Irene's comments
(member since Aug 10, 2008)
Irene's comments from the ¡ POETRY ! group.
(showing 1-20 of 36)
Six, I saw faces
Ten, I knew the forces
Thirteen I joined the race.
Human,for all its worth
Twenty, I began to walk
back. Give me a beginning.
Vampire that I was
became the soul that I am.
At some moment, not a time, nor a day.
I saw you, how refreshing, were you
Yep.
six o'clock a.m.
on june morning
well, I am short on words.
how can one describe
my breathing, this day dawning?
there is nothing actually more beautiful
than this nameless, without number
without proclamation,this day has dawned,.
HISTORY
On July 1945, the 11 world war winded
down.
my mother stood black haired, she still
had teeth. she was brilliant, she was
dumb
on the murder of innocents.
When innocently I asked her?
Did you ever...she never
solicited her own blood.
she was numb on the day
I was born, the day I arrived.
Ruth.
?At the moment you ceased me
I threw up my ideas of love
And howled, threw a tantrum,god a wind
was blowing and the damn power went out!
Well, the sobs I sobbed were beyond your
little time perceptions, but Mozart was on the damn radio.
I am so sorry. I settled. I am quiet.
I accept that leaves are green, the sky is blue.
I also accept the thousands of fish in the sea.
But! how do I ever get past the look of your eyes.
Have you felt the look that connects
this humble being, this to you.
Have you felt the earth removed?
Ahh...up to now...life, a breeze
Now. It is not measuring. It is acceptance.
Gone. Yes. gone.
When love comes back, I will yawn one big nonchantly review. With big hesitation.
How superb would it be too...
what compares to a blue sky?
without question, I. Love. You.
Punctuations lend themselves to order and command. Should you use the original poem without puntuation,it works. The poem also works without. The reader can trot along as need be. Without boundaries. But it a world of semblance and order. I like the poem...what a mood, what a setting. Excellent pacing and sweet, sweet images.
this is 1700,
standing on shores, banks, shorelines?
i truly think it will surely be called Superior
Wind blew with great force, over here a yelp
a squawk, we called them savages, duck, quick
ducking down, missing the arrow, but the women
have slide, brown, deep, exquisite eyes,the babies
in one instance crawled innocently into my barren arms,then the armistice was done, do i take this gun
blow this one, that one away, I did. I have my loyalty.
Not to their savagery. I am Christian. I bring salvation of the hypocrisy that sings deep in my soul. I am the true innocent...
2009 is the fine time, wind still blows.
Where are they? Where are babes with cocoa skin?
where are the spaces that sustained? Where are any women with sliding, deep, tantalizing brown eyes?
Why do my words muffle, then stop.
Yum. Indeed..."and I am the pale lily who believes in God." How wonderful, and without question not open to mostly tawdry human debate. I will certainly look into this wonderful poet's work. Life needs words like these.
Do not want to join yet another group. Can you post here with your work? If not, I will post here anyways and if you like the poem, let me know and....
DECEMBER
Upon his last breath, windows iced merrily
Fire burned the same as yesterday
but this was his eye in the space
left free by the ice
here, fitfully a chickadee danced
on this branch, then the next, his eye
spoke the beginning December light
then beyond, his eye caught the field
he loved intimately, hands ready
welcoming his final flight.
Is she American, etc? Capturing the very fine difficulty of striving in this poem is beyond reproach. And the continued hurrah of striving executed brilliantly. I still like the other poem as much. B.O. (the nun's poem) Brilliant the three of them. Thank-you for your response. I wish I had more time.
Again, thank-you Stephen. A wonderful piece. I am truly enjoying these two poems you have offered for witnessing. Your other poem about the nun was obviously written by an Irishman, who is Mary Oliver? Merci beaucoup for both.
How very beautiful. I intrepret laconic as lending itself to superficial rather than meaningful. This poem rises to and embraces a profound telling. Furthermore, the telling of emotion cannot be stilled and cannot be told in dull, laconic terms. Restraint maybe. Again a jewel of a poem.I actually, for the first time, printed something off my computer travelling through forums and posts. Thank-you for the posting.
Like this poem. Better to relate in this way... rather than worrying about winter boots. Lots of big, polished and sophisticated words. The three lines of the last verse are magnificent. I approximate my sorry lack of knowledge of the "techsmart" of poetry (iambic, etc.) and find myself sorely lacking. Write on.
DECEMBER
Upon his last breath, windows iced merrily
Fire burned the same as yesterday
but this was his eye in the space
left free by the ice
here, fitfully a chickadee danced
on this branch, then the next, his eye
spoke the beginning December light
then beyond, his eye caught the field
he loved intimately, hands ready
welcoming his final flight.
Some beautiful images...but what is arc and how can narrative be ignored? Like the last verse and especially "Which explains your urgent fecundity?" (in another verse) Reminded me of an old sixtie's band Procul Harem's "Whiter Shade of Pale" song.
This poem is tremendous. I followed your Italian poems, but this says much. I wonder if he is not older. Witness..."of the small hours, as under the warm skin the bone pierces, while stars fade at street ends." Ay-yay,I have felt this! Thank-you for the poem.
Kelly's poem was magnificent and will stay with me. In either of the translations of the "Panther " poem each ending suffices for myself personally. I especially loved..Mitchell's translation of the lines"is like a ritual dance/in which a mighty will stands paralyzed." Kelly's poem will visit my dreams. I fervently wish for conciousness arising from any form of ignorance. Thank-you for your offerings and please free to post more, but at your leisure and convenience.
These poems are specific and ultimately universal. I loved the second one "and now,what's going to happen to us without barbarians? The first poem spoke in volumes...yes volumes...thank-you. I will take my pleas and rest them right here in the mountains. I read all you post...so, I read if you post. Regards.
You did formal eduation so you are familiar with all age groups perusing your work. So therefore, you can handle older people looking at your work? Please do post.
A thought of mercy for pigs, biting space like from a mother's breast,then once again seeking innocence and wonder and to finish with whimpers and not bangs.....Italian poetry is similar to Italians. Evocative and opera like. Do you have other poetry you can offer of different ethnic origins? Do you have favourites?
Do you have more you can post? Working full-time makes it somewhat difficult to pursue my literary interests in any depth. Do you know I have never considered poets outside of N.American and Russian during my many years of reading. Have you the time? Can you post more Italian or...? Thank-you.
I thawed just a wee bit with two of them BUT
Ungaretti's poem "Vanity" spoke. Then re-read Montale's offering and got enchanted by the "long,long lashes of your look." And ... "Violin" took thought but brought back one of the first poems I wrote. "and in playing, in remembering, as he played, tears of history involuntarily on his face."
