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Saws (1 Viewer)

Otviss

Senior Member
There are birds that saw in pears. Yeah. Imagine. Either sawing with their wings like people? or with their beak, then graciously fly away. Just sawing in pears with a normal saw probably. But only in the middle. Tiny tiny tiny saws. They do that and you hear. You actually hear! The loud but beautiful cries of the pears. Because you never see the woodpecker do you? Only hear it.

Birds exist in this way with their wonderful saws. No need to hear, really. You just know. A thought enters: Kind of sounds like wood. Do you feel the taste of pear in your mouth? Somewhere in the deep woods it is possible to feel the singing sorrows of the pears in your soul. Your heart. The heart... transforms into a pear with true insight. You hear it. You become. Become a Pear.

A walk in those woods. Yeah, just a walk and you hear the birds start sawing and you are sure of it, so sure that your heart is a pear! A fruit is vulnerable just like... A fruit can also become brown. It rots. As if an important part of your soul contributes to this melody. It's weeping. The pear in my chest is weeping. I'm not sure I can distinguish the tears from the juice of fruits? That sweetness, leaking vertically through this body of mine. It's cold. Your saws makes my pear sob. That fruity fragrance. That pleasant feeling is falling down. Oh, what an intense coldness this is. Every heartbeat, like sharp gasps.

When you're drowning your lungs burn, the pain spreads and intensifies... Until that very moment when you accept death for what it is. That acceptance turns to liquid and swims away. What a harmony. It must be harmony itself, really. Harmony in nature. Isn't it terrible to die? It is, but the recognition has this powerful dominance. No resistence. Just a like a dance, down a flight of stairs where the steps turn soft. How easy it must be to take those strides. Deep inside there is a lack of strength. Giving up so early? Your pear must have been sawn to its core by now, because I don't see forgivness in those stairs.

When fate suddenly comes, it means no harm.

A sound of nature.
 

-xXx-

Financial Supporter
There are birds that saw in pears. Yeah. Imagine. Either sawing with their wings like people? or with their beak, then graciously fly away. Just sawing in pears with a normal saw probably. But only in the middle. Tiny tiny tiny saws. They do that and you hear. You actually hear! The loud but beautiful cries of the pears. Because you never see the woodpecker do you? Only hear it.

Birds exist in this way with their wonderful saws. No need to hear, really. You just know. A thought enters: Kind of sounds like wood. Do you feel the taste of pear in your mouth? Somewhere in the deep woods it is possible to feel the singing sorrows of the pears in your soul. Your heart. The heart... transforms into a pear with true insight. You hear it. You become. Become a Pear.

A walk in those woods. Yeah, just a walk and you hear the birds start sawing and you are sure of it, so sure that your heart is a pear! A fruit is vulnerable just like... A fruit can also become brown. It rots. As if an important part of your soul contributes to this melody. It's weeping. The pear in my chest is weeping. I'm not sure I can distinguish the tears from the juice of fruits? That sweetness, leaking vertically through this body of mine. It's cold. Your saws makes my pear sob. That fruity fragrance. That pleasant feeling is falling down. Oh, what an intense coldness this is. Every heartbeat, like sharp gasps.

When you're drowning your lungs burn, the pain spreads and intensifies... Until that very moment when you accept death for what it is. That acceptance turns to liquid and swims away. What a harmony. It must be harmony itself, really. Harmony in nature. Isn't it terrible to die? It is, but the recognition has this powerful dominance. No resistence. Just a like a dance, down a flight of stairs where the steps turn soft. How easy it must be to take those strides. Deep inside there is a lack of strength. Giving up so early? Your pear must have been sawn to its core by now, because I don't see forgivness in those stairs.

When fate suddenly comes, it means no harm.

A sound of nature.

ok.
saws as title.
begin birds that saw in pears
final a sound of nature.
between four paragraphs of images, one line before final line.

sort of stream of consciousness.
sort of not.

birds saw pears->pears cry->woodpecker sounds

(deep woods it is possible to feel the [singing sorrows of the pears) in your soul.]
heart... transforms into a pear with true insight

The pear in my chest is weeping.
tears from or the juice of sweet fruits?
Every heartbeat, like sharp gasps.

burn of drowning
liquid acceptance
swims away
liquid stairs
steps turn soft

I don't see forgiveness in those stairs

When fate suddenly comes, it means no harm.

ok 2.
there is much to like here.
do you prefer the poetic prose form
or
would a more concise piece be desirable?
:)
ref tags life death nature surreal
append edit 03242021w
 
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dannyboy

Friends of WF
sorry, I've read this several times, but it just isn't working for me, the central idea of pears/birds and saws just doesn't do anything for me as a central motif. I have tried but it just doesn;t resonate. Sorry, I do like the attempt, I just wish emotionally something happened for me.
 

Darkkin

WF Veterans
An interesting concept...but as a reader this piece was labour intensive and struggles for cohension. One of the major bones the vultures keep returning to pick at is the fact that doves are physically incapable of sawing. (Nature of the thing itself issue...) They peck and they pick and poke, with their main food sources being seeds, grain, and millet. Most of the fruit they get is either left out by people or is in the process of decay, the birds themselves are unable to mimick a jagged toothed blade pattern on an oblong fruit. There is too much incongruence with the description of the sawer (a dove, these bird species are ubiquitious around the world, so this is not a regional misunderstanding) and the actual action to seem plausible.

Out of curiosity, I googled doves and saws to see what would come up, a dovetail saw was the first hit, but it has nothing to do with the teeth of a bird. Teeth are a key component to the sawing motion and that simple fact is a compounding ripple that topples the piece. Birds don't have teeth and any attempt at physically moving their wings in a sawing motion would result in extreme injury maiming the bird. Logically it just does not make sense because there are no workable congruencies between something like the teeth of a saw and a shark where the reader can say teeth work like this so, yes this verb works. With this it is simple as an improbable verb choice. Beak serration is not something doves are known for. Reconsider the main verb or the main noun. Readers need a touchpoint they resonate with in order to fully immerse in the piece.

I'm struggling to picture the profundity of a pear...its consciousness eludes my, admittedly, questionable reading skills. Psilocybinesque?

Pronouns and prespective are also an issue. e.g. You become. Become a pear. Your saws make my pear scream...(Reading aloud as you go might help with things like this.) We jump from being the pear to being the being acting on the pear, it can disorient a reader, a little like falling off a merry-go-round. One falls out of the piece and struggles to get back in.

Consider the nature of nature, its possibilities, but also its basic physics and practicalities. If you want readers to stay immersed the foundations of work need to be able to support their own weight, which requires a bit of realism based context. Take a hard look at that opening paragraph and its realism. This is where the ripples starts, but that is solely my preception of the work.
 
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Otviss

Senior Member
sorry, I've read this several times, but it just isn't working for me, the central idea of pears/birds and saws just doesn't do anything for me as a central motif. I have tried but it just doesn;t resonate. Sorry, I do like the attempt, I just wish emotionally something happened for me.

Sorry to hear that! This is the way I would look at it to be able to understand the text better: Read it as imagery rather than meaning. I think words and sentences themselves can form an aesthetic structure rather than a coherent message. So each sentence is an image in a way and the composition and order is just steering you in different directions.
 

-xXx-

Financial Supporter
Sorry to hear that! This is the way I would look at it to be able to understand the text better: Read it as imagery rather than meaning. I think words and sentences themselves can form an aesthetic structure rather than a coherent message. So each sentence is an image in a way and the composition and order is just steering you in different directions.

i think the message is quite coherent.
i think the composition steers through order and image.
i think pronoun placement emphasizes both of the above.
:)
 

Otviss

Senior Member
First of all, very happy for the long response. Interesting to hear your thoughts. This is a great example of two conventions clashing :D Some prefer the comfort of predefined structures and some don't. I like to deal with experimental poetry because I believe we are all capable of both abstraction and further imagination. It can also be a way of starting a discussion :)

...doves are physically incapable of sawing....

I don't mention doves anywhere so it can be any bird really. As I said to dannyboy, I think if you're used to conventional poetry, it might help to treat what you read as fantastical imagery rather than meaning.

...moving their wings in a sawing motion would result in extreme injury maiming the bird....

How about holding a saw with their wings? Perhaps in the same way disney characters are drawn. Lots of weird stuff going on in those that animals are not capable of.

I'm struggling to picture the profundity of a pear...its consciousness eludes my, admittedly, questionable reading skills. Psilocybinesque?

Thanks for your insight!

Consider the nature of nature, its possibilities, but also its basic physics and practicalities. If you want readers to stay immersed the foundations of work need to be able to support their own weight, which requires a bit of realism based context. Take a hard look at that opening paragraph and its realism. This is where the ripples starts.

Well, like with any fiction, it's about immersion isn't it? The fantasy genre seems to have no trouble stretching the boundries of what's possible while providing no realistic explanation. I'd argue the same thing happens here. I think you need to separate meaning vs definition. If you read in a book that, oh I don't know, there are blue bananas with red flesh in vietnam, you buy that fact because it's fiction! :)
 

Darkkin

WF Veterans
Not sure where I got doves from, probably partridge in a pear tree imagery. That defined my bird. (Reader error on my part.) Thusly, meaning and definition are completely intertwined and interchangable...so there is no pulling one from the other and having it function. Personal meaning is an entirely different kettle of fish. Not a philosophical debate to get into: Orwell's 2 + 2 = 5, this is what it means to Winston, but is defined as by context A, B, and I...ASD brain that does not process metaphors, which is why I read context and take the words at face value, the very nature of the word itself, (freakazoid microlevel focus, again, my issue), not an abstract concept.

There is a paradox between the technical function (and it is the technical aspect that is making it hard) and the imagery. The words (perspective) are hard to follow, but hey, its a cool picture. Sandcastle poetry. A wave hits it and its gone. It swamps a reader, their response is to stop. Solid context lends support when imagery and perspective become confusing. It is a little bit like a mom placing a bowl of hotdish in front of the kid who has to have each food in its own space. The kid is overwhelmed, pulls out the pieces they can identify but are still struggling to take a bite, while everyone else is 'Hotdish! Awesome!' They dig in, leaving no leftovers, while kid X is trying to find a place to start. It is a hotdish (casserole) type of poem. The piece makes one think.

An example of context from the food befuddled kid:

Saw

a rasping whisper
against the chords
rings laid down
across years

drought to bloom

a dance in leaves
led by the breeze
played out in a
symphony written by
cicadas and bees

teeth chew
eyes watch

Context can support the image without defining a definite source, the congruence of the teeth becoming the identity of the subject without saying, 'Hey, these are the teeth on a saw.' Because teeth chew...is it possible they are teeth of a porcupine or a beaver? Is saw actually a verb? Not a noun? Is the perspective coming from the POV of a deer across the brook? Or is it simply a guy cutting down a tree? It is mirco POV that plays on the very nature of the word itself.

Perspective is a very intriguing thing, no matter how one views it.
 
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Otviss

Senior Member
Thusly, meaning and definition are completely intertwined and interchangable...so there is no pulling one from the other and having it function.

That's exactly what abstraction is! Not to mention surrealism, absurdism. You take something from one context and put it in another. Sometimes it serves the same function, sometimes it's a little twisted around. Not sure I agree with ya there.

The words (perspective) are hard to follow, but hey, its a cool picture. Sandcastle poetry. A wave hits it and its gone. It swamps a reader, their response is to stop. Solid context lends support when imagery and perspective become confusing. It is a little bit like a mom placing a bowl of hotdish in front of the kid who has to have each food in its own space. The kid is overwhelmed, pulls out the pieces they can identify but are still struggling to take a bite, while everyone else is 'Hotdish! Awesome!' They dig in, leaving no leftovers, while kid X is trying to find a place to start. It is a hotdish (casserole) type of poem. The piece makes one think.

Well put and thanks! Really appreciate it <3
 

Matchu

Senior Member
A little DELETE and you're all PRO..striding the stage, the most interesting person in the world, almost. Standing ovation at the end of performance. Interesting piece.

There are birds that saw in pears.

sawing with their wings

like people

with their beak, then fly away. sawing in pears with a normal saw

probably.

But only in the middle. Tiny tiny tiny saws. They do that and you hear. You hear The loud beautiful crie of the pears. Because you never see the woodpecker

do you? Only hear it.


Birds exist in this way with their wonderful saws. No need to hear. You know. A thought enters: of sounds like wood. feel the taste of pear in your mouth

Somewhere in the deep woods it is possible to feel the singing sorrows of the pears in your soul. Your heart. The heart transforms into a pear with true insight. You hear it. You become a Pear.
 
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