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Thread: Theater Girl

  1. #1

    Theater Girl

    What a grand scene the theater is,
    Walls of red adorned with gold
    Rising to the grand dome in the center
    The Atlas they called it
    It looked down on empty balconies
    It looked down on empty seats
    Empty rows upon empty rows
    Only one person sits in the sea of chairs
    Looking on a most glorious show

    What a graceful scene she is,
    Skin soft like velvet radiates in the spotlight
    She played a simple song from her piano,
    but gave off an aura
    that no one could quite comprehend
    Her skirt wistfully danced off the edge of the bench
    Flowing along with her waist and wrists
    The warmth of her sound filling the theater,
    like the sun on a mid-autumn day

    Take it in, donít miss a moment
    Close your eyes, hold your breathe
    Patterns dance in her mind
    She weaves tales from her acoustic loom
    Stories of a knight
    Stories of a princess
    She was a storm
    No one would sweep her away
    but herself
    "I like working with first time directors because they don't really know the rules yet. And therefore don't know any limits."
    -Sir Ben Kingsley

  2. #2
    Hi, Pidgeon,

    As I do not believe you are just writing a "tell" or description poem (they rarely hold interest), I believe this to be about a girl daydreaming it is she on stage. I had to dig for that interpretation. If I'm correct, could you make it more clear, in some way?

  3. #3
    Hi. I like this, where it can go, where it's going, or as is. I want to know more about Theater Girl. I see her as the room. I see her as the scene; she is a simple song playing on the piano turning into an aria. I enjoy descriptive poems. I feel that the warmth of the theater fills her instead of her filling the theater. Thank you for sharing. I enjoyed reading Theater Girl. -- Wesley C.

  4. #4
    Quote Originally Posted by sas View Post
    Hi, Pidgeon,

    As I do not believe you are just writing a "tell" or description poem (they rarely hold interest), I believe this to be about a girl daydreaming it is she on stage. I had to dig for that interpretation. If I'm correct, could you make it more clear, in some way?
    To tell you the truth, I don't think I had an interpretation in mind. This was more (as many of my poems are) an attempt to paint a picture of the scene in my head. I also kind of like the fact that I got two different interpretations. Whether she's real or metaphor is kind of up to the reader. I suppose I do have a meaning in mind for myself, but I don't really want that to affect your outcome cause I like yours too .

    Quote Originally Posted by Space Cadet View Post
    Hi. I like this, where it can go, where it's going, or as is. I want to know more about Theater Girl. I see her as the room. I see her as the scene; she is a simple song playing on the piano turning into an aria. I enjoy descriptive poems. I feel that the warmth of the theater fills her instead of her filling the theater. Thank you for sharing. I enjoyed reading Theater Girl. -- Wesley C.
    Thank you so much for reading and giving your take!
    "I like working with first time directors because they don't really know the rules yet. And therefore don't know any limits."
    -Sir Ben Kingsley

  5. #5
    Guess my oldness wants me to know what I've read about. It's probably generational. Smiles.

  6. #6
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    Quote Originally Posted by Pidgeon84 View Post
    She played a simple song from her piano,
    but gave off an aura
    that no one could quite comprehend

    The warmth of her sound filling the theater,
    like the sun on a mid-autumn day
    the last stanza is the major hook for me,
    but these two concepts are outstanding!

  7. #7
    Quote Originally Posted by Pidgeon84 View Post
    What a grand scene the theater is,
    Walls of red adorned with gold
    Rising to the grand dome in the center
    The Atlas they called it
    It looked down on empty balconies
    It looked down on empty seats
    Empty rows upon empty rows
    Only one person sits in the sea of chairs
    Looking on a most glorious show

    What a graceful scene she is,
    Skin soft like velvet radiates in the spotlight
    She played a simple song from her piano,
    but gave off an aura
    that no one could quite comprehend
    Her skirt wistfully danced off the edge of the bench
    Flowing along with her waist and wrists
    The warmth of her sound filling the theater,
    like the sun on a mid-autumn day

    Take it in, donít miss a moment
    Close your eyes, hold your breathe
    Patterns dance in her mind
    She weaves tales from her acoustic loom
    Stories of a knight
    Stories of a princess
    She was a storm
    No one would sweep her away
    but herself


    The Theatre is all about creating an illusion.... am I right, Pidg? A knight, stories of a princess ... well they are fantasies... fantasies and illusions... and someone alone watching, in an empty theatre ... strong message... " Her skirt wistfully danced off the edge of the bench".... lovely imagery... It is fabulous to read your intriguing poetry and I am thrilled that you are still writing. It is ALWAYS a pleasure to read your work..
    The wishbone will never replace the backbone { Will Henry}

    If you are a writer, reach a reader
    If you are a fighter, teach a leader
    If you are a lover, touch a leper
    If this has helped you, thank you, reader

    If you can read this, teach a thinker

    Author: Lynn Loschky



    Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,
    love leaves a memory no one can steal....
    Author unknown.

  8. #8
    The poet is right, of course, that multiple interpretations often emerge from a poem. A poem is perhaps the only form of writing in which AMBIGUITY is often richly tissued throughout and expands, rather than confuses, possible applications to the human condition. Yes, there are compelling moments of strong imagery here, but within the imagery of any poem, whether a classically structured sonnet or a surreal Olson flash, we need some kind of aesthetic bridge that offers us a way across, a way through the world of imagination that unfolods. I'mnot at all sure quite what that bridge is here--maybe Sas and I had similar difficulties on this level. If you have a look at Theseus's famous "the poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling" speech in Shakespeare's MSND, you'll see that the poetic 'way' depicted seems almost trance-like, but ROOTED finally in giving to "airy nothing a local habitation and a name." The poet says she was just trying to capture in words a sense or vision of something in her head. Very good. Words are the bridge between that very private sense or vision. . .and me, the reader. I like the words. I think the bridgte needs further work.

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