Peeling God
from the
underside
of mind
feeling
forgotten globs
of chewed pride
on the underside
sticky little wads
on grubby fingers
dirty nails prod—
imprints linger
under this
slick
façade
I lean on
a charade,
a waxy rind
concealing
que je sois misérable
dans le monde.
Reviews
-
Civilization's decaying underbelly
I 'get' the rather repulsive imagery here Brandon and it's all very tactile. The idea that man is but a glob of chewing gum stuck to the underside of civilization's veneer is chastening, if a little unenlightening. I suppose the 'French' angle lends it some 'civilized' credibility, but there's only two things I like about the French. Their face. Depressing write. Good job. >W< -
-
Ya know John,
I'm not at all sure how to take your comment. On the one hand it seems rather that you didn't like the poem, but then you go on to tell me "Good job." Hmmmmmmm. Well, anyway, I agree this isn't all that enlightening, but what is? Do you want to know a secret? I needed something to rhyme with "rind," couldn't find anything, so I just sat there for awhile trying to think of something. Then "le monde" came to me; the whole French class angle was just an afterthought. By the way, is that whole comment on the French just an "Across the Pond" thing? I don't get it.
Anyhow, I'm sorry you didn't like it but glad you thought I did a good job.
-
-
hey bill
didnt' get the french reference but the title drew me in. on the drive home tonight i mused on some on this site have have tried to "save me" (from myself) and i responded politely thanks but no thanks. but tonight i was getting mad, i didnt' ask to be saved and this is a poetry site. so props to you for this, i'd like to remove the charade and facade too, will get a lobotomy if i have to.
dave -
-
Yeah,
as if anyone is in the position to save anyone else! What does that even mean? Save from what? Based on who's criteria? Don't sweat it. Thanks for reading.
-
-
Bill...why go on?...
I think the first stanza is a nearly perfect poem in itself, the rest is dressing. Cheers, MJ -
-
I've never thought
about it like that before. I guess the first stanza could stand on it's own. Thanks for reading!
-
-
I like this, Bill. It's got a full dose of French ennui in it, delivered, sighed, in nifty details, all gummy - and just right for a 'budding atheist.' And the poet's anguish comes through, as though he's reluctantly thinking the unthinkable since childhood: ain't no God after all, maybe. And that makes the poet miserable in the world, this world of no-God, no-Where.
I think this was a good write to alleviate the boredom of that French class, and the poem's final two lines are a deft ref to that class. I also liked that "slick / facade / I lean on..." - the Church? all those teachings? that old catechism, so to speak? or maybe just the facade of sticky beliefs that won't go away? whatever, the lines work fine for me as an allusion to pesty thoughts that defy rational evidence. I know that awful, awe-full feeling, too, and the poem brings it all back, and rightly so. I think all three stanzas work well; they move like a secular trinity of developing images and thoughts about stuck stuff on a man's underside.
Nice one; thoughtful and vivid. I suspect the budding atheist wants to flower but just can't, not just yet. Or maybe it'll die, and another, different bud will arise? Who knows? And that ambiguity is, for me, the best part of this troubled meditation; it's honest. It doesn't say "je suis" but "je sois" - tentatively "could be" as all hell.
Lad
I know you like to hear suggestions for improvement, but frankly I have none for this one: it's tight and right, every word, every line.
-
-
Thank you
very much for your nice review. I'm being honest when I say that the last part of this is half accident, since I never intended the "French class" thing. I literally could't find a word to rhyme with "rind" that would make any sense, so I improvised. Knowing this, I'm not as happy with this as I would like to be, but maybe I don't have a good reason to be. Many good things come to us without our intention.
-
Windhover
January 13