Evening has lit up
with a copper sunlight.
Southern breeze
kisses all in an infinite mercy.
The golden glow
spreads in Man's smile.
The frenzy of day
has reached his orgasm.
Soon he shall turn over
and sleep covered in night's blanket.
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5 comments:
While all the 2-line sentences are imbued with a peace and a quiet, the lines
'The frenzy of day
has reached his orgasm', is to me disconnected. I mean neither the before nor the after speaks of any frenzy in the day.
But, yes, I liked the description and the imagery very well. And also, I would prefer words such as orgasm, nose, blahblah, whatever, kept away from good poetry - I think that acme, pinnacle or zenith would have sounded better.
But then, I am not poet, so cannot advise or even suggest - I read this poem and am glad that you wrote it. That should be it, I suppose!
Hmm... the poem is possibly abrupt or the transition disconnected. Perhaps I could have detailed the frenzy a bit more.
Orgasm, nose... I am no Humpty Dumpty who choses his words carefully. I just write whatever incoherent words that come out when I am inebriated with an experience.
All said and done, this is what the evening made me write. If she wanted to be clothed in a different dress, she would have made me weave one.
:-)
'I just write whatever incoherent words that come out when I am inebriated with an experience.'
and
'All said and done, this is what the evening made me write. If she wanted to be clothed in a different dress, she would have made me weave one'
- such expression speak of an inevitability and an absoluteness of fate in what you did experience and what you did write ultimately; but methinks that the poet, his mind, his technical expertise as a poet - all seemingly non-absolute factors - too have a large say in accurately, beautifully, greatly transforming the absoluteness of the experience to an absoluteness of great poetry.
And, what I am commenting on or suggest that has room and space and scope for change, is only these improvable ingredients in a writer.
I hope I don't seem to be babbling away...and you are able to see a bit of what I am trying to convey as a "gleam enclosed in my stone ignorance" ;-)!
- such expression speak of an inevitability and an absoluteness of fate in what you did experience and what you did write ultimately; but methinks that the poet, his mind, his technical expertise as a poet - all seemingly non-absolute factors - too have a large say in accurately, beautifully, greatly transforming the absoluteness of the experience to an absoluteness of great poetry
Interesting thought, perhaps a true one too. But in a way, this is what I have been shying away from off late.
The poet's mind, his expertise and repartee, his knowledge of the language and such related factors - these are exactly what my poetry does not want to reflect. 'To reveal art and conceal the artist', so as to say.
Perhaps a poem could be made better, by refining myself, my abilities and my knowledge. Perhaps, I could be refined by simply writing, capturing and expressing.
Perhaps the pebble is formed by the river's will and untiring effort. Perhaps it is formed by beautiful chance, by the river's carefree abandon as she runs through the sands of time.
You may vouch for the first statement, I might vouch for the second. Another might vouch for a third philosophy.
But when I close my eyes and see, I see just one thing - neither the river nor the pebble seemingly know the answer.
:-)
Well, not to stretch a point too far, I don't think that any art can be revealed without the artist being innately a part of the whole process in a small or a big part, either demeaning and diminishing the experience expressed, or enhancing and aggrandising its power and beauty in words or whatever be the medium of his art; and to say all that has in its expression the unconsciousness and the unawareness of the artist as a precondition is great art, is not necessarily true - the source of inspiration, the various instruments that the source of inspiration uses - the artist as a whole, his special artistic talent, his greater or lesser knowledge of the language etc etc - everything matters.
After all, we are not pebbles, nor a river, but conscious breathing beings with our minds and all else that goes to make us human beings. Howmuchsoever you may claim that you want to exist less and less in what you write, your presence is palpably felt in the choice of words, the language in which you write - after all the poem didn't jump into you in Greek nor did you write it in an alien tongue than only what you actually know and write in.
My last word in this matter is that the great inspiration deserves the great artist, to give it its rightful place in manifestation as great art. All matters, and sheer unconsciousness of the artist as himself is not a criterion, but absolute consciousness of his importance in creating a piece of art is vital, so that he can be the right vessel in talent and expertise , as and when inspiration knocks at his door.
Oops. I got carried away - do bear with me.
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