Author Topic: A poem for your other eye  (Read 2434 times)

Offline randomElf

  • Newbie
  • *
  • Posts: 20
A poem for your other eye
« on: June 06, 2006, 05:53:39 PM »
Too many trips to london inspired this one...

SUBWAY TRAINED


I take one train to fifteen places,
with a thousand faces never seen.
And blind men walking who
walk past the blind,

we come to stand in the bright
dark belly of such dirty warrens; these dusty rabbits,
caught in the dull approach of leaving lights.

To see steel doors closing with a soft
rubber sound; and she sits beside me, her
red hair flowing like rivers of evening sun
against a cream white sky,

those eyes of a blue moon.
They have a sparkle I have not seen before
in any computer case, or book, or music playing phone.

Her lips Ė open smile, freed to enjoy;
that catches me as soft skin brushes against mine.
An accident with purpose I completely ignore,
because right then, right there and right now

I can never be sure
of everything, or anything
and in the end nothing I know can be said

for certain - for sure Ė for itís never just that.
Instead thereís too many places it can go,
we can go...
but then red river stands and leaves on the wind

as her stop starts here and steel doors open
...no, donít go.
but too late these blind eyes see her

and this world theyíre missing, my shameful
muted tongue bleeding words
inside as if bitten.
So too late I say nothing; but I say

Iím still safe, just me in my seat,
alone
in-between so many.

Hiding in the news and papers
I already know, and because of what I donít
- think I never will.  Not so long as the tunnel goes on,
and I stay deaf-dumb blind, and silently still.

Offline caliban1

  • Sr. Member
  • ****
  • Posts: 302
Re: A poem for your other eye
« Reply #1 on: June 06, 2006, 09:33:24 PM »
Hi Elf,
Thought I would check in on you, especially since your title caught my eye. The imagery is vivid and effective:  "and blind men walking who/ walk past the blind," and other images describing the grimy underside set against the truly beautiful imagery of the girl's hair.  Very, very good.  However, for me, and perhaps it is only me, the poem would be more powerful and just as complete if it ended with the sixth stanza. What do ya think mate?

I really loved the poem.

Cal
It is all a metaphor.

Offline randomElf

  • Newbie
  • *
  • Posts: 20
Re: A poem for your other eye
« Reply #2 on: June 07, 2006, 04:28:10 AM »
Hi Cal,

Hmm, I dunno. If i count right then last line of sixth stanza would be:

I can never be sure
of everything, or anything
and in the end nothing I know can be said.

A bit of an abrupt ending perhaps?  What do you think?


Offline caliban1

  • Sr. Member
  • ****
  • Posts: 302
Re: A poem for your other eye
« Reply #3 on: June 07, 2006, 09:44:39 AM »
I can understand what you mean. Obviously, there is more that you want to explicitly say. To me the poem is about opportunities in life, very special opportunities, that we let go by, knowing that it has to do with a lacking in our own selves.  The fact that this is a beautiful woman and that there is just this precious moment of opportunity and it goes by makes it more of a loss.  In the end you would have to decide where the experience ends, if it ever ends.  Maybe you have to decide what part of the experience you wish to frame.

I deal with these questions with my own poetry. I write the poems because there is just something I have to express.  Later I may look at the poem as something I want to submit or post and wonder what part of the orginal poem makes a good poem for others to read. 

Just thoughts.  It would be interesting if others made comments. 

Nice sending out some thoughts to you before I plunge into a days work,
Cal
It is all a metaphor.

Offline Bryn

  • Sr. Member
  • ****
  • Posts: 353
Re: A poem for your other eye
« Reply #4 on: June 07, 2006, 07:42:10 PM »
Hello poet,

Yes, i thought this poem was great. But not at first. I think you have some fantastic little images in there, especially i liked the toungue bleeding words as if bitten. I think the idea that the character did 'bite his toungue' (as in the phrase, to refrain from speaking) is a motif that you could develop slightly earlier, perhaps? the tension of that moment is fantastic, but on first reading the full extent is not realised until the end. Maybe that is ok, but perhaps more clues, or even just swapping some words for their onomatopoeic qualities could enhance the feeling earlier; for example, the fifth stanza felt slightly clumsy compared to the rest. Something a bit more subtle there might be an improvement. (although the contrast there with her open smile and the narrator's bitten toungue is a cunning ploy).

I shan't ramble on now, but cheers for the poem, and good luck with it. Bryn.

Offline randomElf

  • Newbie
  • *
  • Posts: 20
Re: A poem for your other eye
« Reply #5 on: June 07, 2006, 08:49:16 PM »
Hi Bryn,

I read your other posts, and found them insightful, with a very cool understanding that lead to constructive advice being given. Thanks muchly for mine. I think you hit the nail, with what needs to be said: And thus I came up with this, which I reckon works much better.  Feel free to skip down or start from the beggining (I just re-learnt what onomatopoeic is, what a great tool - CHEERS :D those school days are coming back to me now):

SUBWAY TRAINED


I take one train to fifteen places,
with a thousand faces never seen.
And blind men walking who
walk past the blind,

we come to stand in the bright
dark belly of such dirty warrens; these dusty rabbits,
caught in the dull approach of leaving lights.

To see steel doors closing with a soft
rubber sound; and she sits beside me, her
red hair flowing like rivers of evening sun
against a cream white sky,

those eyes of a blue moon.
They have a sparkle I have not seen before
in any computer case, or book, or music playing phone.

Her lips Ė open smile, freed to enjoy;
that catches me as soft skin brushes against mine.
An accident with purpose I completely ignored,
not even a murmur towards her, because right then

and right there, I can never be sure
of everything, or anything
and in the end nothing I know can be said

for certain - for sure Ė for itís never just that.
Instead thereís too many places it can go,
we could go...
but then red river stands and leaves on the wind

as her stop starts here and steel doors open
...no, donít go.
but too late these blind eyes see her

and this world theyíre missing, my shameful
muted tongue bleeding words
inside as if bitten.
So too late I say nothing; but I say

Iím still safe, just me in my seat,
alone
in-between so many.

Hiding in the news and papers
I already know, and because of what I donít
- think I never will. Not so long as the tunnel goes on,
and I stay deaf-dumb blind, and silently still.

I hope to see some of your work soon, if it's as good as your advice, it should be killa!

Sorry Cal, I couldn't bring myself to erase a big chunk ;D. Hope your days work went well (Did it?) If you were doing a day's work writing, then I envy you!!!