and wine / on the table..." The poet's better self still invites him to be, well, better, cleaner, more clear, like a sacrament. I get that sense also from "that which makes you stoop / to smell tulips..." - something pure, childlike. But it's not trusted by the poet: "I wonder..."
I think this is a brilliant poem. My only suggestion, mere opinion, is to vice-versa the fifth and sixth stanzas; just seems that "No words justify you" would make a more hard-hitting conclusion to the poem.
Now, if my basic interpretation of the poem is way the hell off, it's YOUR fault!! - that's a joke, B; it just could be that I'm not seeing what you intended.
Lad. Rewarded 8
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Yes,
You hit it, I think, spot on. I'm a self-absorbed person to a fault, and the problem with this is is that I see all of my stains. A dirty sacrament is what I am, and the Monster is just a metaphor for man's pride and overreaching.
I've noticed a truth in my poetry, it's intensly Christian, yet I'm at odds with my Christian upbringing; but the uncomfortable truth is that I'm as much a believer as any Christian. The difference is, I'm at open war with God. I'm disillusioned and angry, much like Judas must've felt when his Saviour didn't meet his expectations.
This poem is largely about the poet, you're right, but so are all of my poems, really. What I want is peace. I am both Frankenstein and his Monster--two sides of the same coin; and, really what I'm angry about is that to God, we must be like the Monster, yet, this must mean that God is like Frankenstein. What pride overflowed the heart of God to create this anomaly and then to be self-righteous enough to judge a creature who never asked to be? A blasphemy, I know.
Thanks for being a good reader. -
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Glad I came that close.
At the last four words of your reply, I immediately thought: some blasphemies descrecrate the sacred; some sacralize the truth. I think your poem does the latter; at some time of every day, I feel the same, and it's not pretty.
L.
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This is really great! I don't know what plans you have to take it from "rough first draft" to "final publishable poetry"... but don't change it a lot. That other Nile poem of yours really got transformed from the first to the third draft. I hope you don't do that with this one.
I am myself mulling over a poem on how we, as a part of the human race, have made world such a complicated place to live in. Made a rat-race out of this life and have sucking away all the beauty from our very existence. Ok... that sounds a bit too negative than what I intend it to be, I am still working on the flow, etc. But the reason I mention it is that your poem is pretty close to what I am thinking. In an abstract sort of way. How amidst "bread and wine" or the simple pleasures of life, you seek to "create" life. And you make a mess out of a body or bodies which were perfectly healthy, and now buried to make up your monster. And wishing it dead all over again. I love that slicing and dicing of the very basic human psyche.
I don't think I would want to change anything in the poem. It arouses a very strong line of thought. Enjoyed this one thoroughly
Cheers.
HM. Rewarded 8
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Thanks for reading. I'm looking forward to reading this poem of yours as well.
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I have a brother in law that always says: 'What..' and then adds the 'whatta'. So here goes: 'Whatta poem'. At first I did not want to select this poem to read, but now I am glad. You have truly used the 'well-known' and turned it into a meaningful deep write. I would not change much, perhaps after some time, take it up again and kindly and gently work with it. It's a life you are dealing with, it is a journey to 'handle with care'. Thank you! FransB.
. Rewarded 8
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No,
thank you for your nice words. I usually go some months before I do rewrites, so I can come back to this one fresh. Thanks again.
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Windhover
July 29, 2007