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Passions in Poetry

A Hermit

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Allogenes
Junior Member
since 01-16-2008
Posts 35


0 posted 01-21-2009 09:15 PM       View Profile for Allogenes   Email Allogenes   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Allogenes

    Here on a craggy mountaintop I stand,
Here at the World’s desperate and lonely end;
    The swollen clouds hold my embittered hand,
The lightning is an only trusted friend;

    The Sky so near, the World so far away
I forget all lowly and earthly things;
    The humble passings of a quiet day,
The arrogant pomp of unquestioned kings.  

    But the thunder peals like a god unhinged
Wronged and rolling at an abysmal pace;
    ‘Pon the discharge, the spirit is avenged
And quiet returns to her placid face.  

Between the worlds, a mountain cloaked in cloud:
I’ve left the others to suffer on th’ ground.


[This message has been edited by Allogenes (01-22-2009 05:22 PM).]

© Copyright 2009 Allogenes - All Rights Reserved
oceanvu2
Senior Member
since 02-24-2007
Posts 1007
Santa Monica, California, USA


1 posted 01-21-2009 10:31 PM       View Profile for oceanvu2   Email oceanvu2   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for oceanvu2

Hi!  This isn't that bad in intent, it's just pretty awkard in execution.

"Here on a craggy mountaintop I stand,"

Look at "craggy."  It's about as cliched an adjective" a "wind swept."  Look beyond that:  How badly would it hurt, or help, to specify the mountain?

"Here at the World’s desperate and lonely end;"

What World?  What "end," why "desperate," how "lonely?"  The thought is there, the words are basically meaningless. And no semi-colon, just a comma.

    "The swollen clouds hold my embittered hand,"

OK, we can take that for a metaphorical image, though it makes not literal or poetic sense.

"The lightning is an only trusted friend;"

Sucky friend, man, it's gonna kill ya if you trust it too much.

    "The Sky so near, the World so far away
I forget all lowly and earthly things;
    The humble passings of a normal day,
The arrogant pomp of unquestioned kings."

Ok, now we get to the poem, you are standing on some mountain top, detached, observing.

The remainder is abysmal.

Now, there is no real problem in writing something abysmal. Most of us do it all the time.  The problem lies with not editing the abysmal, or editing the abysmal out.

There is something you want to express here.  You don't do it, except, of course in the way that you do do it. Which doesn't work.

My suggestion woud be to go back to this theme, which has a kind of validity, and say what you want to sat, not what you think you ought to say.

Best, Jimbeaux

    
Allogenes
Junior Member
since 01-16-2008
Posts 35


2 posted 01-22-2009 01:17 AM       View Profile for Allogenes   Email Allogenes   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Allogenes

Thank you for commenting.

The piece was a just a revision of a poem I had written some years ago, and wasn't meant to convey anything particularly. Just the vague outlining of an old idea; an exercise in form.

The "World's End" was referring to the narrators suspension between heaven and earth; the hermits existence on the outskirts of his culture (which is necessarily 'desperate' and 'lonely'.)  

Yes, the last two stanzas were tacked on at a later time, and in a great haste -- never write in a great haste.

By the way, if you could, be more specific on what's inherently wrong with the form -- as it is mostly an exercise, I'm more concerned with tackling the metrical problems than the general incongruities of the story.

Thanks again.


[This message has been edited by Allogenes (01-22-2009 05:21 PM).]

turtle
Member
since 01-23-2009
Posts 491
Harbor


3 posted 01-23-2009 02:39 PM       View Profile for turtle   Email turtle   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for turtle

Hi Allogenes,

Not sure what you're after here. This has the basic structure of a sonnet, but a sonnet is a strict form that is usually written in iambic pentameter, or occasionally tetrameter.

The first line in S1 is dactyl /iambic / iambic / iambic. S1L2 is dactyl / sponde / iambic / iambic / iambic. Lines 3&4 are iambic pentameter. S2L1 is iambic penameter. S2L2 is anapestic / anapestic / iambic. S2L3 is iambic pentameter. S2L4 is iambic / iambic / trochee / iambic / iambic. S3L1 is trochee / trochee / trochee / iambic / iambic. S3L2 is trochee / trochee / trochee / iambic / iambic. S3L3 is trochee / iambic / iambic / anapestic. S3L4 is iambic / anapestic / anapestic / iambic. S4L1 is iambic pentameter. S4L2 is iambic / iambic / anapestic / iambic / iambic.

This would need a lot of work to be a true sonnet. You might want to study-up on your meters.

Turtle
Allogenes
Junior Member
since 01-16-2008
Posts 35


4 posted 01-24-2009 02:08 AM       View Profile for Allogenes   Email Allogenes   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Allogenes

Thanks for commenting.

This is essentially what I was seeking -- a technical breakdown of the metrical scheme.

When I'm feeling less-than-creative, I sometimes return to older, frankly stilted poems (like this one) and attempt to fit them into some tolerable form or another as a practice diversion. My decision to transform this into an unorthodox sonnet was a last-minute caprice, and I'll likely do away with that demanding structure in the end.

As for studying the meter, yes -- my forays into strict poetic formalism have been brief  (and primarily recent) and I have a great deal to catch up on.

To improve a few of the lines, I suppose I could render them:  'Upon a craggy mountaintop I stand / To see the World's low, melancholic end' -- and perhaps -- 'Forgotten are all lowly, earthly things'.

Again, thanks for the helpful remarks.
Allogenes
Junior Member
since 01-16-2008
Posts 35


5 posted 01-27-2009 02:21 AM       View Profile for Allogenes   Email Allogenes   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Allogenes

    (A Revision)

    Upon a craggy mountaintop I stand
To taste the World's low, melancholic wind;
    The swollen clouds surround the icy hand
Of God (Who left me to embrace the End)

    The sky so near, the World so far away,
Forgotten are all trifling, earthly things;
    The humble passings of a quiet day,
Of arrogance imbibed: less timely kings

    Oh here I am alone, but not by choice
For I, consigned to spend my nights and days
    In the harsh resonance of my own voice,
Am fallen prisoner to my own ways

For I, a Sage seeking wisdom's heights, came
And found only ruins, and dark weeds, and rain.

[This message has been edited by Allogenes (01-27-2009 03:00 AM).]

 
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