Poetry is the original soul food.
It need not rhyme nor even march in time.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
A Dream of Poppies
I woke in a dream of poppies and tender grasses nodding, gently tickling the soles of my tired feet yet there was no laughter left in me. Only the blood red poppies turning my drunken mind to numbing and sleep.
I really have no suggestions for this one, only comments about what worked for me. Is that ok? Not really helpful, I guess, but nonetheless I will leave them.
Your long poems are amazing, PB, but your short ones have a punch that is...I don't really know how its different, I just know that it is. I liked how you said, "I woke in a dream" rather than the expected "I woke from a dream". It kept me inside the dream, inside the deepest part of the narrator's mind, and I liked that intimacy. Also, I liked the use of "nodding" in the third line, because of its association with both the poppies in the breeze and with nodding off into sleep. The use of "numbing" with the combination of drunkenness, sleep, and the drug aspect of the poppies was such an excellent choice. And, as usual, I liked the rythm of the line "Only the blood / red poppies turning", but we've had that discussion, right??
Can I have your permission to print this one out and keep it?? I thought it was really excellent work. I'm doing an independent study with my writing professor and we were talking the other day about a skilled writer layering the meanings, so the reader can experience as many levels of meaning as (s)he wants to find...I think he would love this poem as an example of that. Would be ok with you if I showed him this one??
Thanks for the kind remarks, LO. I have to confess I put this one out here as a Tiger trap. :) I was hoping to lure him out of the forest since I know how he feels about short poems. But alas, no Tiger sightings yet..
Of course you can show this to your professor. I think of HW as a mostly academic site. We're all here to learn and share. If you're looking for a short piece with layers of meaning though, you might consider this one instead:
September Bees
Poems come like September bees drowsy with chill and chimney smoke, hickory or apple wood, curling blue and ghostly, forbidding October frost. Whirring near my ear I turn to see nothing, evanesced as dandelion seed against blue sky, seeking every last drop of nectar against the flowerless winter.
This is one of my favorites of the short pieces. Me talking about what it's like to write these little pieces. Has a bit of humor in it and is definitely more complex that it appears to be. Use both if you you wish. I don't know if you've checked out the library or the resources pages but you should do that too. Good stuff in both places. If you see Tiger, toss a net over him will ya? LOL
Hey, I’ve been out of town for a few days and have been trying to get caught up.
This one starts strong and ends strong. Very nice.
This is good:
“..and tender grasses nodding, gently tickling the soles..”
The grass comes alive here; it becomes a character. Of course I don’t really know if we’re talking fescue here considering the theme, but anyway it’s a character rather than an object. And that’s what matters; right?
Nice work PB. I enjoy it, but most of all I really do learn a lot from your work. Stay at it!
Thanks, Steve. Doing my best. I'm actually having to work at writing for the first time in my life. I realize now that I've been a very lazy writer and I'm not all together certain I know how to work at my craft. We'll see. Welcome back!
Ok, my views as always may be considered brutally honest - please smack me if it sounds too cruel.
The first thing that came to mind was Sylvia Plath, I guess because she uses the imagery of poppies throughout her poetry - but it is also her reflection of weariness, drowsiness, and narcissism that seems evident in this poem. Of course she was not/is not the only one to feel like this.
We all know that poppies can be made into opium, I myself haven't tried the drug nor do i intend to try it, however, the feeling when one is drugged ties into the heavy feeling and the imagery in the poem.
So it is a very personal poem you have written - very sad. The conflict between the poppies and the drug is evident. It is nice and short and captures a lot of emotion through the imagery and the contrasting images.
I do feel that you could come up with a different image to that of poppies, perhaps an image that makes you feel that way, or maybe poppies do, I don't know. The problem is Sylvia Plath almost claimed that flower for herself - not the most charming of her. Or you could try to come up with a different use for the image.
All in all it was a lovely little poem, toned way done in imagery but containing a lot of depth. Hopefully, I can show my face a bit more regularly here. Thanks for the poem.
I like the poppies a lot. I would make a change at the end...
... red poppies numbing my drunken mind.
I don't know if losing the 'sleep' is fatal to that suggestion, but I'm always aware of STrunk and White's advice to Not turn verbs into nouns (numbing).
I also really like the autumn bees. I'd like to see you fix one line though:
frost. Whirring near my ear I turn to see nothing,
'Whirring near my ear' grammatically refers to 'I'. Surely you mean the bee is whirring, not 'I'.
Perhaps, "There's whirring near my ear. I turn..."
Tiger and Steve, I don't know what spaceship I was on when you posted these remarks. I do apologize for overlooking them.
Tiger, thanks for your read on this. Very interesting. I think mainly you read it as I intended when writing it though you saw some fresh angles. As for the poppies, I refuse to be intimidated by Plath. LOL They told me I couldn't put footnotes on some of my long poems because Eliot owned footnoting poems. I'm nothing if not a pirate. Unashamedly so even. :D
Steve, I understand your grammatical points and you're quite correct in every case. It's just a little trademark of mine to deliberately muddy the picture. I actually want to create a bit of confusion in the reader's mind between the bees, the whirring, the smoke, and the poet. Maybe it doesn't work for anyone except my demented mind. Wouldn't surprise me at all.
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7 comments:
I really have no suggestions for this one, only comments about what worked for me. Is that ok? Not really helpful, I guess, but nonetheless I will leave them.
Your long poems are amazing, PB, but your short ones have a punch that is...I don't really know how its different, I just know that it is. I liked how you said, "I woke in a dream" rather than the expected "I woke from a dream". It kept me inside the dream, inside the deepest part of the narrator's mind, and I liked that intimacy. Also, I liked the use of "nodding" in the third line, because of its association with both the poppies in the breeze and with nodding off into sleep. The use of "numbing" with the combination of drunkenness, sleep, and the drug aspect of the poppies was such an excellent choice. And, as usual, I liked the rythm of the line "Only the blood / red poppies turning", but we've had that discussion, right??
Can I have your permission to print this one out and keep it?? I thought it was really excellent work. I'm doing an independent study with my writing professor and we were talking the other day about a skilled writer layering the meanings, so the reader can experience as many levels of meaning as (s)he wants to find...I think he would love this poem as an example of that. Would be ok with you if I showed him this one??
Thanks for the kind remarks, LO. I have to confess I put this one out here as a Tiger trap. :) I was hoping to lure him out of the forest since I know how he feels about short poems. But alas, no Tiger sightings yet..
Of course you can show this to your professor. I think of HW as a mostly academic site. We're all here to learn and share. If you're looking for a short piece with layers of meaning though, you might consider this one instead:
September Bees
Poems come like September
bees drowsy with chill and chimney smoke,
hickory or apple wood, curling
blue and ghostly, forbidding October
frost. Whirring near my ear
I turn to see nothing, evanesced
as dandelion seed against blue sky,
seeking every last drop of nectar
against the flowerless winter.
This is one of my favorites of the short pieces. Me talking about what it's like to write these little pieces. Has a bit of humor in it and is definitely more complex that it appears to be. Use both if you you wish. I don't know if you've checked out the library or the resources pages but you should do that too. Good stuff in both places. If you see Tiger, toss a net over him will ya? LOL
PB,
Hey, I’ve been out of town for a few days and have been trying to get caught up.
This one starts strong and ends strong. Very nice.
This is good:
“..and tender
grasses nodding, gently
tickling the soles..”
The grass comes alive here; it becomes a character. Of course I don’t really know if we’re talking fescue here considering the theme, but anyway it’s a character rather than an object. And that’s what matters; right?
Nice work PB. I enjoy it, but most of all I really do learn a lot from your work. Stay at it!
- Steve
Thanks, Steve. Doing my best. I'm actually having to work at writing for the first time in my life. I realize now that I've been a very lazy writer and I'm not all together certain I know how to work at my craft. We'll see. Welcome back!
Ouch! Someone sprung a trap!
Ok, my views as always may be considered brutally honest - please smack me if it sounds too cruel.
The first thing that came to mind was Sylvia Plath, I guess because she uses the imagery of poppies throughout her poetry - but it is also her reflection of weariness, drowsiness, and narcissism that seems evident in this poem. Of course she was not/is not the only one to feel like this.
We all know that poppies can be made into opium, I myself haven't tried the drug nor do i intend to try it, however, the feeling when one is drugged ties into the heavy feeling and the imagery in the poem.
So it is a very personal poem you have written - very sad. The conflict between the poppies and the drug is evident. It is nice and short and captures a lot of emotion through the imagery and the contrasting images.
I do feel that you could come up with a different image to that of poppies, perhaps an image that makes you feel that way, or maybe poppies do, I don't know. The problem is Sylvia Plath almost claimed that flower for herself - not the most charming of her. Or you could try to come up with a different use for the image.
All in all it was a lovely little poem, toned way done in imagery but containing a lot of depth. Hopefully, I can show my face a bit more regularly here. Thanks for the poem.
I like the poppies a lot. I would make a change at the end...
...
red poppies numbing
my drunken mind.
I don't know if losing the 'sleep' is fatal to that suggestion, but I'm always aware of STrunk and White's advice to Not turn verbs into nouns (numbing).
I also really like the autumn bees.
I'd like to see you fix one line though:
frost. Whirring near my ear
I turn to see nothing,
'Whirring near my ear' grammatically refers to 'I'. Surely you mean the bee is whirring, not 'I'.
Perhaps, "There's whirring near my ear. I turn..."
Or just, "Whirring near my ear. I turn..."
Tiger and Steve, I don't know what spaceship I was on when you posted these remarks. I do apologize for overlooking them.
Tiger, thanks for your read on this. Very interesting. I think mainly you read it as I intended when writing it though you saw some fresh angles. As for the poppies, I refuse to be intimidated by Plath. LOL They told me I couldn't put footnotes on some of my long poems because Eliot owned footnoting poems. I'm nothing if not a pirate. Unashamedly so even. :D
Steve, I understand your grammatical points and you're quite correct in every case. It's just a little trademark of mine to deliberately muddy the picture. I actually want to create a bit of confusion in the reader's mind between the bees, the whirring, the smoke, and the poet. Maybe it doesn't work for anyone except my demented mind. Wouldn't surprise me at all.
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