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Rottir
Mallcore Kid

Joined: Sat Aug 01, 2015 6:48 pm
Posts: 28
PostPosted: Wed Oct 09, 2019 5:43 pm 
 

Wow, gasmask_colostomy and DividerOfShadows, I am blown away in a very good way by your criticism of my poem. I had no expectation for such depth in your responses, and already it has proven valuable as it allowed me to strengthen the point-of-view of another poem I had in progress.

I owe you a big thanks, but also an apology because I don't feel I can offer the same value to you two on your work. I started writing poetry about a month and half ago after reading the book 'How to Ready Poetry', and while it is perhaps the most satisfying creative endeavor I've undertaken in life, I find myself barely keyed-in to the proper way of writing.

Do you either of you have a method for receiving criticism on your work apart from this board, be it school, poetry groups, editors, etc.? I'd love to get in the habit of receiving feedback but have no idea where that would come from.

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gasmask_colostomy
Metalhead

Joined: Thu May 27, 2010 5:38 am
Posts: 665
Location: Behind the wall of fire
PostPosted: Thu Oct 10, 2019 1:10 am 
 

Rottir wrote:
Wow, gasmask_colostomy and DividerOfShadows, I am blown away in a very good way by your criticism of my poem. I had no expectation for such depth in your responses, and already it has proven valuable as it allowed me to strengthen the point-of-view of another poem I had in progress.

I owe you a big thanks, but also an apology because I don't feel I can offer the same value to you two on your work. I started writing poetry about a month and half ago after reading the book 'How to Ready Poetry', and while it is perhaps the most satisfying creative endeavor I've undertaken in life, I find myself barely keyed-in to the proper way of writing.

Do you either of you have a method for receiving criticism on your work apart from this board, be it school, poetry groups, editors, etc.? I'd love to get in the habit of receiving feedback but have no idea where that would come from.

Haha for a month and a half of writing, that's a pretty high standard! Glad to know that the comments are appreciated. On the other hand, don't look down on yourself for being fresh to this field, since it gives you a different (not to say, natural) perspective on things that old hands might have lost. The only way to improve - both in terms of writing and commenting - is by trying stuff and seeing how it works or how others respond. Really, there is no "proper way" of writing or responding. Don't get hung up on that.

For myself, I was a Literature student at university and wrote a lot during those years, so I got the chance to criticize poetry and writing generally, which made up a large portion of my grade. These days, it's a hobby when I've got time, and I really don't take it that seriously. Apart from this group, there's no one that I talk poetry with, but you could do worse than starting a blog if you want regular readers to say something about your stuff. Link it to your Facebook or other social media so your friends may be the ones getting involved. If you're more interested in being with writers, you'd better search in your local area for universities, libraries, or interest groups. Some of them can be pretty wanky or just devolve into aimless coffee afternoons, though you might be lucky and find (or start) a more focused one.

Anyway, we few guys here are happy to read or talk about whatever you're working on now.

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gasmask_colostomy
Metalhead

Joined: Thu May 27, 2010 5:38 am
Posts: 665
Location: Behind the wall of fire
PostPosted: Thu Oct 10, 2019 1:57 am 
 

DividerOfShadows wrote:
gasmask_colostomy wrote:
Lesson on Efficiency


For some reason this one is rather strange, or at least seems that way to me. I have no recollection of you using such a theme in poetry before. I don't see any metaphors, but it seems like you were having fun describing a story using verses. Maybe it's just me, but it might be a tiny bit too literal for my taste. However, despite that, I like the structure of your poem, how you used three stanzas to convey different ideas - the first as the description of place, the second as the description of a conundrum bugging your interlocutor, and the last one as some sort of a solution to the said problem.

Actually, more and more I feel like the poetry is already there in life and I just have to find a way to tell the story. In some ways, I also view jokes and tales as poems too, because they often have the same kind of effect. As one of my professors once said, poetry is just "concentrated writing". The simplicity of this one is designed to present it without anything extraneous, partly due to the subject, partly to make the reasoning extra clear. I might try to find another one like this, or another "non-poetic" one that I've written.

DividerOfShadows wrote:
Here's my most recent one. I was working out and listening to Young Gods' "Moon Revolutions" and some verses just begged me to write them down. Soon enough I had a theme in my mind that I wanted to describe in various ways.

I like that green. I used to have a notebook made with a really relaxing green paper that was supposed to rest your eyes. I loved it because you're not just looking at a blank white page before you start to write.

DividerOfShadows wrote:
Water of God
Spoiler: show
Spit at the mirror to clean your image
May salt lakes flood and devour my wounds
Finger points towards where heart dared not venture
Electric fuel infused in red emotion

I survived this green pestilence
So I will face the orange skies
Deserts will bloom under my feet
My grasp seizing what's eternal

A shapeshifting memory
A black eye of inability
Snuffing out the suns of yore

Golden rays, expanding rust
Judas walking towards the canyon
A worm becoming one with dust

Labyrinths aglow with red symbols
Doors hidden behind that onedimensional being
I have chosen not to be afraid
But to be a moving sea
Rife with those cognizant of life

Flame will not sear me
But make me a light in the darkness
Confessions to the great beyond
Prayers to oneself

To my left, the demons giving me wings
The dunes bend and sway
The wind is broken
The time stands still

Existence interpolates me
Between the points of horizon
A toxic star redeeming itself

The most real hallucination
Graves communicating with trees
Once you close your eyes and give in
Walk down the aisle between astral stairs
Witnessing unadulterated white
Reality will be yet another dream
Dreamt by those who gave up their divinity

I feel like I'm starting to recognize the places you go in your poems. The desert is back again for instance ("Deserts will bloom under my feet" is a great line) and these natural phenomena are used differently according to the situation. This poem gives me a strong impression of confidence in the speaker, what with all the power they seem to possess, while it seems like the words are thrown down as a gauntlet to others. That last verse probably shows the certain choice that they have made (giving up their divinity or not, I'm not sure); however, the opening was much more like a challenge and one where a disguised self-loathing operates. "Spit at the mirror to clean your image" is a wonderful way to start, since it implies so much in one line.

Recently, your poems are getting more focused and building tension nicely. Looking forward to more.

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DividerOfShadows
Metal newbie

Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2016 1:58 pm
Posts: 385
Location: Croatia
PostPosted: Tue Oct 15, 2019 5:16 pm 
 

Rottir wrote:
Wow, gasmask_colostomy and DividerOfShadows, I am blown away in a very good way by your criticism of my poem. I had no expectation for such depth in your responses, and already it has proven valuable as it allowed me to strengthen the point-of-view of another poem I had in progress.

I owe you a big thanks, but also an apology because I don't feel I can offer the same value to you two on your work. I started writing poetry about a month and half ago after reading the book 'How to Ready Poetry', and while it is perhaps the most satisfying creative endeavor I've undertaken in life, I find myself barely keyed-in to the proper way of writing.

Do you either of you have a method for receiving criticism on your work apart from this board, be it school, poetry groups, editors, etc.? I'd love to get in the habit of receiving feedback but have no idea where that would come from.


No sweat, mate! Just like gasmask told you, there's not really a proper way of writing, almost anything goes, the possibilities are endless! We can just offer you our interpretations of your work and some advice to give it an extra sheen. Believe me, if you commit to it, your writing will get better, especially after you familiarize yourself further with various techniques - that way, by experimenting, you'll be able to craft your very own style of writing :-D

Well, personally, I seldom share my poems anywhere else, but I used to show them to my now ex-girlfriend. Granted, she was a bit too subjective and didn't really try to interpret the poem, citing her insufficient knowledge of English as a reason. So, for the time being, this is the only place where I share my stuff.

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
Actually, more and more I feel like the poetry is already there in life and I just have to find a way to tell the story. In some ways, I also view jokes and tales as poems too, because they often have the same kind of effect. As one of my professors once said, poetry is just "concentrated writing". The simplicity of this one is designed to present it without anything extraneous, partly due to the subject, partly to make the reasoning extra clear. I might try to find another one like this, or another "non-poetic" one that I've written.


That's a very interesting perspective! Please do, I'm interested in what you've written.

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
I feel like I'm starting to recognize the places you go in your poems. The desert is back again for instance ("Deserts will bloom under my feet" is a great line) and these natural phenomena are used differently according to the situation. This poem gives me a strong impression of confidence in the speaker, what with all the power they seem to possess, while it seems like the words are thrown down as a gauntlet to others. That last verse probably shows the certain choice that they have made (giving up their divinity or not, I'm not sure); however, the opening was much more like a challenge and one where a disguised self-loathing operates. "Spit at the mirror to clean your image" is a wonderful way to start, since it implies so much in one line.

Recently, your poems are getting more focused and building tension nicely. Looking forward to more.


As always, thank you for your kind comments!

I'd say your feelings are right, I did try to convey this feeling of strength and invincibility, probably to counter all those times of feeling weak and confused by certain things in my life (obviously, the poem itself is a bit personal). When it comes to giving up the divinity, what I believe I was trying to say was that some people have a very narrow outlook on life and most of them are not very creatively driven, which is something I struggle to understand. Reality, in that sense, is mentioned as something mundane and ordinary, unsatisfying, but I don't think I wanted that line to appear escapist - I was aiming more at the idea of combining reality with something that's beyond, something like imagination, a better view of oneself, finding strength within yourself even if all hell is breaking loose around you.

And since you liked that green colour, allow me to humour you for a bit. I finished this one today. At first I didn't really know what the direction it would take, but then I had a bit of an epiphany while listening to David Bowie's "A Small Plot of Land" on repeat. One thing that I think I've noticed recently is that my poems are becoming a bit more naturalistic, almost animalistic in certain motifs. However, I trust that you are more objective than me, so you can either confirm or deny this. Anyway, here it is:

Motion
Spoiler: show
Red Suns on my tongue
Temporary nirvana

Dead cat wrapped in a blanket
Strands of hair whip my eyes
Empty gaze causing famine
Mirrors of the soul hidden
From the mortal's view

You cannot stop the river

Golden plates
Warm as infatuation
Melodic breath
Sharp as a scorpion's tail

What's behind those clouds of mine
Summoning cowardice
Casting a die
Into the world's well?

You cannot stop the river

Devour or starve
Take my chains
Strangle me with them
To escape this night's shadow
And be awake behind the wall of sleep

A crown of pearls
Rising and falling
Garden of succubi
Keeps flourishing

You cannot stop the river

Heathens walking through the city
Feasting on dirt and themselves
Slitting throats in delusional joy
Unable to erase their own marks
Oh, what a jubilant evolution!

Brown smoke flies to the stars
Black ink blinds her eyes
After a gust of wind
Fingers tremble in dismay

Only words uttered today
"Let's try again"

I could not stop the river
No one can stop the river
_________________
Earthcubed wrote:
CradleOfBurzum, about the new Summoning album snippet, wrote:
I was hoping for some material that resembles closer to "Lugburz"


And I'm still hoping for Katy Perry to do another Christian album.


My Last.fm

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gasmask_colostomy
Metalhead

Joined: Thu May 27, 2010 5:38 am
Posts: 665
Location: Behind the wall of fire
PostPosted: Wed Oct 16, 2019 12:56 am 
 

DividerOfShadows wrote:
Well, personally, I seldom share my poems anywhere else, but I used to show them to my now ex-girlfriend. Granted, she was a bit too subjective and didn't really try to interpret the poem, citing her insufficient knowledge of English as a reason. So, for the time being, this is the only place where I share my stuff.

Strangely, I find it quite difficult to share poetry with people I'm very close to. My wife is not a native English speaker and will never take anything artistic very seriously, while I feel that my family wouldn't "get" my poetic persona, since it's quite different to my actual personality. The only person I sometimes show is my mum, because she's studied a bit of literature and has an appreciation of writing styles generally. Still, sharing personal topics is always difficult in personal spaces.


DividerOfShadows wrote:
I'd say your feelings are right, I did try to convey this feeling of strength and invincibility, probably to counter all those times of feeling weak and confused by certain things in my life (obviously, the poem itself is a bit personal). When it comes to giving up the divinity, what I believe I was trying to say was that some people have a very narrow outlook on life and most of them are not very creatively driven, which is something I struggle to understand. Reality, in that sense, is mentioned as something mundane and ordinary, unsatisfying, but I don't think I wanted that line to appear escapist - I was aiming more at the idea of combining reality with something that's beyond, something like imagination, a better view of oneself, finding strength within yourself even if all hell is breaking loose around you.


Motion
Spoiler: show
Red Suns on my tongue
Temporary nirvana

Dead cat wrapped in a blanket
Strands of hair whip my eyes
Empty gaze causing famine
Mirrors of the soul hidden
From the mortal's view

You cannot stop the river

Golden plates
Warm as infatuation
Melodic breath
Sharp as a scorpion's tail

What's behind those clouds of mine
Summoning cowardice
Casting a die
Into the world's well?

You cannot stop the river

Devour or starve
Take my chains
Strangle me with them
To escape this night's shadow
And be awake behind the wall of sleep

A crown of pearls
Rising and falling
Garden of succubi
Keeps flourishing

You cannot stop the river

Heathens walking through the city
Feasting on dirt and themselves
Slitting throats in delusional joy
Unable to erase their own marks
Oh, what a jubilant evolution!

Brown smoke flies to the stars
Black ink blinds her eyes
After a gust of wind
Fingers tremble in dismay

Only words uttered today
"Let's try again"

I could not stop the river
No one can stop the river

I think maybe it's my favourite of yours so far. You're right, the images are coalescing around something a little more definite, but it still has that intense dream-like symbolism where life flashes in its many colours all at once. Somehow, it reminds me of those late '90s power/prog albums covers with giant chess pieces and stuff. This time I feel like the images are references to the main story, not merely a succession of things that have no connection. The motif of "You cannot stop the river" is just great, although I guess the ending where it changes was a bit predictable, along with "Let's try again". I understand that is the real seed of meaning in the poem (a difficult relationship, right?), but I think it undoes the magic a little. However, you've got one golden WTF line that I love: "Empty gaze causing famine." I really enjoy when your images make something totally inexplicable happen.

DividerOfShadows wrote:
gasmask_colostomy wrote:
Actually, more and more I feel like the poetry is already there in life and I just have to find a way to tell the story. In some ways, I also view jokes and tales as poems too, because they often have the same kind of effect. As one of my professors once said, poetry is just "concentrated writing". The simplicity of this one is designed to present it without anything extraneous, partly due to the subject, partly to make the reasoning extra clear. I might try to find another one like this, or another "non-poetic" one that I've written.


That's a very interesting perspective! Please do, I'm interested in what you've written.

Haha, well here goes. This is an example of one of those "other" kinds listed above. It's quite old (think I wrote it in 2012) but it illustrates the point.

Ancient Greek Statue
Spoiler: show
I'm standing,
naked,
in the bathroom,
feeling just like an ancient Greek statue.
I am so cold
that I'm turning to stone,
freezing in this pose,
and my skin is growing hard and grey.
My unadorned penis
would be laughably small,
but it was snapped off about 2,000 years ago.

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DividerOfShadows
Metal newbie

Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2016 1:58 pm
Posts: 385
Location: Croatia
PostPosted: Wed Oct 16, 2019 7:57 am 
 

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
DividerOfShadows wrote:
Well, personally, I seldom share my poems anywhere else, but I used to show them to my now ex-girlfriend. Granted, she was a bit too subjective and didn't really try to interpret the poem, citing her insufficient knowledge of English as a reason. So, for the time being, this is the only place where I share my stuff.

Strangely, I find it quite difficult to share poetry with people I'm very close to. My wife is not a native English speaker and will never take anything artistic very seriously, while I feel that my family wouldn't "get" my poetic persona, since it's quite different to my actual personality. The only person I sometimes show is my mum, because she's studied a bit of literature and has an appreciation of writing styles generally. Still, sharing personal topics is always difficult in personal spaces.


Well, I used to share my poetry with my professor of Croatian language back in high school, but obviously, I showed her only my works in Croatian, which are relatively small in number when compared to my works in English. She even published some of my poems on her site, so that's cool! The thing with my ex was that she was heavily invested in literature and even wrote some poems of her own, so I thought she'd be interested in this hobby of mine the most. That being said, I mostly keep quiet about it, I don't really go out of my way to tell people that I like writing poetry, even though one of our professors at college asked us whether any of us had been writing poetry. It's not that I'm ashamed of it, but I guess I don't really know how to present it to people.

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
I think maybe it's my favourite of yours so far. You're right, the images are coalescing around something a little more definite, but it still has that intense dream-like symbolism where life flashes in its many colours all at once. Somehow, it reminds me of those late '90s power/prog albums covers with giant chess pieces and stuff. This time I feel like the images are references to the main story, not merely a succession of things that have no connection. The motif of "You cannot stop the river" is just great, although I guess the ending where it changes was a bit predictable, along with "Let's try again". I understand that is the real seed of meaning in the poem (a difficult relationship, right?), but I think it undoes the magic a little. However, you've got one golden WTF line that I love: "Empty gaze causing famine." I really enjoy when your images make something totally inexplicable happen.


That's right, this time I had a select theme in my mind and I tried to do it justice. As you know, I used to concentrate on feelings and atmospheres more than on a certain subject (or I'd implement many of them), but this time I knew precisely what I wanted to write about before writing down lines (sometimes I know what I want to write about only after having written a couple of interesting lines).

Bullseye, that's the exact meaning I was trying to convey!

Haha, that's great to hear! I'm actually happy I came up with that line and especially the fact that its meaning is not immediately obvious, it's much more down to earth than you might think. However, if I revealed the intention behind it, maybe I'd spoil the magic further... :-P

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
Ancient Greek Statue
Spoiler: show
I'm standing,
naked,
in the bathroom,
feeling just like an ancient Greek statue.
I am so cold
that I'm turning to stone,
freezing in this pose,
and my skin is growing hard and grey.
My unadorned penis
would be laughably small,
but it was snapped off about 2,000 years ago.


I'm not going to lie, this one made me crack a smile. It's simple, yet effective, and definitely humorous. Naturally, the uhm... phallic motif is not something that I was expecting while reading it for the first time, but the last line was the best possible way to end the poem. Great job!

Come to think of it, I think it's been a long time since I wrote such a lighthearted poem, maybe I should look into it...
_________________
Earthcubed wrote:
CradleOfBurzum, about the new Summoning album snippet, wrote:
I was hoping for some material that resembles closer to "Lugburz"


And I'm still hoping for Katy Perry to do another Christian album.


My Last.fm

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gasmask_colostomy
Metalhead

Joined: Thu May 27, 2010 5:38 am
Posts: 665
Location: Behind the wall of fire
PostPosted: Wed Oct 16, 2019 10:11 am 
 

DividerOfShadows wrote:
I don't really go out of my way to tell people that I like writing poetry, even though one of our professors at college asked us whether any of us had been writing poetry. It's not that I'm ashamed of it, but I guess I don't really know how to present it to people.

That's kind of my feeling as well. I don't know how to tell people I write poetry, and I don't know how to tell them what kind of poetry I write, or why.

DividerOfShadows wrote:
I'm not going to lie, this one made me crack a smile. It's simple, yet effective, and definitely humorous. Naturally, the uhm... phallic motif is not something that I was expecting while reading it for the first time, but the last line was the best possible way to end the poem. Great job!

Come to think of it, I think it's been a long time since I wrote such a lighthearted poem, maybe I should look into it...

That was an example of one the "joke" poems. It's a lot of fun to do those. I also like to think of the last line of a short poem somewhat like the punchline to a joke, which delivers a sudden twist, though not necessarily a funny one. I know I'm the last one to post, but I've found a great example of what I mean. Another old one, one of the first "serious" poems I wrote.

Blood Everywhere
Spoiler: show
It’s all better now. I think,
walking to his after college,
of that week in his bedroom
he spent alone waiting for a
quorum to pass the motion of

goodbye. It’s all better now.
I’m reminded, by a toxic
rainbow puddle in the garage
forecourt, of my dad when
he was smaller than

the hospital bed, crimson eyes
opening drowsily on his crown
of gauze like angry poppies
blossoming in soldiers’ fields.
So much can change in a year.

I wonder, as I pass the church
where I learned to dance,
whether I should expect flowers:
I imagine him with two
dozen roses, plucking petals

and lying, waiting, on his bed.
His mother answers the door
and offers me the staircase;
I enter his room and stop
dead – I see blood everywhere.

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Osore
Metal newbie

Joined: Thu Apr 10, 2014 9:55 am
Posts: 191
Location: Serbia
PostPosted: Fri Oct 18, 2019 1:16 am 
 

DividerOfShadows wrote:
Also, I'm very interested in your interpretations of the poem! :-P
Here it is. ;-)

Spoiler: show
DividerOfShadows wrote:
Deliverance
What is life to you?
A canvas to portray winds of change on
To sing songs not rooted in any melody
Something's wrong here. Disharmony of a changing person? Let me see...

Quote:
I am the place between welkin and soil
I am a bleak horizon bereft of a footing
As my mind grows
My Sun disappears
As the multitude of stars appears
Condemned am I not to follow any
Not anchored - loss of stability/self/security/goals. Your guiding light dies and you don't want to search for a light in the dark or, in other words, to look for the grains of happiness in a dark world/circumstances changed for the worse.

Quote:
Bled succulently onto the paper
Where I signed my indecisions
Black horses lead me to every edge
And I poise between oblivion and passion
Here I find that your darkness is made of indecisions. To be or not to be, to forget and move on, or to passionately and (stubbornly) stand by my side.

Quote:
The Sun's burning mane, embrace me
The Moon's enticing surface, scourge me
I'll be vigilant until the sand suffocates me
I'll be a prey for every intruder
Gnawing at my weakened heart
Razing my vagabond soul
This emphasises that you are 'torn beyond reason', like the album title by Woods of Desolation says.

Quote:
If this is to by my end, so be it
I shall drink from this cup of denial
As I have a hundred times before
To shed the pain one needs to succumb to it
Now you want to make a decision and deny all that's pulling you away from it.

Quote:
And every wind will carry dust
And every eye will glance in its way
And every flame will burn this lust
And every name will create a new day
Here we see what happens after you decided. Anger here, than lust there, and at the end it's a new day and a new beginning.



Rottir wrote:
Archean
Spoiler: show
(Blank verse, iambic tetrameter)

This land is like a rotting corpse
With bones bursting through riven flesh
Of Labrador tea, balsam fir,
And lichen, in ceaseless decay.

Terranes of trondhjemite laid bare,
Frail roots of mountains long since gone,
Weathered into an ancient sea,
Three billion years in the making.

For those who tread this wasted land
Devoid of hope and sense of man
Across grey swathes of rock immense
A spectre looms of grave intent.

The slow grind of tectonic force
Writ scarred across the face of time
Hints of a sempiternal scream
That echoes now within my mind.
I have to believe you on metrics, I won't dare to check it in a language that's not my first. Apart from that, your poem has beautiful images, I particularly like how you contrasted that with man. We have to be reminded more often of our insignificance in this vast space and time. I don't have a problem with the ending of your poem, but you can make another one without people to see the difference.


gasmask_colostomy wrote:
Here's one of the few that I've written quite recently. It was a real experience at work, but just seemed to have a certain poignancy.

Lesson on Efficiency
Spoiler: show
In a classroom without a table,
we talk about efficiency.
Face to face, his chair to my bench,
the only words on the board
‘bureaucracy’, ‘House of Commons’, and ‘House of Lords’.

He believes, or he says he believes,
that most meetings are unnecessary
for most of the participants,
that they could accomplish more
by staying away.
However, if they failed to attend,
their leaders would consider them
to be shirking responsibility.
On this point, we concur.

The tables have been taken for use
as a dessert bar in a birthday party,
this quarter’s celebrants crowned
and fussed over with gifts.
He leaves at quarter to;
late enough to miss the games,
but just in time to appear in the photos.
I would classify this as a vignette. It's one of those 'easy poems' that look like an excerpt from a diary or a short vlog. It has that rounded quality of your style, which means complete and coherent, everything is like wrapped in a circle. You probably should continue like this, as opposed to being fragmented like my writings, because you are good at it.


DividerOfShadows wrote:
Here's my most recent one. I was working out and listening to Young Gods' "Moon Revolutions" and some verses just begged me to write them down. Soon enough I had a theme in my mind that I wanted to describe in various ways.

Water of God
Spoiler: show
Spit at the mirror to clean your image
May salt lakes flood and devour my wounds
Finger points towards where heart dared not venture
Electric fuel infused in red emotion

I survived this green pestilence
So I will face the orange skies
Deserts will bloom under my feet
My grasp seizing what's eternal

A shapeshifting memory
A black eye of inability
Snuffing out the suns of yore

Golden rays, expanding rust
Judas walking towards the canyon
A worm becoming one with dust

Labyrinths aglow with red symbols
Doors hidden behind that onedimensional being
I have chosen not to be afraid
But to be a moving sea
Rife with those cognizant of life

Flame will not sear me
But make me a light in the darkness
Confessions to the great beyond
Prayers to oneself

To my left, the demons giving me wings
The dunes bend and sway
The wind is broken
The time stands still

Existence interpolates me
Between the points of horizon
A toxic star redeeming itself

The most real hallucination
Graves communicating with trees
Once you close your eyes and give in
Walk down the aisle between astral stairs
Witnessing unadulterated white
Reality will be yet another dream
Dreamt by those who gave up their divinity
This one is full of images and drama. Like Salvador Dali on steroids. I honestly don't know where the lyrical subject ends up. Was it all just a dream?

Rottir wrote:
I started writing poetry about a month and half ago after reading the book 'How to Ready Poetry', and while it is perhaps the most satisfying creative endeavor I've undertaken in life, I find myself barely keyed-in to the proper way of writing.

Do you either of you have a method for receiving criticism on your work apart from this board, be it school, poetry groups, editors, etc.? I'd love to get in the habit of receiving feedback but have no idea where that would come from.

Nice! Can you give me a name of the writer or a link to that book?
People are usually speechless when it comes to my writings because most of it is hermetic. Sometimes they say Beautiful! or So dark! or both. I hate Hm, Mhm, Aha, or other inarticulate sounds. The most often complain is about its inaccessibility. Once I was compared to Kandinsky's paintings, which was a nice way to formulate the word nothingness or emptiness (of meaning).
I suggest you to create a blog at worpress.com for free. If it goes well, you can upgrade it and remove .wordpress suffix in your web address. Beware that it functions like a social network (like for a like principle), which is not my cup of tea. If I follow your blog and you get a like from me, it means that I genuinely love your poem.


DividerOfShadows wrote:
Motion
Spoiler: show
Red Suns on my tongue
Temporary nirvana

Dead cat wrapped in a blanket
Strands of hair whip my eyes
Empty gaze causing famine
Mirrors of the soul hidden
From the mortal's view

You cannot stop the river

Golden plates
Warm as infatuation
Melodic breath
Sharp as a scorpion's tail

What's behind those clouds of mine
Summoning cowardice
Casting a die
Into the world's well?

You cannot stop the river

Devour or starve
Take my chains
Strangle me with them
To escape this night's shadow
And be awake behind the wall of sleep

A crown of pearls
Rising and falling
Garden of succubi
Keeps flourishing

You cannot stop the river

Heathens walking through the city
Feasting on dirt and themselves
Slitting throats in delusional joy
Unable to erase their own marks
Oh, what a jubilant evolution!

Brown smoke flies to the stars
Black ink blinds her eyes
After a gust of wind
Fingers tremble in dismay

Only words uttered today
"Let's try again"

I could not stop the river
No one can stop the river
I agree with Gas on this one. It's probably the best of you, and the colour of words adds up to the atmosphere. I feel like I'm looking at the painting(s) I would like to buy, thanks for sharing it. It's one of those poems that really speak to my aesthetics.


gasmask_colostomy wrote:
Ancient Greek Statue
Spoiler: show
I'm standing,
naked,
in the bathroom,
feeling just like an ancient Greek statue.
I am so cold
that I'm turning to stone,
freezing in this pose,
and my skin is growing hard and grey.
My unadorned penis
would be laughably small,
but it was snapped off about 2,000 years ago.
:-D

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
Blood Everywhere
Spoiler: show
It’s all better now. I think,
walking to his after college,
of that week in his bedroom
he spent alone waiting for a
quorum to pass the motion of

goodbye. It’s all better now.
I’m reminded, by a toxic
rainbow puddle in the garage
forecourt, of my dad when
he was smaller than

the hospital bed, crimson eyes
opening drowsily on his crown
of gauze like angry poppies
blossoming in soldiers’ fields.
So much can change in a year.

I wonder, as I pass the church
where I learned to dance,
whether I should expect flowers:
I imagine him with two
dozen roses, plucking petals

and lying, waiting, on his bed.
His mother answers the door
and offers me the staircase;
I enter his room and stop
dead – I see blood everywhere.
Like for the poem, confusion about what happened (Does the father of a lyrical subject lay injured in the room?), dislike for dancing in a church. :bow:


When it comes about presenting my work to other people, I used to tell everyone that I'm an artist=writer, first and foremost, but I don't do that anymore because I became self-critical. It's easy to tell people that you write when you think it's grandiose. Also, I'm now in a position when I don't want for people to think that I'm not alright just because I write dark stuff.
Spoiler: show
One of my supervisors at university found out about my blog and it really startled me. Thanks goodness she's open-minded.
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Serbo-Croatian poetry most beautiful (share new poems in The Poetry Thread)

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DividerOfShadows
Metal newbie

Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2016 1:58 pm
Posts: 385
Location: Croatia
PostPosted: Fri Oct 18, 2019 12:26 pm 
 

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
DividerOfShadows wrote:
I don't really go out of my way to tell people that I like writing poetry, even though one of our professors at college asked us whether any of us had been writing poetry. It's not that I'm ashamed of it, but I guess I don't really know how to present it to people.

That's kind of my feeling as well. I don't know how to tell people I write poetry, and I don't know how to tell them what kind of poetry I write, or why.


Well, thank goodness Lich Coldheart opened this thread. Here we don't have to explain our motivations so much - we all like poetry from the getgo :)

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
Blood Everywhere
Spoiler: show
It’s all better now. I think,
walking to his after college,
of that week in his bedroom
he spent alone waiting for a
quorum to pass the motion of

goodbye. It’s all better now.
I’m reminded, by a toxic
rainbow puddle in the garage
forecourt, of my dad when
he was smaller than

the hospital bed, crimson eyes
opening drowsily on his crown
of gauze like angry poppies
blossoming in soldiers’ fields.
So much can change in a year.

I wonder, as I pass the church
where I learned to dance,
whether I should expect flowers:
I imagine him with two
dozen roses, plucking petals

and lying, waiting, on his bed.
His mother answers the door
and offers me the staircase;
I enter his room and stop
dead – I see blood everywhere.


I see what you meant by "a sudden twist", but I feel like the title gave it away a bit too soon. However, I think enjambment really helped make your poem more dynamic, I found myself reading it like a thriller of sorts. I especially like these lines: "Crimson eyes/opening drowsily on his crown/of gauze like angry poppies/blossoming in soldiers’ fields." I'd say that motif makes those colours brighter and more striking, especially with epithets like "angry" connected with flowers. In short, I like it!

Osore wrote:
(First stanza) Something's wrong here. Disharmony of a changing person? Let me see...
(Second stanza) Not anchored - loss of stability/self/security/goals. Your guiding light dies and you don't want to search for a light in the dark or, in other words, to look for the grains of happiness in a dark world/circumstances changed for the worse.
(Third stanza) Here I find that your darkness is made of indecisions. To be or not to be, to forget and move on, or to passionately and (stubbornly) stand by my side.
(Fourth stanza) This emphasises that you are 'torn beyond reason', like the album title by Woods of Desolation says.
(Fifth stanza) Now you want to make a decision and deny all that's pulling you away from it.
(Sixth stanza) Here we see what happens after you decided. Anger here, than lust there, and at the end it's a new day and a new beginning.


I. Changing person to a certain extent. It's more about a person who doesn't know what they want, but still want to do everything, which ultimately results in chaos.
II. Hmmm... Interesting way of looking at it. There's definitely a loss of stability, but it's simpler than that. What I believe I was trying to express was that one person suddenly had a lot of options to choose from in life, but never held onto any of them for a longer period of time.
III. That stanza connects in a way to the previous one, but I think I'd agree with what you said :)
IV. Exactly. I also wanted to showcase that person's weakness in the face of life's difficulties. In hindsight, I think I inadvertently predicted that future's person in a way, too, but I won't be going into too many details about that.
V. Yes. This one also connects to the previous stanza and it's supposed to be critical of that person for not getting the bigger picture, or more precisely not wanting to get the bigger picture, despite all warnings and advice.
VI. To be honest, I can't really remember the intended meaning behind the last two lines, but I think they weren't meant to symbolize a new beginning, but more the fact that that person's life will basically go to shit; turning one's eye towards wind carrying dust just to get dust in your eyes and become blind... It means this person will ignore all previous knowledge and experience in order to feel something, but that something eventually makes them regret that decision.

Osore wrote:
DividerOfShadows wrote:
Water of God
This one is full of images and drama. Like Salvador Dali on steroids. I honestly don't know where the lyrical subject ends up. Was it all just a dream?


:lol:

It's a bit hard to explain, actually. If memory serves, images were meant to show a place between reality and... Well... Not dream world per se, more of a higher dimension. The process of epiphany of sorts, everything opening up to the lyrical subject's eyes.

Osore wrote:
DividerOfShadows wrote:
Motion

I agree with Gas on this one. It's probably the best of you, and the colour of words adds up to the atmosphere. I feel like I'm looking at the painting(s) I would like to buy, thanks for sharing it. It's one of those poems that really speak to my aesthetics.


I'm very glad you guys found it that enjoyable :-D

Osore wrote:
When it comes about presenting my work to other people, I used to tell everyone that I'm an artist=writer, first and foremost, but I don't do that anymore because I became self-critical. It's easy to tell people that you write when you think it's grandiose. Also, I'm now in a position when I don't want for people to think that I'm not alright just because I write dark stuff.
Spoiler: show
One of my supervisors at university found out about my blog and it really startled me. Thanks goodness she's open-minded.


Well, a small dose of self-criticism is healthy, that way you push yourself to present all those images that you have in mind in a much stronger fashion. But don't let it get over your head because you might risk losing motivation for further writing, and we certainly don't want that to happen. I now cringe at some of the things I used to write, say, four years ago, those poems were almost emo-like - too depressed, but what's worse, not really inspired. A lot of cliche motifs were present. But here's the deal - I'm now starting to see my poems like a diary of sorts, it showcases my frame of mind at certain points of my life. Some childish stuff makes me admire my previous innocence, and stuff like this "everything is black and dark and bleerrrghhh" make me feel grateful for who I've become later on - more self-assured and mature. So don't look at your work that didn't turn out all that great as a failure - it may just show that you're trying new things, building a new dimension around your style... And who knows, maybe somebody else might actually really like it, everybody knows that the worst critic is the artist himself.

Here's another thing: I've been on this forum for some time now and whenever I write a new poem, I share it here. I can more or less predict whether Gasmask will like it or not (I know he wasn't the biggest fan of "Sleeping Mirrrors", that's when I took my atmospheric style without any inherent message to the extreme and it showed.), but I still post it, I'm not afraid. I have nothing to lose: if people don't find it that interesting, but give me their reasons why they think that, I'm grateful, I can pinpoint my weak spots more easily and work on them. If they find it great, I feel more inspired to write more.

Moral of the story, don't be afraid to show your stuff, but first make sure that the person you're talking to about it understands your ambition and doesn't take it for granted. All of us write dark stuff from time to time - some of us do it for artistic purposes only, some of us try to exorcise inner demons, but it really is a cathartic process, there's nothing wrong about it!
_________________
Earthcubed wrote:
CradleOfBurzum, about the new Summoning album snippet, wrote:
I was hoping for some material that resembles closer to "Lugburz"


And I'm still hoping for Katy Perry to do another Christian album.


My Last.fm

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DividerOfShadows
Metal newbie

Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2016 1:58 pm
Posts: 385
Location: Croatia
PostPosted: Fri Oct 18, 2019 12:39 pm 
 

Here's a bit of an older one, from maybe three months ago. I wrote this four days before a very traumatic personal event took place (that was already starting to loom on the horizon). I don't think I precisely wanted to write about that, but it found its way into the poem, maybe even disjointed it a bit. Also, I'm not really sure what to make of it now, so feel free to tell me what you think.

Shades
Spoiler: show
Bubbles rise to the top
Sleeping sirens breathe musically
No glance is thrown their way
No ear is inclined towards the sea
Just a soulless knife
Cutting the ocean in two

A fixed gaze
The sky's tears intertwine
With mine

The moors around your heart
Make acidic pools of sweat
A knight dressed in white
Will be startled
Because he knows something's not right

Hang many a Judas and a Barabbas
Be proud! For your cross is burning
Oh, what a tragedy, woe galore
Please cry for me just a bit more
The path to the pleasure city
Ripe with bloodied thorns
Still do the feet walk across them
So that the voices become mute
So that the sights instilling dread
May forever become dead

A daisy springs from the ocean
Hides the golden ball from our eyes
Calls the soldiers to sleep their battles away
Everything seems to be at peace

Let me speak fluently to my brothers
Strewn across the desert plains
For life has taken refuge within them
As I whisper old songs to myself

Liquid diamonds shine brightly
In the afternoon Sun
Sirens caught my gaze
Took my harp away
And left me only with a dream
_________________
Earthcubed wrote:
CradleOfBurzum, about the new Summoning album snippet, wrote:
I was hoping for some material that resembles closer to "Lugburz"


And I'm still hoping for Katy Perry to do another Christian album.


My Last.fm

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Osore
Metal newbie

Joined: Thu Apr 10, 2014 9:55 am
Posts: 191
Location: Serbia
PostPosted: Fri Oct 18, 2019 11:20 pm 
 

DividerOfShadows wrote:
...It means this person will ignore all previous knowledge and experience in order to feel something, but that something eventually makes them regret that decision.
Thanks for clearing it up. Hopefully this doesn't involve drugs.

DividerOfShadows wrote:
Well, a small dose of self-criticism is healthy, that way you push yourself to present all those images that you have in mind in a much stronger fashion. But don't let it get over your head because you might risk losing motivation for further writing, and we certainly don't want that to happen
That happened long ago. I'm inspired by dark things, and when my life is stable and calm, I don't get inspired. Plus I'm under the pressure to outdo myself. It doesn't matter if someone likes my work or not, I only need feedback on my style and how to improve it. Neither of three professors told me anything about my possible faults, so maybe I'm just losing my mind in excessive analysis.
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Osore
Metal newbie

Joined: Thu Apr 10, 2014 9:55 am
Posts: 191
Location: Serbia
PostPosted: Fri Oct 18, 2019 11:38 pm 
 

DividerOfShadows wrote:
Here's a bit of an older one, from maybe three months ago. I wrote this four days before a very traumatic personal event took place (that was already starting to loom on the horizon). I don't think I precisely wanted to write about that, but it found its way into the poem, maybe even disjointed it a bit. Also, I'm not really sure what to make of it now, so feel free to tell me what you think.

Shades
Spoiler: show
Bubbles rise to the top
Sleeping sirens breathe musically
No glance is thrown their way
No ear is inclined towards the sea
Just a soulless knife
Cutting the ocean in two

A fixed gaze
The sky's tears intertwine
With mine

The moors around your heart
Make acidic pools of sweat
A knight dressed in white
Will be startled
Because he knows something's not right

Hang many a Judas and a Barabbas
Be proud! For your cross is burning
Oh, what a tragedy, woe galore
Please cry for me just a bit more
The path to the pleasure city
Ripe with bloodied thorns
Still do the feet walk across them
So that the voices become mute
So that the sights instilling dread
May forever become dead

A daisy springs from the ocean
Hides the golden ball from our eyes
Calls the soldiers to sleep their battles away
Everything seems to be at peace

Let me speak fluently to my brothers
Strewn across the desert plains
For life has taken refuge within them
As I whisper old songs to myself

Liquid diamonds shine brightly
In the afternoon Sun
Sirens caught my gaze
Took my harp away
And left me only with a dream

:thumbsup: Aquatic motifs and Sleeping (with) Sirens, love their newest album.
:thumbsdown: Medieval religious motifs and the desert. Give me something At the Heart of Winter for a change.
Often I can't see if there's something wrong with the style when it's written in English, so I must leave you with no clues.

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gasmask_colostomy
Metalhead

Joined: Thu May 27, 2010 5:38 am
Posts: 665
Location: Behind the wall of fire
PostPosted: Sat Oct 19, 2019 3:27 am 
 

DividerOfShadows wrote:
gasmask_colostomy wrote:
Blood Everywhere

I see what you meant by "a sudden twist", but I feel like the title gave it away a bit too soon. However, I think enjambment really helped make your poem more dynamic, I found myself reading it like a thriller of sorts. I especially like these lines: "Crimson eyes/opening drowsily on his crown/of gauze like angry poppies/blossoming in soldiers’ fields." I'd say that motif makes those colours brighter and more striking, especially with epithets like "angry" connected with flowers. In short, I like it!

Osore wrote:
Like for the poem, confusion about what happened (Does the father of a lyrical subject lay injured in the room?), dislike for dancing in a church. :bow:

Yes, I think you have a point about the title. When I write that kind of poem, I actually have the final stab in mind from the beginning and I'm writing with it always in mind, which is why I tend to use it as the title. If you read the poem, it should also have a kind of subliminal feeling to it, because you saw the title at the very beginning and then probably forgot it while reading the rest - then it jumps back out in a different light. When I first wrote 'Blood Everywhere', people commented heavily on that "poppies" verse as well: notably, it's the only verse that plays with imagery until the very end, while the rest is all action and narrative.

Actually, I was trying very hard to play with perspectives at that period. Osore's take on it is perceptive, because it should be confusing who is there and why. When I wrote it, the speaker was a girl in her late teens whose father had had an accident not that long ago (he has recovered: "It's all better now"). She has begun to date a boy who is depressed and has attempted suicide, though has also recovered and is trying to be romantic by surprising her with roses. (I wrote this on Valentine's Day.) However, a bed strewn with rose petals looks a lot like someone has just died. It's indicative of how the events have affected her that this is how she interprets it. None of it is true or about me, except for the walk home, which indeed did used to take me past a petrol station and a church where I did ballet when I was young. However, I feel for a poem like this, it actually doesn't have to be clear what happens: the blurriness is one of the main aims.

DividerOfShadows wrote:
Here's a bit of an older one, from maybe three months ago. I wrote this four days before a very traumatic personal event took place (that was already starting to loom on the horizon). I don't think I precisely wanted to write about that, but it found its way into the poem, maybe even disjointed it a bit. Also, I'm not really sure what to make of it now, so feel free to tell me what you think.

Shades
Spoiler: show
Bubbles rise to the top
Sleeping sirens breathe musically
No glance is thrown their way
No ear is inclined towards the sea
Just a soulless knife
Cutting the ocean in two

A fixed gaze
The sky's tears intertwine
With mine

The moors around your heart
Make acidic pools of sweat
A knight dressed in white
Will be startled
Because he knows something's not right

Hang many a Judas and a Barabbas
Be proud! For your cross is burning
Oh, what a tragedy, woe galore
Please cry for me just a bit more
The path to the pleasure city
Ripe with bloodied thorns
Still do the feet walk across them
So that the voices become mute
So that the sights instilling dread
May forever become dead

A daisy springs from the ocean
Hides the golden ball from our eyes
Calls the soldiers to sleep their battles away
Everything seems to be at peace

Let me speak fluently to my brothers
Strewn across the desert plains
For life has taken refuge within them
As I whisper old songs to myself

Liquid diamonds shine brightly
In the afternoon Sun
Sirens caught my gaze
Took my harp away
And left me only with a dream

Yes, it sounds indeed like a time of great grief, with everyone waiting and being able to do nothing. Despite the exceptional circumstances, I feel that it's the same style growing stronger, with some of those incredible lines about "the moors around your heart" and "sleeping sirens breathe musically", as well as the desert making another appearance. It's like I'm becoming comfortable in your world after a long time of reading in this way. If there could be a little more variation in structure or techniques, you could probably turn them into a collection, since they work better as a body of work.

Unlike Osore, I found the religious verse a strong part, not especially because of the theme, but because of how the intensity swelled with those archaisms and biblical references. Back when I was a real My Dying Bride freak, I used to include those a lot more; maybe I'll find one when I'm back home. On the other hand, there's a line about the knight who "Will be startled / Because he knows something's not right" that is suddenly very unpoetic compared to everything around it. That could probably be improved a bit, while I'm also not a fan of the lines that suddenly start to rhyme in that longest verse. It spoils the drift of the poem in my view, especially those very simple single-syllable end words 'more' and 'dead'.

Osore wrote:
I'm inspired by dark things, and when my life is stable and calm, I don't get inspired. Plus I'm under the pressure to outdo myself. It doesn't matter if someone likes my work or not, I only need feedback on my style and how to improve it. Neither of three professors told me anything about my possible faults, so maybe I'm just losing my mind in excessive analysis.

I find the same thing somewhat, but I've changed my view that it's only dark things. When my life is stable and lacks change, my perspective becomes ingrained and I don't really feel much emotional resonance when I write. I'm writing lyrics for a Malaysian friend's band at the moment, and it's very difficult to approach the dark subjects that he's looking for, because I'm not feeling them. I find it very easy to write poetry when I travel because I'm thinking about things in new ways and making different connections. The same thing when I was a student being exposed to interesting material every week; now I just sit in the office and do the same thing every day, which gives me nothing to write about. Change things up, but don't make life too chaotic just for that reason.

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gasmask_colostomy
Metalhead

Joined: Thu May 27, 2010 5:38 am
Posts: 665
Location: Behind the wall of fire
PostPosted: Sat Oct 19, 2019 10:18 am 
 

So this isn't the most religious example I could find, but most of my older poems don't stand up to scrutiny. This is fairly old and you'll probably be able to pick at it a bit, which might be interesting. Osore will be interested to know that this is inspired by the conclusion of the novel Villette by Charlotte Bronte and is basically an assessment of the two main characters. It's named after the street where the heroine settles down.

Faubourg Clotilde
Spoiler: show
Try as you might, you see only hardship
And trials of strength ruled by cruel Fate,
But somewhere, mired in deeper shadows,
Lies the blinding light of truth.
Its ray sheds warmth on those who walk,
Not between the walls of restraint,
But on the invisible plain of reassurance
That demarcates blessed ignorance.
You aspire to be a formal ritual,
A clockwork being of repetition, doubting,
Winding yourself up for a dizzying run-down,
Resignedly beleaguered by suffering.

Silence is no protest against solitude
While your name is breathed by tongues
That spit perfume and swallow poison
And smile as the taste subsides.
But speech is his protest against your silence
And though he scorns you when he comes,
He spits poison and swallows perfume
So he may grow his garden inside.

From this garden in his heart,
Heed the flowers he plucks for you
For I see he thinks you cast them away;
Though you cannot wander far,
You may traverse in solitude
And tend the garden ‘til that golden day
When, in the ray of truth, all will be revealed
And all things in their true light are revered,
Because there are those who forever outwards shine,
But when darkness falls, their souls with misery twine.

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Osore
Metal newbie

Joined: Thu Apr 10, 2014 9:55 am
Posts: 191
Location: Serbia
PostPosted: Sun Oct 20, 2019 2:46 am 
 

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
When I wrote it, the speaker was a girl in her late teens whose father had had an accident not that long ago (he has recovered: "It's all better now"). She has begun to date a boy who is depressed and has attempted suicide, though has also recovered and is trying to be romantic by surprising her with roses. (I wrote this on Valentine's Day.) However, a bed strewn with rose petals looks a lot like someone has just died. It's indicative of how the events have affected her that this is how she interprets it. None of it is true or about me, except for the walk home, which indeed did used to take me past a petrol station and a church where I did ballet when I was young. However, I feel for a poem like this, it actually doesn't have to be clear what happens: the blurriness is one of the main aims.

Thanks for the explanation. Reading it reminded me how Lorca tricked us in the class with non-chronological method in his poem.

Romance Sonámbulo by Federico García Lorca
Spoiler: show
Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
With the shade around her waist
she dreams on her balcony,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.
Green, how I want you green.
Under the gypsy moon,
all things are watching her
and she cannot see them.

Green, how I want you green.
Big hoarfrost stars
come with the fish of shadow
that opens the road of dawn.
The fig tree rubs its wind
with the sandpaper of its branches,
and the forest, cunning cat,
bristles its brittle fibers.
But who will come? And from where?
She is still on her balcony
green flesh, her hair green,
dreaming in the bitter sea.

—My friend, I want to trade
my horse for her house,
my saddle for her mirror,
my knife for her blanket.
My friend, I come bleeding
from the gates of Cabra.
—If it were possible, my boy,
I'd help you fix that trade.
But now I am not I,
nor is my house now my house.

—My friend, I want to die
decently in my bed.
Of iron, if that's possible,
with blankets of fine chambray.
Don't you see the wound I have
from my chest up to my throat?
—Your white shirt has grown
thirsty dark brown roses.
Your blood oozes and flees a
round the corners of your sash.
But now I am not I,
nor is my house now my house.

—Let me climb up, at least,
up to the high balconies;
Let me climb up! Let me,
up to the green balconies.
Railings of the moon
through which the water rumbles.

Now the two friends climb up,
up to the high balconies.
Leaving a trail of blood.
Leaving a trail of teardrops.
Tin bell vines
were trembling on the roofs.
A thousand crystal tambourines
struck at the dawn light.

Green, how I want you green,
green wind, green branches.
The two friends climbed up.
The stiff wind left
in their mouths, a strange taste
of bile, of mint, and of basil
My friend, where is she—tell me—
where is your bitter girl?
How many times she waited for you!
How many times would she wait for you,
cool face, black hair,
on this green balcony!
Over the mouth of the cistern
the gypsy girl was swinging,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.

An icicle of moon
holds her up above the water.
The night became intimate
like a little plaza.
Drunken "Guardias Civiles"
were pounding on the door.
Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea.
And the horse on the mountain.


translated by William Bryant Logan

Federiko Garsija Lorka - Romansa mesečarka
Spoiler: show
Zeleno, volim te, zeleno.
Zelen vetar, zelene grane.
Brod na moru
i konj u planini.

Opasana senkom
ona sanja na verandi,
zelene puti, kose zelene,
sa očima od hladnog srebra.
Zeleno, volim te, zeleno!
Pod lunom Cigankom
stvari pilje u nju
a ona ih ne vidi.

Zeleno, volim te, zeleno!
Velike zvezde od inja
dolaze sa ribom senke
što otvara put zori.
Smokva trlja vetar
korom svojih grana,
a breg, mačak lupež,
ježi svoje ljute agave.
Ali ko će doći? I odakle?
Ona čeka na balkonu,
zelene puti, kose zelene,
sanjajuci gorko more.

-Kume, daću ti
konja za kuću,
sedlo za njeno ogledalo,
nož za njen ogrtač.
Kume, dolazim krvareći
iz Kabrinih klanaca.
-Kad bih mogao, mladiću,
lako bi se nagodili.
Ali ja više nisam ja
niti je moj dom više moj.

-Kume, hoću da umrem
pristojno u svojoj postelji
od čelika i, ako je moguce,
sa holandskim čaršavima...
Zar ne vidiš moju ranu
od grudi do grla?
-Trista crnih ruža
pokrivaju tvoj beli grudnjak.
Krv ti vri i miriše
oko pojasa.
Ali ja više nisam ja
niti je moj dom više moj.

-Pusti me bar
na visoke verande,
pusti me da se popnem! Pusti me
na zelene verande.
Verandice mesečeve,
gde kaplje voda.

Već se penju dva kuma
na visoke verande.
Ostavljajući trag krvi.
Ostavljajući trag suza.
Drhtali su krovovi,
fenjerčići od lima.
Hiljadu staklenih defova
ranjavalo je zoru.

Zeleno, volim te, zeleno!
Zelen vetar, zelene grane.
Dva kuma su se popela.
Širok vetar ostavljao je
u ustima čudan ukus
žuči, mentola i bosiljka.

-Kume, gde je, reci mi,
gde je tvoje gorko devojče?
-Koliko puta te je čekala
sveža lica, crne kose,
na toj zelenoj verandi.

Nad ogledalom bunara
Ciganka se njiha.
Zelene puti, kose zelene,
sa očima od hladnog srebra.
Mesečev stalaktit od leda
drži je nad vodom.
Noć je postala intimna
kao mali trg.

Pijani su žandari
lupali na vrata.
Zeleno, volim te, zeleno!
Zelen vetar, zelene grane.
Brod na moru
i konj u planini.


gasmask_colostomy wrote:
I find the same thing somewhat, but I've changed my view that it's only dark things. (...) The same thing when I was a student being exposed to interesting material every week; now I just sit in the office and do the same thing every day, which gives me nothing to write about. Change things up, but don't make life too chaotic just for that reason.
It seems that I should travel or at least wait to slaughter some rats in laboratory, so that I can create a horrific poem about tons of scientific articles and stinky solutions among the bloodshed. :-D When it comes to chaos, other people will create it for me, which is going to leave me with no time for writing, so I’ll better do it now.

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
So this isn't the most religious example I could find, but most of my older poems don't stand up to scrutiny. This is fairly old and you'll probably be able to pick at it a bit, which might be interesting. Osore will be interested to know that this is inspired by the conclusion of the novel Villette by Charlotte Bronte and is basically an assessment of the two main characters. It's named after the street where the heroine settles down.

Faubourg Clotilde
Spoiler: show
Try as you might, you see only hardship
And trials of strength ruled by cruel Fate,
But somewhere, mired in deeper shadows,
Lies the blinding light of truth.
Its ray sheds warmth on those who walk,
Not between the walls of restraint,
But on the invisible plain of reassurance
That demarcates blessed ignorance.
You aspire to be a formal ritual,
A clockwork being of repetition, doubting,
Winding yourself up for a dizzying run-down,
Resignedly beleaguered by suffering.

Silence is no protest against solitude
While your name is breathed by tongues
That spit perfume and swallow poison
And smile as the taste subsides.
But speech is his protest against your silence
And though he scorns you when he comes,
He spits poison and swallows perfume
So he may grow his garden inside.

From this garden in his heart,
Heed the flowers he plucks for you
For I see he thinks you cast them away;
Though you cannot wander far,
You may traverse in solitude
And tend the garden ‘til that golden day
When, in the ray of truth, all will be revealed
And all things in their true light are revered,
Because there are those who forever outwards shine,
But when darkness falls, their souls with misery twine.
This poem actually reads more like a prose. It is somehow informative, so I struggle to remember everything. I think your newer poems are better; images in this one are not vibrant.
My goal is to read as much from different authors as I can, but I might come back to Bronte in the future, especially because critics now praise Villette. ;-)

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DividerOfShadows
Metal newbie

Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2016 1:58 pm
Posts: 385
Location: Croatia
PostPosted: Wed Oct 23, 2019 5:28 pm 
 

Osore wrote:
DividerOfShadows wrote:
...It means this person will ignore all previous knowledge and experience in order to feel something, but that something eventually makes them regret that decision.
Thanks for clearing it up. Hopefully this doesn't involve drugs.


No, not at all, don't worry.

Osore wrote:
DividerOfShadows wrote:
Well, a small dose of self-criticism is healthy, that way you push yourself to present all those images that you have in mind in a much stronger fashion. But don't let it get over your head because you might risk losing motivation for further writing, and we certainly don't want that to happen
That happened long ago. I'm inspired by dark things, and when my life is stable and calm, I don't get inspired. Plus I'm under the pressure to outdo myself. It doesn't matter if someone likes my work or not, I only need feedback on my style and how to improve it. Neither of three professors told me anything about my possible faults, so maybe I'm just losing my mind in excessive analysis.


Well, I can sort of understand you in the "stable and calm life = no inspiration" department, but from what I can tell, our process is different. You're going to spend a lot of time on a single poem, making sure to fix any mistake until you're satisfied, and I write mostly on the spot, when I'm in the right frame of mind. Of course, there are exceptions to this from time to time, but I mostly work like that, so maybe that's why I can't really offer you any better piece of advice than to stop worrying so much. If art becomes more of a job/something you have to force than something you just do and enjoy, it's time to take a different approach to it, something less stressful would suffice.

Osore wrote:
(for Shades)
:thumbsup: Aquatic motifs and Sleeping (with) Sirens, love their newest album.
:thumbsdown: Medieval religious motifs and the desert. Give me something At the Heart of Winter for a change.
Often I can't see if there's something wrong with the style when it's written in English, so I must leave you with no clues.


Well, I think that Sleeping with Sirens thing was pure coincidence since I'm not familiar with their work, but hey! :-D
I know it might seem like I have a thing for deserts, but I think this poem was written before I chose to implement that motif more consistently. I believe I had the exact image of it in my head and for some reason I'm able to picture deserts better than, say, polar ice caps. Religious motifs were here not to stress my faith (that would definitely be a wrong conclusion since I wouldn't consider myself a Christian), but as strong images that, mostly, resonate with many (Judas as the symbol of perfidy, Barabbas as the symbol of someone rotten to the core). Thank you for your thoughts!

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
Yes, I think you have a point about the title. When I write that kind of poem, I actually have the final stab in mind from the beginning and I'm writing with it always in mind, which is why I tend to use it as the title. If you read the poem, it should also have a kind of subliminal feeling to it, because you saw the title at the very beginning and then probably forgot it while reading the rest - then it jumps back out in a different light. When I first wrote 'Blood Everywhere', people commented heavily on that "poppies" verse as well: notably, it's the only verse that plays with imagery until the very end, while the rest is all action and narrative.

Actually, I was trying very hard to play with perspectives at that period. Osore's take on it is perceptive, because it should be confusing who is there and why. When I wrote it, the speaker was a girl in her late teens whose father had had an accident not that long ago (he has recovered: "It's all better now"). She has begun to date a boy who is depressed and has attempted suicide, though has also recovered and is trying to be romantic by surprising her with roses. (I wrote this on Valentine's Day.) However, a bed strewn with rose petals looks a lot like someone has just died. It's indicative of how the events have affected her that this is how she interprets it. None of it is true or about me, except for the walk home, which indeed did used to take me past a petrol station and a church where I did ballet when I was young. However, I feel for a poem like this, it actually doesn't have to be clear what happens: the blurriness is one of the main aims.


I can understand that, sometimes that happens to me too. I figured it was something you did on purpose, but maybe I just didn't forget about the title since the poem itself is not all that long like, say, a Wordsworth's poem.

Oooh yeah, I forgot to mention that. Yeah, it was a bit confusing to me who was who and what exactly happened to whom, but I thought asking directly about it would make the poem lose its air of mystery, so to speak - I deduced that it was a deliberate technique and just enjoyed it for what it is :) But still, thank you for the clarifying!

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
(about Shades)
Yes, it sounds indeed like a time of great grief, with everyone waiting and being able to do nothing. Despite the exceptional circumstances, I feel that it's the same style growing stronger, with some of those incredible lines about "the moors around your heart" and "sleeping sirens breathe musically", as well as the desert making another appearance. It's like I'm becoming comfortable in your world after a long time of reading in this way. If there could be a little more variation in structure or techniques, you could probably turn them into a collection, since they work better as a body of work.

Unlike Osore, I found the religious verse a strong part, not especially because of the theme, but because of how the intensity swelled with those archaisms and biblical references. Back when I was a real My Dying Bride freak, I used to include those a lot more; maybe I'll find one when I'm back home. On the other hand, there's a line about the knight who "Will be startled / Because he knows something's not right" that is suddenly very unpoetic compared to everything around it. That could probably be improved a bit, while I'm also not a fan of the lines that suddenly start to rhyme in that longest verse. It spoils the drift of the poem in my view, especially those very simple single-syllable end words 'more' and 'dead'.


I'm really glad you think that! :-D
To be honest, a couple of years back, when I started writing down already finished poems in a special notebook (I still do this), I divided them into categories. There were some that were kind of naive and not that inspired, depressing (I called them "Abandoning Sunlight"), then I started finding my own style with poems becoming a tad bit more interesting (called "Drownings in the Sea of Hidden"), and eventually I got into an experimental phase with lots of abstract imagery (called "Wordscapes"). I'm not really sure where I would put these new works, actually. I think they've kind of moved away from "Wordscapes" into something different, but not all that different.

Yeah, in hindsight, that line rubs me the wrong way as well. I think I know what I wanted to express with it and maybe now I would've written it differently. However, given the fact that the poem was written some months ago and actually captured a part of my life, I don't think changing it would help. Maybe this disjointed line just further drives the context home - it was a miserable time. Or maybe I'm being too romantic about it? :lol:

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
So this isn't the most religious example I could find, but most of my older poems don't stand up to scrutiny. This is fairly old and you'll probably be able to pick at it a bit, which might be interesting. Osore will be interested to know that this is inspired by the conclusion of the novel Villette by Charlotte Bronte and is basically an assessment of the two main characters. It's named after the street where the heroine settles down.

Faubourg Clotilde
Spoiler: show
Try as you might, you see only hardship
And trials of strength ruled by cruel Fate,
But somewhere, mired in deeper shadows,
Lies the blinding light of truth.
Its ray sheds warmth on those who walk,
Not between the walls of restraint,
But on the invisible plain of reassurance
That demarcates blessed ignorance.
You aspire to be a formal ritual,
A clockwork being of repetition, doubting,
Winding yourself up for a dizzying run-down,
Resignedly beleaguered by suffering.

Silence is no protest against solitude
While your name is breathed by tongues
That spit perfume and swallow poison
And smile as the taste subsides.
But speech is his protest against your silence
And though he scorns you when he comes,
He spits poison and swallows perfume
So he may grow his garden inside.

From this garden in his heart,
Heed the flowers he plucks for you
For I see he thinks you cast them away;
Though you cannot wander far,
You may traverse in solitude
And tend the garden ‘til that golden day
When, in the ray of truth, all will be revealed
And all things in their true light are revered,
Because there are those who forever outwards shine,
But when darkness falls, their souls with misery twine.


I think I'll have to partly agree with Osore, I believe I would've understood your poem better had I read the novel in question (sadly, I haven't read anything by the Bronte sisters :( ) - it really brings forth a lot of information that is hard to remember - a lot of careful readings are needed.

Now, I'll also have to partly disagree with Osore - I would say that there are some really interesting images/phrases, like "While your name is breathed by tongues/That spit perfume and swallow poison/And smile as the taste subsides." - I really like how later on you put those motifs vice-versa! That said, it's also curious that you decided to make last two lines rhyme, maybe you wanted to treat the end of the poem in a different way than the rest of it? If so, what prompted you to do that?
_________________
Earthcubed wrote:
CradleOfBurzum, about the new Summoning album snippet, wrote:
I was hoping for some material that resembles closer to "Lugburz"


And I'm still hoping for Katy Perry to do another Christian album.


My Last.fm

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DividerOfShadows
Metal newbie

Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2016 1:58 pm
Posts: 385
Location: Croatia
PostPosted: Wed Oct 23, 2019 5:45 pm 
 

This is the newest one, folks, and it's a bit different. Hope you'll like it.

Shattered Diamonds
Spoiler: show
How strong can be the spirit of man
To persevere under the rain of blood
Broken cups filling each other with water
End up as dry as a hollow bone

How adamant can be the will of man
Keeping the gates open during an earthquake
Silver rods left to drown in the lake
Of their own creation

How passionate can be the heart of man
Instilling dread into objects of its desire
One voiceless shiver tearing the skin apart
Exposing a skeleton of tranquility

How naive can be the flesh of man
Enrobing itself with butterfly's wings
Moons hungry for sunlight
Fly to their demise like moths to the flame

How genius can be the mind of man
Perplexing itself with riddles of its own
A jackal's smile, eyes betrothed to the ground
Distancing themselves from the meadows

How serene can be the soul of man
Witnessing its perpetual growth
A brilliant white light still shines
Through the loophole in eternity
_________________
Earthcubed wrote:
CradleOfBurzum, about the new Summoning album snippet, wrote:
I was hoping for some material that resembles closer to "Lugburz"


And I'm still hoping for Katy Perry to do another Christian album.


My Last.fm

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Osore
Metal newbie

Joined: Thu Apr 10, 2014 9:55 am
Posts: 191
Location: Serbia
PostPosted: Thu Oct 24, 2019 1:29 pm 
 

DividerOfShadows wrote:
Well, I can sort of understand you in the "stable and calm life = no inspiration" department, but from what I can tell, our process is different. You're going to spend a lot of time on a single poem, making sure to fix any mistake until you're satisfied, and I write mostly on the spot, when I'm in the right frame of mind. Of course, there are exceptions to this from time to time, but I mostly work like that, so maybe that's why I can't really offer you any better piece of advice than to stop worrying so much. If art becomes more of a job/something you have to force than something you just do and enjoy, it's time to take a different approach to it, something less stressful would suffice.

Sometimes I also write ''on the spot''... Other times I write slowly and weigh every word, estimating and shaping stylistic solutions. It is more difficult to write if you know more about literature, but at the same time you don't make rubbish anymore because you are constantly comparing yourself with eminent writers. It's a burden really, which is why I no longer find surprising when writers say that writing is very difficult. However, that torture is sweet - it ends in art.

I timetabled a sarcastic, anti-christian poem to be published for orthodox easter (which is on the 17th of April). I am completely into its brutality, hence your subtle religious motifs barely touched me.

My favourite novel is Wuthering Heights. Jane Eyre is also interesting and emotional.
It's a shame they were not included into our school programme. :roll:

DividerOfShadows wrote:
Shattered Diamonds
Spoiler: show
How strong can be the spirit of man
To persevere under the rain of blood
Broken cups filling each other with water
End up as dry as a hollow bone

How adamant can be the will of man
Keeping the gates open during an earthquake
Silver rods left to drown in the lake
Of their own creation

How passionate can be the heart of man
Instilling dread into objects of its desire
One voiceless shiver tearing the skin apart
Exposing a skeleton of tranquility

How naive can be the flesh of man
Enrobing itself with butterfly's wings
Moons hungry for sunlight
Fly to their demise like moths to the flame

How genius can be the mind of man
Perplexing itself with riddles of its own
A jackal's smile, eyes betrothed to the ground
Distancing themselves from the meadows

(*And) How serene can be the soul of man
Witnessing its perpetual growth
A brilliant white light still shines
Through the loophole in eternity
Parallelisms make it stylish. ;) *Maybe you can add ''And'' before the last ''How'' if we hear it the same way. Speaking about the content, your misanthropic rating is mild to moderate. Let's have a blast next time!
:evil:

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gasmask_colostomy
Metalhead

Joined: Thu May 27, 2010 5:38 am
Posts: 665
Location: Behind the wall of fire
PostPosted: Mon Oct 28, 2019 10:32 am 
 

DividerOfShadows wrote:
gasmask_colostomy wrote:
(about Shades)
Yes, it sounds indeed like a time of great grief, with everyone waiting and being able to do nothing. Despite the exceptional circumstances, I feel that it's the same style growing stronger, with some of those incredible lines about "the moors around your heart" and "sleeping sirens breathe musically", as well as the desert making another appearance. It's like I'm becoming comfortable in your world after a long time of reading in this way. If there could be a little more variation in structure or techniques, you could probably turn them into a collection, since they work better as a body of work.

Unlike Osore, I found the religious verse a strong part, not especially because of the theme, but because of how the intensity swelled with those archaisms and biblical references. Back when I was a real My Dying Bride freak, I used to include those a lot more; maybe I'll find one when I'm back home. On the other hand, there's a line about the knight who "Will be startled / Because he knows something's not right" that is suddenly very unpoetic compared to everything around it. That could probably be improved a bit, while I'm also not a fan of the lines that suddenly start to rhyme in that longest verse. It spoils the drift of the poem in my view, especially those very simple single-syllable end words 'more' and 'dead'.


I'm really glad you think that! :-D
To be honest, a couple of years back, when I started writing down already finished poems in a special notebook (I still do this), I divided them into categories. There were some that were kind of naive and not that inspired, depressing (I called them "Abandoning Sunlight"), then I started finding my own style with poems becoming a tad bit more interesting (called "Drownings in the Sea of Hidden"), and eventually I got into an experimental phase with lots of abstract imagery (called "Wordscapes"). I'm not really sure where I would put these new works, actually. I think they've kind of moved away from "Wordscapes" into something different, but not all that different.

Yeah, in hindsight, that line rubs me the wrong way as well. I think I know what I wanted to express with it and maybe now I would've written it differently. However, given the fact that the poem was written some months ago and actually captured a part of my life, I don't think changing it would help. Maybe this disjointed line just further drives the context home - it was a miserable time. Or maybe I'm being too romantic about it? :lol:

On the poem first, I understand why you don't want to edit. Sometimes the context is too important to want to change something, because it reminds you of the context, which is one reason for writing the poetry in the first place. Obviously, if one edited to publish, you would probably be more objective on it because then it ceases to be private and personal. I have edited probably about 0.5% of my poems thoroughly, and usually dislike doing that.

Your poem classifications sound pretty cool, especially if you chose different names for them all, which are also cool. Reading back over old work is always very engrossing for me, because I relive a lot of that time while I read. However, I never categorized my poems, because as you can probably tell I try not to write the same thing twice. Even if a line feels a bit like a past line I've written, I won't use it. The thing I loathe most in art is repeating myself.

DividerOfShadows wrote:
gasmask_colostomy wrote:
Faubourg Clotilde
Spoiler: show
Try as you might, you see only hardship
And trials of strength ruled by cruel Fate,
But somewhere, mired in deeper shadows,
Lies the blinding light of truth.
Its ray sheds warmth on those who walk,
Not between the walls of restraint,
But on the invisible plain of reassurance
That demarcates blessed ignorance.
You aspire to be a formal ritual,
A clockwork being of repetition, doubting,
Winding yourself up for a dizzying run-down,
Resignedly beleaguered by suffering.

Silence is no protest against solitude
While your name is breathed by tongues
That spit perfume and swallow poison
And smile as the taste subsides.
But speech is his protest against your silence
And though he scorns you when he comes,
He spits poison and swallows perfume
So he may grow his garden inside.

From this garden in his heart,
Heed the flowers he plucks for you
For I see he thinks you cast them away;
Though you cannot wander far,
You may traverse in solitude
And tend the garden ‘til that golden day
When, in the ray of truth, all will be revealed
And all things in their true light are revered,
Because there are those who forever outwards shine,
But when darkness falls, their souls with misery twine.


I think I'll have to partly agree with Osore, I believe I would've understood your poem better had I read the novel in question (sadly, I haven't read anything by the Bronte sisters :( ) - it really brings forth a lot of information that is hard to remember - a lot of careful readings are needed.

Now, I'll also have to partly disagree with Osore - I would say that there are some really interesting images/phrases, like "While your name is breathed by tongues/That spit perfume and swallow poison/And smile as the taste subsides." - I really like how later on you put those motifs vice-versa! That said, it's also curious that you decided to make last two lines rhyme, maybe you wanted to treat the end of the poem in a different way than the rest of it? If so, what prompted you to do that?

Osore wrote:
This poem actually reads more like a prose. It is somehow informative, so I struggle to remember everything. I think your newer poems are better; images in this one are not vibrant.

Well, I understand both of you if you say it's a bit too involved with things that happened in the book, especially since it is shaped by the characters and to some extent the plot. I think for a poem with such heavy meaning and weighty words, it's probably a bit long, but I expect I was influenced by that heavy Victorian style too, leading to a kind of mirroring in the poem.

Despite what I said above about repetition, I've always liked it as an artistic effect within one poem, so thanks for noticing those mirrored lines :-D I like the power of a rhyme at the end of a poem, and that reflects the end of the book to some degree: things are consonant, they are as they should be, everything is sorted out.

Osore wrote:
Romance Sonámbulo by Federico García Lorca

That's an amazing poem and I'm especially happy that you chose to post it in calm green :wink: I love how everything melds very nicely into one, although actually I think I've missed the point about the achronological method. I don't know what happens...

DividerOfShadows wrote:
Shattered Diamonds
Spoiler: show
How strong can be the spirit of man
To persevere under the rain of blood
Broken cups filling each other with water
End up as dry as a hollow bone

How adamant can be the will of man
Keeping the gates open during an earthquake
Silver rods left to drown in the lake
Of their own creation

How passionate can be the heart of man
Instilling dread into objects of its desire
One voiceless shiver tearing the skin apart
Exposing a skeleton of tranquility

How naive can be the flesh of man
Enrobing itself with butterfly's wings
Moons hungry for sunlight
Fly to their demise like moths to the flame

How genius can be the mind of man
Perplexing itself with riddles of its own
A jackal's smile, eyes betrothed to the ground
Distancing themselves from the meadows

How serene can be the soul of man
Witnessing its perpetual growth
A brilliant white light still shines
Through the loophole in eternity

You're right that it's different. That recurring question keeps everything on track and separates the other images in the poem very nicely. Unlike Osore, I don't really get the feeling that I know what point you're trying to make, but I definitely don't feel that it's misanthropic. There's a kind of rueful tone throughout the earlier verses, while I feel the ending is simply a "brilliant white light" of hope. Regardless of the structure, the imagery is excellent and can be interpreted manifold different ways, so I'm into that.

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gasmask_colostomy
Metalhead

Joined: Thu May 27, 2010 5:38 am
Posts: 665
Location: Behind the wall of fire
PostPosted: Mon Oct 28, 2019 10:40 am 
 

This one is written in a style that I can't write very well anymore, but comes naturally in times of panic and urgent philosophy. Quite personal topic this time.

Terminal Fear
Spoiler: show
First breath in a month:
squatting in the icy morning lull,
thinking shades of ‘You’re so…’
yet wine-tasting your words,
freezing shards wringing my heart,
claret pouring down internally.

All this talk of resignation,
of sleep-walking, voluntary capit-
ulation; into purgatory onwards march,
becoming merely rank and file,
elation cancelled in opiate stupor,
blindfolded in cowardly choice.

Four years is it now?
Since casting and firing myself,
grinding edges sharp as glass;
asking now wherefore worn faculties
come like finding oneself alone
and forlorn on the winding road
that forever leads back home,
yet this chiming within heart’s
chamber which needs to roam
is shrieking with panic.

Recognize the fears as truth:
the traumas of shattered teeth,
vertigo, terror at looming gaps,
know the clash of tempers
in repulsion drawing tempters’ maps
to claw away from following attachment
ever upwards where thunder claps,
for fear contrary to dying;
not screaming, falling, but failing -
a terminal fear of trying.

First step back in time:
cold sunrise heralds warm hope,
so dies this black slumber
as dawn lights a mountainside,
cracking the ice, thaw inside;
dripping clock numbers the strides.

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Osore
Metal newbie

Joined: Thu Apr 10, 2014 9:55 am
Posts: 191
Location: Serbia
PostPosted: Tue Oct 29, 2019 11:53 am 
 

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
Osore wrote:
Romance Sonámbulo by Federico García Lorca
That's an amazing poem and I'm especially happy that you chose to post it in calm green :wink: I love how everything melds very nicely into one, although actually I think I've missed the point about the achronological method. I don't know what happens...
I'm glad you found it enjoyable. When I analysed it at home, I understood that she died, but I wasn't aware of the fact that policemen (drunken "Guardias Civiles") had hanged her before her lover came wounded from the war. They were pounding on the door at the end of the poem, but that happened first, when they had come to her house, before the men in dialogue appeared. This is crucial for the poem because it depicts the violence toward civilians. From a theoretical point we can say that the syuzhet (plot) differs from the fabula (story), or that narrative is simply asynchronous.

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
This one is written in a style that I can't write very well anymore, but comes naturally in times of panic and urgent philosophy. Quite personal topic this time.

Terminal Fear
Spoiler: show
First breath in a month:
squatting in the icy morning lull,
thinking shades of ‘You’re so…’
yet wine-tasting your words,
freezing shards wringing my heart,
claret pouring down internally.

All this talk of resignation,
of sleep-walking, voluntary capit-
ulation; into purgatory onwards march,
becoming merely rank and file,
elation cancelled in opiate stupor,
blindfolded in cowardly choice.

Four years is it now?
Since casting and firing myself,
grinding edges sharp as glass;
asking now wherefore worn faculties
come like finding oneself alone
and forlorn on the winding road
that forever leads back home,
yet this chiming within heart’s
chamber which needs to roam
is shrieking with panic.

Recognize the fears as truth:
the traumas of shattered teeth,
vertigo, terror at looming gaps,
know the clash of tempers
in repulsion drawing tempters’ maps
to claw away from following attachment
ever upwards where thunder claps,
for fear contrary to dying;
not screaming, falling, but failing -
a terminal fear of trying.

First step back in time:
cold sunrise heralds warm hope,
so dies this black slumber
as dawn lights a mountainside,
cracking the ice, thaw inside;
dripping clock numbers the strides.
It's too eloquent for me to dive deeper into it, but I definitely get the feeling of (inter)personal struggles. What stands out the most is "wine-tasting your words". Even though I'm not a drinker, I find it very poetic and cool. :-D
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DividerOfShadows
Metal newbie

Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2016 1:58 pm
Posts: 385
Location: Croatia
PostPosted: Fri Nov 08, 2019 2:25 pm 
 

Osore (about "Shattered Diamonds") wrote:
Parallelisms make it stylish. ;) *Maybe you can add ''And'' before the last ''How'' if we hear it the same way. Speaking about the content, your misanthropic rating is mild to moderate. Let's have a blast next time!
:evil:


Yeah, I guess that could work too. Well, we'll see what will come up ;)

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
On the poem first, I understand why you don't want to edit. Sometimes the context is too important to want to change something, because it reminds you of the context, which is one reason for writing the poetry in the first place. Obviously, if one edited to publish, you would probably be more objective on it because then it ceases to be private and personal. I have edited probably about 0.5% of my poems thoroughly, and usually dislike doing that.

Your poem classifications sound pretty cool, especially if you chose different names for them all, which are also cool. Reading back over old work is always very engrossing for me, because I relive a lot of that time while I read. However, I never categorized my poems, because as you can probably tell I try not to write the same thing twice. Even if a line feels a bit like a past line I've written, I won't use it. The thing I loathe most in art is repeating myself.


Exactly. It would feel unnatural, as if I'm trying to change the past.

Well, those classifications were not put in order to write the same thing twice, their purpose is more to delineate a certain period of my creativity - certain headspaces and all, and I usually classified poems long after they were finished, I just happened to see some common elements within them that made me think of a category per se.

gasmask_colostomy (about "Shattered Diamonds") wrote:
You're right that it's different. That recurring question keeps everything on track and separates the other images in the poem very nicely. Unlike Osore, I don't really get the feeling that I know what point you're trying to make, but I definitely don't feel that it's misanthropic. There's a kind of rueful tone throughout the earlier verses, while I feel the ending is simply a "brilliant white light" of hope. Regardless of the structure, the imagery is excellent and can be interpreted manifold different ways, so I'm into that.


Yup, I wouldn't say there's something inherently misanthropic within it either. More or less it's about experiences, both good and bad, but as you've said - there's hope at the end. Images aren't really arbitrary; I don't want to ruin the poem, but I'll say this - broken cups and water symbolize kissing, so this might be a clue for what the poem is really about.

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
This one is written in a style that I can't write very well anymore, but comes naturally in times of panic and urgent philosophy. Quite personal topic this time.

Terminal Fear
Spoiler: show
First breath in a month:
squatting in the icy morning lull,
thinking shades of ‘You’re so…’
yet wine-tasting your words,
freezing shards wringing my heart,
claret pouring down internally.

All this talk of resignation,
of sleep-walking, voluntary capit-
ulation; into purgatory onwards march,
becoming merely rank and file,
elation cancelled in opiate stupor,
blindfolded in cowardly choice.

Four years is it now?
Since casting and firing myself,
grinding edges sharp as glass;
asking now wherefore worn faculties
come like finding oneself alone
and forlorn on the winding road
that forever leads back home,
yet this chiming within heart’s
chamber which needs to roam
is shrieking with panic.

Recognize the fears as truth:
the traumas of shattered teeth,
vertigo, terror at looming gaps,
know the clash of tempers
in repulsion drawing tempters’ maps
to claw away from following attachment
ever upwards where thunder claps,
for fear contrary to dying;
not screaming, falling, but failing -
a terminal fear of trying.

First step back in time:
cold sunrise heralds warm hope,
so dies this black slumber
as dawn lights a mountainside,
cracking the ice, thaw inside;
dripping clock numbers the strides.


Honestly, I don't really know to say, but I really like it. Something within it resonated with me, probably due to my current situation in life. It truly is apparent that you've written about something that is personal. Verses like "terminal fear of trying", statements that fear is born from a trauma and the ending being seemingly more optimistic than the rest of the poem... It's really my cup of tea!

Here's a newer one, I wrote it a week ago and haven't written anything else since then. The meaning? It's pretty obvious, I'd say.

To Those Impaled
Spoiler: show
Make your heartbeat a drum of war
See the symbols for what they are
Let the ink swim in the water
For not all words will go away

Trying to tame a spectral horse
Will dethrone the stars from the sky
Sun is waiting behind the looking glass;
Only when you kiss this translucent blood
Will the empyreal diamond appear

Roses will bloom in the wake of your breath
Rivers will flow when you cross them over
Golden sands will enrobe your naked soul
When shadows merge with the light

Kingdom built on alien rocks
Will never survive the winter's tempest
So lit the ground you're standing on
And let it burn with irresistible flame
Moths will perish and learn to run
Does will gather around and keep it alive
_________________
Earthcubed wrote:
CradleOfBurzum, about the new Summoning album snippet, wrote:
I was hoping for some material that resembles closer to "Lugburz"


And I'm still hoping for Katy Perry to do another Christian album.


My Last.fm

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gasmask_colostomy
Metalhead

Joined: Thu May 27, 2010 5:38 am
Posts: 665
Location: Behind the wall of fire
PostPosted: Sat Nov 09, 2019 8:02 am 
 

DividerOfShadows wrote:
Well, those classifications were not put in order to write the same thing twice, their purpose is more to delineate a certain period of my creativity - certain headspaces and all, and I usually classified poems long after they were finished, I just happened to see some common elements within them that made me think of a category per se.

Okay, I was probably interpreting what you said a bit too literally, because the idea of having "types" of poems is a bit alien. However, I can see with current writing how that might happen, since you have concentrated pretty hard on one style and only deviated once or twice from that in the poems I've read. When I used to write a lot (measuring numbers of poems per week, not per season, like now) I probably could have done something like that. Man, adulthood and employment are bummers.

DividerOfShadows (about 'Shattered Dreams') wrote:
Yup, I wouldn't say there's something inherently misanthropic within it either. More or less it's about experiences, both good and bad, but as you've said - there's hope at the end. Images aren't really arbitrary; I don't want to ruin the poem, but I'll say this - broken cups and water symbolize kissing, so this might be a clue for what the poem is really about.

You know, some of your symbols totally pass me by, maybe because I'm pretty basic when it comes to symbols myself or maybe because you don't want them to be obvious. That's a real twist, the kissing part. [This post contains hidden content. Quote to reveal it.]

DividerOfShadows wrote:
gasmask_colostomy wrote:
Terminal Fear
Spoiler: show
First breath in a month:
squatting in the icy morning lull,
thinking shades of ‘You’re so…’
yet wine-tasting your words,
freezing shards wringing my heart,
claret pouring down internally.

All this talk of resignation,
of sleep-walking, voluntary capit-
ulation; into purgatory onwards march,
becoming merely rank and file,
elation cancelled in opiate stupor,
blindfolded in cowardly choice.

Four years is it now?
Since casting and firing myself,
grinding edges sharp as glass;
asking now wherefore worn faculties
come like finding oneself alone
and forlorn on the winding road
that forever leads back home,
yet this chiming within heart’s
chamber which needs to roam
is shrieking with panic.

Recognize the fears as truth:
the traumas of shattered teeth,
vertigo, terror at looming gaps,
know the clash of tempers
in repulsion drawing tempters’ maps
to claw away from following attachment
ever upwards where thunder claps,
for fear contrary to dying;
not screaming, falling, but failing -
a terminal fear of trying.

First step back in time:
cold sunrise heralds warm hope,
so dies this black slumber
as dawn lights a mountainside,
cracking the ice, thaw inside;
dripping clock numbers the strides.


Honestly, I don't really know to say, but I really like it. Something within it resonated with me, probably due to my current situation in life. It truly is apparent that you've written about something that is personal. Verses like "terminal fear of trying", statements that fear is born from a trauma and the ending being seemingly more optimistic than the rest of the poem... It's really my cup of tea!

Yes, it definitely concludes much better than it started in terms of mood. It was written about an awful situation that almost happened but was avoided by mutual helplessness. The poem was written after the event, trying to find out what went wrong, and it just became really self-critical.

Osore wrote:
It's too eloquent for me to dive deeper into it, but I definitely get the feeling of (inter)personal struggles. What stands out the most is "wine-tasting your words". Even though I'm not a drinker, I find it very poetic and cool.

We know you're being modest about eloquence being a factor :-P That poem was indeed designed to express some things very specifically, so I'm glad if some of the phrases stand out. "Wine-tasting your words" in particular was meant to summarize that feeling where you are deeply contemplating (imagining) what someone is suggesting even as they are saying it.

DividerOfShadows wrote:
Here's a newer one, I wrote it a week ago and haven't written anything else since then. The meaning? It's pretty obvious, I'd say.

To Those Impaled
Spoiler: show
Make your heartbeat a drum of war
See the symbols for what they are
Let the ink swim in the water
For not all words will go away

Trying to tame a spectral horse
Will dethrone the stars from the sky
Sun is waiting behind the looking glass;
Only when you kiss this translucent blood
Will the empyreal diamond appear

Roses will bloom in the wake of your breath
Rivers will flow when you cross them over
Golden sands will enrobe your naked soul
When shadows merge with the light

Kingdom built on alien rocks
Will never survive the winter's tempest
So lit the ground you're standing on
And let it burn with irresistible flame
Moths will perish and learn to run
Does will gather around and keep it alive

Hahaha if you think it's really obvious, then you'll probably think I'm really stupid! :-P I'm vacillating between Jesus (impaled, symbols, miracles in 3rd verse) and a love interest, though I note there's that critical, cautioning tone that recites catastrophes that might happen. If it's Jesus, Osore is going to hate it :annoyed: The language is great and I didn't find anything that seemed ill-fitting, so the whole thing is engrossing. I feel it's the right length for this kind of poem too. Although there was no desert this time, you still have sand!

A question I have though is whether the last few lines might need a word adjustment. Should 'lit the ground' read 'light the ground', since I feel it's an order? If it's in the past, it's a bit unclear about the transition with 'so'. Also, is the last line a question? It's missing a question mark, so I'm hesitant about how to interpret that.


...And I'll share one that you might not like particularly, though as a student of literature who likes poetry, you always want to see how you can push a classic form to its maximum potential. This was an experiment to see if I could choose a single rhyme pattern for a whole sonnet, and also contract it down to a shorter size. As such, the theme is a bit odd.

The Everything Sonnet
A pretty girl in her bonnet,
Wending her way back home;
I write her a tiny sonnet
For when she is alone.
A bright flash of soaring comet –
Sweet celestial tone;
Unearthly jewel, pray, come sit
On microcosmic throne.
Myst’ries of the sphere atomic
I see are fully grown;
I know this world and all upon it,
But I ask with a moan;
“What say you, girl, in your bonnet?”
That’s never to be known.

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DividerOfShadows
Metal newbie

Joined: Tue Sep 13, 2016 1:58 pm
Posts: 385
Location: Croatia
PostPosted: Sat Nov 09, 2019 2:12 pm 
 

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
Okay, I was probably interpreting what you said a bit too literally, because the idea of having "types" of poems is a bit alien. However, I can see with current writing how that might happen, since you have concentrated pretty hard on one style and only deviated once or twice from that in the poems I've read. When I used to write a lot (measuring numbers of poems per week, not per season, like now) I probably could have done something like that. Man, adulthood and employment are bummers.


Yeah, I'm aware of that. I guess I ought to experiment more, even though I feel quite comfortable with my current style of writing. Again, like I've said to Osore, we'll have to wait and see what will happen. Oh, by the way, I've actually written something that is similar in atmosphere to my recent poems, but it reads almost like a prayer of sorts, I'm not sure if you guys are interested in that. It's not all that religious, it's more spiritual in nature.
I get where you're coming from, especially when I have exams to take - then I'm too stressed to even consider writing.

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
You know, some of your symbols totally pass me by, maybe because I'm pretty basic when it comes to symbols myself or maybe because you don't want them to be obvious. That's a real twist, the kissing part. [This post contains hidden content. Quote to reveal it.]


Hmm... It's likely the latter thing. I used to write pretty straightforward before, but I don't find that way of writing very fulfilling anymore. I think that when I write I either tend to describe something that I see in my head, no matter how abstract that may be, or I take a genuine, real-life event and morph that into something slightly less recognizable. [This post contains hidden content. Quote to reveal it.]

gasmask_colostomy (about "Terminal Fear") wrote:
Yes, it definitely concludes much better than it started in terms of mood. It was written about an awful situation that almost happened but was avoided by mutual helplessness. The poem was written after the event, trying to find out what went wrong, and it just became really self-critical.


Well, first of all, I'm glad you were able to avoid such a situation. When it comes to poem's backstory you've provided, I can understand you completely. There's actually something strangely beautiful about taking something traumatic or problematic in life and turning that into art, even if it ends up being a document to poet trying to make sense of it all.

gasmask_colostomy (about "To Those Impaled") wrote:
Hahaha if you think it's really obvious, then you'll probably think I'm really stupid! :-P I'm vacillating between Jesus (impaled, symbols, miracles in 3rd verse) and a love interest, though I note there's that critical, cautioning tone that recites catastrophes that might happen. If it's Jesus, Osore is going to hate it :annoyed: The language is great and I didn't find anything that seemed ill-fitting, so the whole thing is engrossing. I feel it's the right length for this kind of poem too. Although there was no desert this time, you still have sand!

A question I have though is whether the last few lines might need a word adjustment. Should 'lit the ground' read 'light the ground', since I feel it's an order? If it's in the past, it's a bit unclear about the transition with 'so'. Also, is the last line a question? It's missing a question mark, so I'm hesitant about how to interpret that.


Oh, come on, I won't :D I only thought that the meaning of it was going to be more apparent than in some of my other stuff, but if it isn't, no biggie! Strangely enough, I don't think I was intentionally trying to connect the verses to Jesus, but I understand why it might seem that way. To tell the truth (and to make a point to Osore in case he's wondering), I wouldn't consider myself a Christian even though I more or less had such upbringing. Whenever I use Biblical motifs, it's to stress a certain quality (Judas as a synonym for treason, for instance) in a less direct way.
Haha, it seems that I simply cannot escape the call of sand :lol: I really can't explain why I'm so fascinated by that motif, I wish I knew!
It's more or less about facing your fear, letting go of the past and hoping for a better future. Sure, a bit of a vague answer, but you'll understand what I mean. And yeah, just in case anybody's wondering, some verses have a hidden erotic quality to them, but I'll leave it up to you to find out which ones ;)

You're right about the first one, I mistakenly thought that "lit" was an imperative form of "light", but yeah, it should be "light". My mistake, thank you for pointing that out!
Nope, the last line isn't a question actually, that "does" is a plural form of "doe", a female deer. As soon as I wrote that word down, I knew it might cause some confusion :D

gasmask_colostomy wrote:
...And I'll share one that you might not like particularly, though as a student of literature who likes poetry, you always want to see how you can push a classic form to its maximum potential. This was an experiment to see if I could choose a single rhyme pattern for a whole sonnet, and also contract it down to a shorter size. As such, the theme is a bit odd.

The Everything Sonnet
A pretty girl in her bonnet,
Wending her way back home;
I write her a tiny sonnet
For when she is alone.
A bright flash of soaring comet –
Sweet celestial tone;
Unearthly jewel, pray, come sit
On microcosmic throne.
Myst’ries of the sphere atomic
I see are fully grown;
I know this world and all upon it,
But I ask with a moan;
“What say you, girl, in your bonnet?”
That’s never to be known.


Well, you see, your assumption was wrong. I actually dig it quite a lot! I enjoy its playful tone and how lighthearted it is, even the motifs themselves are pretty cool. If I had to choose my favourite lines, those would be "A bright flash of soaring comet – /Sweet celestial tone;/Unearthly jewel, pray, come sit/On microcosmic throne.")

I also admire your inclination to play with the form a bit, maybe I should try that too sometime, I've been writing in free verse for a loooooong time. Osore might not think like me, but I'd say this experiment was a success! :)
_________________
Earthcubed wrote:
CradleOfBurzum, about the new Summoning album snippet, wrote:
I was hoping for some material that resembles closer to "Lugburz"


And I'm still hoping for Katy Perry to do another Christian album.


My Last.fm

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Osore
Metal newbie

Joined: Thu Apr 10, 2014 9:55 am
Posts: 191
Location: Serbia
PostPosted: Mon Nov 11, 2019 4:41 pm 
 

I wasn't serious about misanthropy in the poem, I just liked some negative attributes ascribed to men. :-)

Divider, To Those Impaled has very powerful images. I particularly like the ones which doesn't evoke deserts and biblical motifs. The entire poem can be interpreted as a writer's journey and a call to dissolve ourselves into the art like ink dissolves in the water, and to let our emotions loose like wildfires...

Gas, I had to translate 9 or 10 words from your poem, which meaning I've forgotten since then, so vocabulary is indeed too eloquent for me. It is frustrating, but I can't force myself to remember new words; even when I do that, I forget them after some time. Sometimes a new word sticks with me, but I have zero control over that.
Surprisingly, The Everything Sonnet appears cute and I have to agree with Divider. I would classify it as "cute ugly duckling poem". It has that childish vibe: innocent, repulsive, long-forgotten.

Have you checked any of the poems from my yellow signature? I also wanted to ask if you had any cool moments at the literature class/at the university? I remember when my professor asked me how I heard about Goethe's Faust, and when I told her that I read it thanks to a song by Cradle of Filth, she wanted to hear it, so the entire class was listening extreme metal for the first time. I also translated the lyrics to Serbian and got an excellent mark. In case you are wondering, my professor was not into metal, but I'm glad she was open minded about it (as opposed to my black eyeliner). :-D Who knew Dani sounds better than I look.
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