»
Archives
»
Critical Analysis #1
»
Dusk to Dawn
| Critical Analysis #1 |
|
Dusk to Dawn |
|
|
brian madden Member Elite
since 2000-05-06
Posts 4374ireland 
|
The golden hue of sun, breaks the waves of the icy canal, shifting the seas and stirring my head from sleepless dreams. My eyes venture cautiously to filter dawn's brilliant light. The wind chimes on light breeze dance in gaiety, eagerly kissing the white exposures of early morning. Blue shades of shadow and twilight still yearn for their moment, hanging as phantoms cowering from the blazing rays of Solaris. Fold the blanket bury the bed and commit myself to day. Bathe in transparencies, and drown the tiredness in my bathroom sink. It is like rebirth, the shedding of dead skin under the tsunami of tap water. My razor hacks against my skin sculpting a fresh face. The ritual ended and my daylight persona in place I have the freedom to celebrate the mundane. My palm placed against the window fingers parted to shift light into prism beams. The droplets of colour process facilely on my retina developing in Kodak clarity. It's these simple pleasures that let me live. I bow my head, as noon fades further into recession. Evening is dead time, each hour becomes a storm of raven insanity. The interior is bleached in twilight, fluorescent blue warms my corner where I sit naked with my phobias. It flashes irrelevant pictures on its surfaces, commercial happiness and life unattainable. They call this entertainment. Fictionalised reality soaks my mind, with flat lifeless impressionists. I turn from the madness, face the dusk, allow imagination to drift. Breaking through a blood sky, golden twilight merges in an amber wash acrylic tones and spiralling textures knitted in the fabric of everything, contrasts collide waging intense imploding love upon a canvas of pantheism. It's in your eyes a fire that's wild and glorious Unhibited, unfinished in everything I do Let the morning rise like our hearts desire" whipping boy |
||
| © Copyright 2001 brian madden - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
warmhrt Senior Member
since 1999-12-18
Posts 1563 |
Brian, I like your word and phrase choices and the varied images they create...vividly... however, I feel this would be better as a piece of prose with just a few small additions. In fact, I think it would make an exceptional piece of prose. Kris All change in history, all advance, comes from the nonconformist. If there had been no troublemakers, no dissenters, we would still be living in caves |
||
|
Lerk Junior Member
since 2000-11-17
Posts 49Dayton, OH USA |
I have to agree to wrmhrt's observation, and I would just add that I either wanted this to go one way-- to prose by eliminating the need for arbitrary line breaks--- or the other way to increasing the number of line breaks, and making them in more logical places, to make this more of a poem in feel nice imagery, though. I think the structure works against seeing it, though. |
||
|
brian madden Member Elite
since 2000-05-06
Posts 4374ireland |
THanks guys for your suggestions, I have edited the poem to read better and also made some changes. Thanks for your help and suggestion. =============================== The golden hue of sun breaks the waves of the icy canal, and stirs me from a sleepless dream. Shrouded wind chimes dance in gaiety, eagerly kissing the white exposures of early morning. My eyes venture cautiously into its brilliance. Blue shades of shadow and twilight still yearn for their moment, cowering as phantoms in rays of Solaris. Fold the blanket, bury the bed, and commit myself to day. Bathe in transparencies drowning this tiredness, it is a daily rebirth, as I shed dead skin beneath the bathroom tsunami. A razor hacks against skin sculpting me a fresh face, The ritual ended and my daylight persona in place, I am allowed the freedom to celebrate the mundane. Against the window my fingers filter the light like a prism, with Kodak clarity the droplets of colour ripen upon my retina I bow my head, as noon fades further into recession. Evening is dead time, each hour passes as raven insanity. Fluorescent blue warms the corner where I sit naked with my phobias. It flashes irrelevant pictures of commercial happiness and life unattainable. Fictionalised reality soaks my mind. They call this entertainment, when it is but flat lifeless impressionists. I turn from the madness, face the dusk, and begin to drift, Breaking through the blood dim sky. Golden twilight merges in an amber wash of acrylic tones and spiralling textures knitted in universal fabric, contrasts collide imploding as an intense love upon a canvas of pantheism. < !signature--> It's in your eyes a fire that's wild and glorious Unhibited, unfinished in everything I do Let the morning rise like our hearts desire" whipping boy [This message has been edited by brian madden (edited 01-03-2001).] |
||
|
YeshuJah Malikk Member
since 2000-06-29
Posts 263 |
Brian, this poem reminded me of a relative of mine who never fails to go into every possible aspect of the telling of a sometimes, uneventful story. I felt like I knew exactly what was going to be said in the lines following the ones I read. I missed the sense of suprise that earmarks enjoyable reading in this one. Perhaps you could cut the lenght and use your considerable language skills to say the same thing in a totally engaging way. Sorry man. |
||
|
brian madden Member Elite
since 2000-05-06
Posts 4374ireland |
YeshuJah, point taken. the poem is exactly an exploration of a day and trying to find colour and light in mundane events. It was inspired by watching a film about Van Gogh, hence the color references and end part. I took on board your suggestions and edited the poem. ============== The golden hue of sun breaks the waves of the icy canal, stirring my eyes from sleepless dreams, to eagerly kiss the white exposures of early morning. Folding the blanket, burying the bed, I commit myself to day. Bathe in a bathroom tsunami, my razor hacks dead skin sculpting a fresh face. The ritual ended and my daytime persona in place, I may now celebrate the mundane. As a prism against a window, my fingers filter the light, as droplets of colour, developing on my retina in Kodak clarity. Evening is dead time, with noon fading further into recession , time passes as a storm of raven insanity. Sitting naked with my phobias immersed in Fluorescent blue fictionalised reality soaks my mind. In the advent of dusk, this weary body drifts breaking through a blood dim sky where, Golden twilight merges in an amber wash of acrylic tones and spiralling textures knitted in universal fabric, contrasts collide imploding as an intense love upon a canvas of pantheism. < !signature--> It's in your eyes a fire that's wild and glorious Unhibited, unfinished in everything I do Let the morning rise like our hearts desire" whipping boy [This message has been edited by brian madden (edited 01-05-2001).] |
||
Stephanos
since 2000-07-31
Posts 3618Statesboro, GA, USA |
Brian, after having read your poem and the following responses and your revisions, I have to say that I still liked the first one better. Yes you were probably over descriptive at times which gave the whole thing more of a prose feel, but it seems to me that something was lost in the revisions. Whereas the original allowed your reflections of the mundane to flow unhindered, your retries seemed a bit choppy and non-descript. The clarity just wasn't there. For example "Bathe in transparencies, and drown the tiredness in my bathroom sink. It is like rebirth, the shedding of dead skin under the tsunami of tap water. My razor hacks against my skin sculpting a fresh face. The ritual ended and my daylight persona in place I have the freedom to celebrate the mundane." compare with "Bathe in a bathroom tsunami, my razor hacks dead skin sculpting a fresh face. The ritual ended and my daytime persona in place, I may now celebrate the mundane." The first to me wins hands down. Phrases that were very descriptive like "bathe in transparencies" (instantly catapulting my mind into a shower steamed bathroom with many transparent things to consider from the water to the chrome of the sink, to the mirror), or "tsunami of tapwater" seemed to give me more concrete imagery to enjoy than "bathe in a bathroom tsunami". The first still needs some revision perhaps but it was richer with its longer lines. If it reads more like prose, so be it. Sometimes this can be very good. There is a category of "prose-poetry" which this might fit perfectly. Your last line sums it up for me "I have the freedom to celebrate the mundane."...descriptively I might add. Enjoyed it all. |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
