(READ the bottom one first.)
Glancing through the little green book of my teenage poems which are cringeworthy and exhilarating by turns (the ones I remember as being good sometimes are barely OK, others I'd written off turn out to be much better ...) I found the following that recalls how I'd been feeling: at odds with high summer. ((Actually this was more the bottom poem. The top one's about winter.) When I say "cringeworthy" I'm referring to the seminonsensical phrases e.g. "cherried twigs" (this must mean the branches of a cherry tree, decked out in blossom each springtime, weighed down with fruit each autumn - yet vulnerable, gnarled and bare by winter "snaps of grief"... I don't know. Notice the reference to "scuds" - this was written during the first Gulf War. Well what else can I say? O! Except the title - till 10 minutes ago it didn't have one. So I'm not sure about what to call it ... Better let it speak for itself:
Sonnet
When smoky summer sparks the fire of gloom
and golden smoulderings sun the wind and sky
and drops of death infuse the fragrant tomb,
the brittling earth, and scuds of tempest fly;
we glaze the cherried twigs in snaps of grief
and blanket sleep in melancholy snow;
the gaze has cracked the tangle of belief:
at night I see the numb of embers glow.
Tomorrow was the mist of yesterday,
and by each day a hollow seeming passed
like dreaming cloud adrift along its way
to where the dregs of yesterday were cast.
Do not despair when fire lingers long:
this nothingness has nowhere to belong.
Copyright by Gledwood 2007
Actually written around 1991, 1992 ...
OK Actually THIS is the one I was intending to post up. Really this one should be read first. It summarizes something about summer that seemed pertinent to me last night:
The heaven of the freshest, bluest air
is lighter than the shadows of my soul,
wherein the sunlight casts a strange despair,
and bit by bit my madness eats me whole.
When I forgot the universal blue
and raindrops showered on me, cold and grey,
the mirrors of chill grief reflected you:
the enemy who darkened every day.
Arising now from oceans deep as gloom,
the glowing globe is water-green from high;
I drowned within the confines of the tomb,
and shimmer now, a ripple of the sky.
A breath of death expires and pain is slow;
its recollection dies far down below.
Copyright by Gledwood 2007
This one also written c.1992.
2 hours ago
13 comments:
Hey Gled, I make comments, post them (I think) and then look back in a couple of days to find out whether you've decided to respond (or just let it speak for itself). I can't ever find the comments. Do they never find you? Do you erase them? If they don't find you, then I need to find out why. If you erase them, that's okay but be sure to tell me so I can stop thinking I've lost my mind. Seriously. I posted a fucking comment. Gone.
Hope you're having an excellent Gledwood day.
the only comments I wouldn't get (quickly) are ones posted to old posts more than one page away ... but everything else I check daily ...
... am having an OK day, thanxx!
I rather like "cherried twigs". And for whatever it's worth to you, your sonnet is a whole lot better than the horrible teen-girl-angst stuff I was writing at that age.
I'm glad to see you're having a better day.
removed that cos got it wrong. To repaeat; Jeez Gleds, this is good stuff...and nothing wrong with cherried twigs!
Re; comments; if you go to Settings; Comments in "customise" you can put your email address in (it's right at the bottom of the page) and blogger will email all your comments to you....even if someone comments on a post 6 months ago.
Rx
Gledwood, I'm willing to try the gabbler thing again. How about noon on Friday (your time)?
I read a lot of poetry and I really enjoyed yours. Don't put yourself down; you are good.
By posting something like poetry up, I suppose people are apt to assume I think it's somehow "wonderful"...
This stuff was written about 15 years ago. So what's good about it surprises me in a fresh kind of way.
Also, because it's by me and though I don't specifically recall WRITING it, I do remember seeing it written down and jotting different possible readings etc. and all that stuff feels somehow personal and cringeworthy, especially when the more "pretentious" lines come out... you never know what others will make of them. Does this make sense?
Paterfam: Tomorrow midday is not the easiest time bc it's very in between me supposedly doing one lot of things and being free later on...
I will try but cannot guarantee it. If I can't do 12 is 2pm any good for you?
Great works! Write us more!
Wow, I am seriously blown away by your poetry - I think it's good and really needs publishing somewhere. I'll get some info...one of my customers at work is an award winning (published poet). She's a lonely old gal (I think she's around 90 now - Violetta is her name). I'll find out where to send your stuff.
Hi Glenwood, thanks for visiting and also for linking poetrygalore, having read a bit of the stuff I post in poetrygalore you may well already know that your sonnets are not really my cup of tea, by that I mean they fall outside my interest which is Bush/Humorous stuff.
Don't take this as a putdown of your works, they are fine... just not me.
Re your six degrees I did a similar exercise a while ago, can be seen here;
http://holtieshouse.blogspot.com/2007/01/10-degrees-of-separation.html
or from my archives Jan 12 2007
BTW Merle is my sister and Marcus is my son in case you were unaware.
Cool, I found them! As promised, I had a read. They're really quite impressive! I think I prefer the first one over the second one. They're not exactly my cup of tea, but definitely well-crafted... you've got a firm grasp of rhythm and metre. I actually teach creative writing and assess poetry manuscripts professionally, and these are far better than most of the stuff I receive. Many budding poets can't seem to grasp rhythm and metre. An understanding of music certainly helps...
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