Thread: Anathema

An old lemon wreath hung on Dorothy’s door,
even during Christmastime when we all
displayed Evergreen boughs with sprigs of holly.

Our dainty darling with baby blues,
slowly birthing dementia, once said
she heard the gun shots of Cicadas
one November morning ...
and that she never watched the news
because it was the devil's mirror.

Last night, by her unworn welcome mat,
I set down my Go Green grocery bags;
crammed with cans of lentil beans; powdered milk, saltines
and more of the stuff for a poor man’s chow.

The Announcement was still taped to her door.
I knocked, peeled it off like fly paper
and stuffed it in my old carpet bag.

She said that last night the sky was all golden
but there was nothing warm about it
and I thought that there might be something
to a miswired mind.

I gave her two gallons of water,
a loaf of bread and jam.

She never asked why.

Go Green bags on my dinning room table,
I closed the windows and blinds,
switched on the news and watched Her Highness,
make her slow way up on the carpet of our land.

The trees, blustery, bowed before her again and again.
Waters rose at her beck and call.
Homes "just wounded" wood called out her name.
Some died before her.

Last night I sat before lit candles listening to her whistle in triumph, then fade.

This morning I went to check on Dorothy and heard her humming

“Goodnight, Irene.”
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　

Hey, Laurie. Finally getting a chance to come over to your piece.

It's well-written, as always. Couple of my favorite parts:

slowly birthing dementia, once said
she heard the gun shots of Cicadas
one November morning ...

Loved this. All but the ellipsis. But that's just a pet peeve of mine. I'm not a fan of them in general, but especially in poetry.

She said that last night the sky was all golden
but there was nothing warm about it
and I thought that there might be something
to a miswired mind.

That was probably my favorite stanza. It was simply worded, but it held so much power.

She never asked why

I like the way that's broken from the other stanzas.

The issue I had with this piece was that I felt a sense of disconnect between the ideas. And maybe that's because I'm missing some allusion. I mean, obviously, I get the hurricane reference, but that seemed like something outside the piece, rather than a key element. And I got a sense of care for the environment with the Go Green bags, but I feel like if that was the point of them, then that should maybe be emphasized more to stamp out some of the disconnect. And given the title, I expected the tone to be a little more destructive in a way. Maybe a little more anger there or something.

Like I said, this piece is well-executed and has some really great moments. Hope you can educate me a little on this because I think I missed something. Haha.

Bay

Bay, thank you very much for your comments. I'll do my best to explain why I didn't touch on the hurricane as a whole part of the piece.

I get the hurricane reference, but that seemed like something outside the piece, rather than a key element.

I thought it might be trite to address, throughout, the elements of the hurricane's force. I begin with a woman, out of tune with the world, seeing the "golden sky" and how it haunts her. I'm not fond of elipses either but placed them here to indicate her thought travel, having dementia. She goes onto....the devil's screen which she never watches, hence oblivious to the storm. At the end, I have her humming "Goodnight, Irene". Why? I wanted to depict a mind maybe capable of "picking up" on the catastrophe, almost as if she were precient. I, as the observer, wonder what is housed in her mind. i.e.

She said that last night the sky was all golden
but there was nothing warm about it
and I thought that there might be something
to a miswired mind.

And I'm so pleased you liked this stanza.

I thought that focusing on the anger, again, would be predictable. I used a device which I was hoping would be percieved as, let's say, different from the expected.

The trees, blustery, bowed before her again and again.
Waters rose at her beck and call.
Homes just wounded wood called out her name.
Some died before her.

It's about the opposite. Battered nature and then human victims are portrayed as sort of servents to Her Highness. We "are" lowly against the force of nature
and that is what I hoped to portray without outright describing "victimhood" because I felt it would be banal.

About the title. I intended it to be powerful, followed by pretty things like the lemon wreath, causing the reader to wonder where the anathama fits in.

Bay, thank you for pointing out your "likes" and I hope I have explained my piece at least adequately.

Laurie

Hi Laurie,　

I'm glad to hear you've mastered the storm "Irene". I have been thinking of you and my son who is going to BU Law School all weekend.
Now, about your poem. IMO, it wouldn't be trite to address the elements of the hurricane's force, but I do see your perspective as you write about things of the mind as in

She said that last night the sky was all golden
but there was nothing warm about it
and I thought that there might be something
to a miswired mind.

And we are lowly against the forces of nature, therefore we, humans, are "victims" of "battered nature". I love the way you put things in to words.　
This is a poem with a powerful title and gentle beginning. And I like the last two lines:

This morning I went to check on Dorothy and heard her humming
“Goodnight, Irene.”

I saw on FB Saturday night that you had quoted the song "Goodnight Irene". I knew what you were talking about.

Silvermoon-I was pleasantly surprised by the delicate way you handled the subject matter in this wonderful poem...I was intrigued by the every day images you slipped in--wreath on the door. go green shopping bags, closing the blinds on the window...all these "normal" actions anchored your poem in reality---but for me--heightened the surreal feeling of the old woman slipping into dementia.The last line was brilliant. Peace...Jul

Cindy, thanks for thinking of me as Irene sojourned north. By the time she reached us she was a tropical storm. Electricity out for awhile and some trees down.

The truth is that there is a Dorothy who has dementia, living downstairs from me in my apartment complex. I had asked her if she had any water (for the storm) and she came out with a glass of water for me! I had to be gentle about this and asked if she kept any spring water. No, she didn't. So, I gave her one of my gallons and the exact food I mentioned in the poem. I did go to check on her in the morning but I used creative license - she singing "Goodnight, Irene."

I basically wove two stories together introducing human and nature elements. (Can't help writing about people!)

Thank you for your comments. Always so appeciated and thank you for thinking of me, again.

Jul, I'm so pleased that you appreciated the way I managed this delicately. I thought it would resonate more powerfully than the powerful.

About Dorothy. She had told me that she had seen the sky all golden and that it frightened her. Surreal is the perfect word. I did have a surreal feeling while listening to her.

Closing the windows and blinds were part of precautionary measures we were told by management to take. But however read, I'm glad that it did not take away from the poem.

And big thanks. The last was my favorite, to. I had to bring it back to her for a story feel effect.

I always appreciate your critiques, Jul. When you give me a thumbs up it always makes my day.

Laurie

Loved this, for the exact same reasons as Firemajic. Too many great parts for me to list, so forgive me if I skip to the few negatives in the poem. Some suggestions:


Homes just wounded wood called out her name. Your phrasing makes it sound like homes are wounding wood. I doubt that is what you meant. Would "Wounded wooden homes" be more accurate?


even during Christmastime when we all
displayed Evergreen boughs with sprigs of holly. A minor nit, but one that might improve the overall sound of the stanza...consider omitting "all".

gun shots of Cicadas Cicadas do not sound anything like gun shots (well, not the ones where I live). Is the metaphor meant to accurately convey the sound to readers, or is it meant to reflect the perceptions of a lady becoming senile? If the latter it works well. If the former consider another description.


I'll say it again...loved this.

Hey SilverMoon,

Not a bad one. The one thing I DESPISE about it is the rhythm. I read it out loud and it sorta sounds like a horse drinking water to me. Seriously, I don't get what you're doing with the line breaks and the pacing of it at all. Other than that my only complaint revolves around this:

The truth is that there is a Dorothy who has dementia, living downstairs from me in my apartment complex. I had asked her if she had any water (for the storm) and she came out with a glass of water for me! I had to be gentle about this and asked if she kept any spring water. No, she didn't. So, I gave her one of my gallons and the exact food I mentioned in the poem. I did go to check on her in the morning but I used creative license - she singing "Goodnight, Irene."

Yeah I could really tell when I was reading this that it was based closely on a personal experience. It was sort of like reading a diary entry, and personally I struggled to see the poetic side of it. I thought that the poem could benefit from a lot MORE creative license and experimentation. Just my opinion, you're welcome to disagree.

Looking over it, I actually don't mind the content. I'm just not really sure how it all connects and where it's supposed to hit me on a gut level. Like for example why am I supposed to be interested in lentils and saltines? I kind of like the idea of bringing her food on some level, but I don't think it really matters that it was poor man's chow. I think we understand the basic gesture on a more primal level. So in that sense you might do well to simplify things.

Again, just my opinion. I'm often wrong about things, so feel free to disagree. Cheers.

Hi, Edgewise, always a pleasure to hear from you and thank you for appreciating my piece and for your comments and questions.

I gave thought to your suggestion, maybe, writing " "Wounded wooden homes". It just sounds a bit too much of a forced alliteration for me.

I write "Homes just wounded wood called out her name" I really see no difference except for the phrasing.

even during Christmastime when we all
displayed Evergreen boughs with sprigs of holly. A minor nit, but one that might improve the overall sound of the stanza...consider omitting "all".

I fully agree with you here and it's a fix. "we all" is redudant.

gun shots of Cicadas Cicadas do not sound anything like gun shots (well, not the ones where I live).

I've heard them referred to as "The Guns of August" It's a dry, undulating, constant noise in the background...a buzzing "ree-uh...ree-uh...ree-uh" Multiplied by the thousands, if not millions"

Cicada's life cycle is absolutely fascinationg. Here's a link.

http://www.dailykos.com/story/2011/0...st-?via=blog_2

Is the metaphor meant to accurately convey the sound to readers, or is it meant to reflect the perceptions of a lady becoming senile?

Both.

she heard the gun shots of Cicadas
one November morning ...

Wheather or not the reader was aware of Cicadas sounding reminiscent of gun shots (they come out on August mornings not November ones.) I did want the reader to steer towards her mind, mixed up and traveling. So, I guess it works well for you!

As I said, always a pleasure. Laurie

Silver Moon - You've all but outdone yourself this time. As a survivor of about a dozen hurricanes, two or three typhoons, and numerous tornados, gails, and such, your piece touches on what is important in any such situation - preparation and survival. The storm details are for the weather guy on tv. It's the human side that counts.

As for Edgewise' suggestion about changing 'Homes just wounded wood called out her name', I think hyphenating 'just wounded', making it 'just-wounded', would clear up the situation without spoiling the line.

As always, excellent work.

Edit - Forgot to mention - love your avatar.

Hi, Sidewinder. Glad you thought it was not a bad one.

To start off on a good foot which I intend to turn into a dance, I must quote your introduction and explain a little.

The one thing I DESPISE about it is the rhythm.

"Despise" is a pretty strong word, I must say. Most people catch it so it doesn't need to be capitalized. I hear your "shout". It is a rather unconstructive word in the context of reviewing. It really tells the writer nothing and most likely will put them on the defensive. Hence, they will not really "hear" your questions.

I read it out loud and it sorta sounds like a horse drinking water to me.

Sidewinder, you must explain this to me! What comes to mind is Dorothy Parker's quip

"You can lead a whore to culture but you can't make her think"

Alexander Woolcott's challenge to her to use "horticulture" in a sentence.

Like for example why am I supposed to be interested in lentils and saltines? I kind of like the idea of bringing her food on some level, but I don't think it really matters that it was poor man's chow.

Frankly, I'm not interested in lentils or saltines either but they are staple foods when needing to stock up when there is an impending storm. That's what that was about.

I see that you're fairly new to WF, so welcome. I hope to read some of your work here! Peace, Laurie

garza, as I said up above, I didn't just want to write about the obvious. We all know the adjectives to describe the wrath of a storm. And they could be applied brilliantly to a poem "just" focusing on tragedy. Yes. I thought it was important to bring in the humane element. The storm of us within a storm.

Tickled to death that you like my avatar (she's still not finished). I colorized Edward Gorey's ink drawing. He's known for his dark humour which I find irresistable. He's hard to find but I have been collecting his books for years. Here's a link to his work. I have a funny feeling he's up your alley.

His drawings.
http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=...RM=IGRE#x0y708

About "The Man"
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/mystery/gorey.html

Back to your review.

I think hyphenating 'just wounded', making it 'just-wounded'

A very good idea and it's done! Thank you so much. Laurie

Hey SilverMoon,

As Angel101 will tell you, I can tend to be a bit abrasive in reviews, but please never take it seriously. When I say I DESPISE something in caps, I don't mean that it can't co-exist on the planet with me. I just mean that it really turned me off. Sort of like how you DESPISE going to the mall only to discover that you can't find a parking space.

So, about the rhythm. The easiest way to see what I mean is by looking at the syntax.

An old lemon wreath hung on Dorothy’s door,
even during Christmastime when we all
displayed Evergreen boughs with sprigs of holly.

I put some parts in red here that kinda start to make me really feel like I'm not finding a parking space when I read this stanza aloud. When I read a somewhat longer sentence like this, I'll inevitably balk at moments when something is extraneous or peculiar. So for example, for rhythm's sake you could say "at" instead of "even during;" "had" instead of displayed -- and you could even omit the piece about sprigs of holly. Another thing: notice how ending a line on a word like "all" or "it" can be jarring. I'm not 100% opposed to this sort of device, but when it becomes more common, I feel that it makes the rhythm choppy.

The "horse drinking water" thing is taken from a Northrop Frye quotation that one of my old profs used to explain the importance of syntax. There is a subjective element to rhythm, especially in free verse or prose. Nonetheless, I think there's a choppy quality to the rhythm of the sentences in this poem. I'm not talking about meter or even repetition or assonance or consonance, or any other devices that may contribute to the rhythm. The sentences themselves have a certain rhythm that is bogging things down for me.

Last night, by her unworn welcome mat,
I set down my Go Green grocery bags;

Another example here -- the "by" clause would flow a lot better if it came at the end of the sentence. As it stands, I stop to consider why it has been re-ordered as such. It seems like you've broken up the rhythm for no reason.

And just to explain about simplifying (guess I kinda breezed through that review a bit more quickly than usual) I'm saying that if there's no specific reason to include lentils and what you really mean is "staple foods," then the poem might be stronger by just saying "staple foods." Again, just an opinion.

Hope that helps explain. And thanks for the warm welcome. Generally an interesting poem, which is why i reviewed it.

The Mistress of Gloom deftly weaves splendor on her loom. Threads of inside and outside finely and successfully intertwined. A good deal of us are fortunate that Ms. Irene, so adamantly touted as a heavyweight, lost a good deal of her poundage during her trek north. It's so unfortunate that those in Jersey and Upstate weren't spared as we were. I love this piece, Law. Let's have at it then, shall we?

An old lemon wreath hung on Dorothy’s door,
even during Christmastime when we all
displayed Evergreen boughs with sprigs of holly. (fantastic opening, lemon vs. evergreen at Christmas speaks volumes)

Our dainty darling with baby blues,
slowly birthing dementia, once said (glorious sounds, I'm drooling here)
she heard the gun shots of Cicadas (agree with Edge, will address this below)
one November morning ...
and that she never watched the news
because it was the devil's mirror. (to die for, I hate you, lol)

Last night, by her unworn welcome mat,
I set down my Go Green grocery bags;
crammed with cans of lentil beans; powdered milk, saltines
and more of the stuff for a poor man’s chow. (appreciate the detail here, paints a vivid picture)

The Announcement was still taped to her door. (love the cap in announcement)
I knocked, peeled it off like fly paper (great image)
and stuffed it in my old carpet bag. (not too fond of carpet bag, too antiquated methinks)

She said that last night the sky was all golden
but there was nothing warm about it
and I thought that there might be something
to a miswired mind. (Love this stanza, wiping drool again, that freaking sky was ominous in all its golden glory)

I gave her two gallons of water,
a loaf of bread and jam.

She never asked why. (her unquestioning acceptance again speaks volumes)

Go Green bags on my dinning room table, (typo, love, dining)
I closed the windows and blinds,
switched on the news and watched Her Highness,
make her slow way up on the carpet of our land. (love these lines also, excellent image)

The trees, blustery, bowed before her again and again. (works wonderfully with Her Highness, love it)
Waters rose at her beck and call.
Homes "just wounded" wood called out her name. (still a bit awkward, how about Homes of wounded wood, it's not alliterative overkill)
Some died before her. (Kapow, excellent)

Last night I sat before lit candles listening to her whistle in triumph, then fade. (love this image)

This morning I went to check on Dorothy and heard her humming

“Goodnight, Irene.” (Freaking BRILLIANT!)


As to the cicadas, I also balked at gunshots, to me they sound like a bunch of lunatics playing with maracas, but after your explanation to Edge, I can live with it. Using November was genius, love. Done as only you can, Law, kudos.

Best,
Me



　
　
　
　

Lisa! I am so sorry it's taken me this long to get back to you. I've not been well and haven't checked the board in days. Feeling better. Still weak but your review woke me right up!

Such accolades. You've always encouraged me, from the very beginning, so I have to give you some credit for any success I may have had producing poems which are favored.

And I'm so pleased I'm living up the the title you bestowed me, the "Mistress of Gloom." (I just had to write "the devil's mirror)

It's been ages since I toted my carpet bag, filled with books, in college. I don't know why but it just came to mind. Should have really given that one more thought.

"Peeled it of like fly paper" I'm not surprised you like this image because I'd not be surprised if you wrote something of the same.

And the best comment I could have ever read concerning the following.

This morning I went to check on Dorothy and heard her humming


I was a little uncertain if this would be clear. Dorothy, having dementia, unaware of the storm humming this old song, "Goodnight, Irene". Uncanny and meant to be slightly haunting.

Thank-you! And for sharing all that struck you very positively in this poem.

I don't think you realize just how important your comments are to me!

With care and respect L-