Voodoo

I'm going to say this. I used that for voice and I do very well believe it's not tacky. I tried to make it clear.

Awareness is a good thing.

Feel free to kamikaze otherwise. "Deny. If you deny them, you make them nothing."

Style with power -- foremost of choice. Still, perhaps a tad heavy on That. Of course, if the poem itself is Shit, That isn't a problem.

_

In the dark room that develops
people talk to themselves
and repeat themselves
starting to die
frothing to think
of the sun in a different form,
lying drunk on a mound
that is covered with headlice
all acrawl on the hydrogenous corpse,
in prayer that a doctor may come and
_______fix my sun
because his arm is broken and he can't feed

himself. And tears seem to parade
the seams, his absence where he
stood a great, natural grace
an omniscient state, and hotly
feeding on his remains where the drakes
fall from the sky, shot down by the absesses
gummed in the sea that sweats riches
and pores, and pits
traps for the weary
hungering rattles banging

on his absence and the stars
swallowing his bedsheets
cooled with rain, his forehead is soaked
grey now, where the cloth from black
has ripened into a banana shade,
naked and tasty, and sweaty licked
______the stars

carry his feeble grace so he may
rule his empire again
crown him the almighty, over green
solace woods kept by dragons
that shine his skin from theirs
and pull the fruit from their fangs
that is the color of my other son
when the wheat is ready to spread its wombs
______all infinity, all the better
the red color, the fruit is that shade of my bastard
son, hiding on the darker plantation

behind the feet and spread-hairs
that communicate with constellations,
radars grieving for autistic statues
that forgot how to speak and become
one of us on our mountain
or break gentle youth into explosion
or culture their sons so their lovemaking doesn't
________kill everything

________as I did once
into nine times
ten and rogue children festered
trouble, so much that one time
my sun crawled as a spider
laid itself into eggs
keening for its fulfillment;
he tipped the bark and the dew
and made it black and handsome
roasted his purged belly, across a plain
_______and fell from the tree
even laughed as his mother
and his mater laughed at him
for being so clumsy and ruining
the bill.

surfacetoday

this is cool - can I say something so banal? In the face of a poem flowing with so many intricate, mysterious images - I feel I cannot say that much more. This is because, while I think that your talent is evident -your command of language impressive, your diction surprising and interesting, and your tendency towards the uncomfortable, sultrier, saltier, tender rotten fantastics a success through its constant inclusion - the poem is too vague. It made me think, and there were parts that I enjoyed very much - but I found myself wallowing in some of the more abstract middle sections rootless and just scratching my head.
But surprisingly, I did like the fantasy imagery - the drakes and dragons references. I thought you dealt with them in a highly inventive way.
(A favorite songwriter of mine - Will Sheff of Okkervil River - wrote a song which feautures that sort of medieval, fantastic imagery, called 'A King And Queen.' Your poem called it to mind.)
However, I do believe that it flows well despite everything, and I'm not sure I would suggest chopping it up, but it needs to maybe be reigned just a tiny bit tighter, perhaps around the 'my sun' theme?

Ultimately, I think that this poem - and your other poems as well, for that matter - do have this overly cool thing about them. The words and images are tough and edgy, almost self-conciously so, and never, never tender - or even neutral, really. There is a lot of anger beneath these poems and their hard images, and while you still manage to communicate well - and with enough objectivity to sound mature - I think it would be interesting to see you really try to distance yourself from that anger, that burning imagery and write something from a more neutral, frank perspective.
Just a thought, and obviously you can tell me to go to hell, but I do believe you've got a lot of fucking talent. I feel strongly that you could develop your style in that direction.

__________________
Eat shit and poop it out, then repeat ten million times til you become a saggy old basset hound.

www.myspace.com/jakeharms
for music, writing stuff

Amadeus

I agree the boy's got talent. Me, I read this a few times and wondered if it could be improved with a good hair-cut! It was like hacking your way through a dense forest but still being lost. Words such as "keening" have no place in such a poem!

dannyboy

needs some cutting back but I like it - it reminds me of Genet - he had a knack (as you do) of putting orindary - or even ugly - things beautifully.

I do not know if you are, but I hope you are writing prose because I think you could write some amazing prose passages.

Voodoo

I am, though it's more a bastard version.

http://www.writingforums.com/writers...bligation.html

Let us pray.

Amadeus

Actually, I was lying when I said "the boy's got talent"; in fact, I don't believe that to be the case, not at all, anything but, at least not on the evidence presented. Not one line of this poem is memorable, yet so much effort must have gone into it. And poetry is all about memory. Or meaning. Or insight. This has none of those qualities. They'll shoot me down for flaming for this, of course. Imagine you had to read this poem out? You'd get as far as "frothing to think" before they called security. Geezer, you have a lot to say about theory, how about some practise? This site could easily freak you out. Next time, keep it short and to the point - if you've got one! But, keep going.

Voodoo

Amadeus -- no flaming, no worries.

I agree, that practice and theory must be go hand in hand -- else, we'd know a lot about poetry that we couldn't write.

It is, however, a touch off to berate something for length. Five lines can easily be too little, as fifty is easily too much. If you take into account the style -- in this case, narration -- it's not meant as much for emotional effect (such as, five lines about a soldier coming home I read from a friend; images that conjured some emotion but did not have poetic device. It's fine to its more crafty equivalent, but it could easily be disputed, if it were more fleeting thought than poem)

Not every poem need say something about the universe if it doesn't intend to say it.

surfacetoday

GV, I think you write too well for your own good. You're too confident.
I hestitated to shoot you down for writing something so long and utterly incomprehensible, as I'd just published a fairly long, rambling poem myself - but there's alot of sense in what Amadeus said. And though you've taken it well on the surface, ultimately all you've done with his critique is refute his point, and - barring the small acceptance of the theory dig - justify through your own reasoning that this poem is perfectly sound.
I would not go so far as to say you have no talent. Quite the opposite. But I will say that you have trouble with feeling pompous. That same talent that flows (I think) especially well through your short prose posts, seems to make you think that you have perfect right to justify any section of a poem that really does have its weak points.
I know your type. I really do. When I first started trawling the poetry forum, your posts stuck out for their effortless concision and command of language, and I was immediately impressed.
But,the difference between you and someone less talented is that you can afford to be lazy; you can afford to rest comfortably and deflect simple arguments, because of the talent you've already amassed. Someone less talented would be more inclined to work and further their talent, while you seem content with being complacent and moody. Perhaps it is personal bullshit slogging your initiative, but I think you need to get over yourself.

__________________
Eat shit and poop it out, then repeat ten million times til you become a saggy old basset hound.

www.myspace.com/jakeharms
for music, writing stuff

Voodoo

Surface, is this sentence; "And though you've taken it rather well on the surface, ultimately" incomplete, or should there be a period? I'm unsure.

"German, I think you write too well for your own good. You're too confident."

No I'm not, mate. I'd like to drown everything I write. I just like to be aggressive to others because I was raised on it.

"writing something so long and utterly incomprehensible"

Heh, you should see Sept. I think, if one comes to terms with the intentions of the poem (see earlier post; if the poet wants to make something utterly and knowingly devoid of meaning, or, rather, Message, and he does it well, then he's succeeded) then they can be more objective about it. This has great images, as you say -- and that's what it's supposed to be.

I wrote this after I read A True Account of Talking to the Sun at Fire Island

No comparison to that, but I tried to imitate.

Baron

"To eveything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under Heavem."

Perhaps it's time that you begin to undertand that this season has passed.

__________________

Voodoo

What?

Amadeus

I take that "what" and raise you a "whatever". You're good Voodoo, don't forget that. Believe me, I hate everything and everybody, but you stand out, my son!

surfacetoday

Yup, sentence. Look for the dash.

If you want to drown it, drown it. I think you're full of shit, mate.

__________________
Eat shit and poop it out, then repeat ten million times til you become a saggy old basset hound.

www.myspace.com/jakeharms
for music, writing stuff

Amadeus

This is more like it!

Mermaid on the breakwater

I am not sure why everyone is having a go at Voodoo in this thread. You have pointed out where this poem is possibly falling down, and he has responded with why he thinks it is justified. Believe me, voodoo is very talented, whether you think it or not, he is.

The assumptions being made about his determination to learn the craft are silly; we don't know how much time he spends on a piece of poetry, or whatever he turns his attention to. It's like saying, because you have no talent, you are bound to work very hard and because you have a lot of talent, you are inclined not to work at all. Rubbish.

The poem itself, well, it's not an easy read and it is possibly a little verbose at times. But I still think there's a massive amount of skill involved in creating this. A spade is a spade, gentlemen, do not judge it by anything else.