Quest for Grace - 2nd revision

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Marc-Andre
Senior Member

since 2008-12-07

Posts 501

0 posted 2009-01-24 12:54 PM

Balladeer, I took the liberty to post the new revision in a new thread for clarity, as myself for one would get lost in the other one. I have revised the poem. All the rhymes should be solid now (spare me not, my friend) and the meter equally immaculate.   Once more, thanks for all the time you have devoted on critiquing this piece. Mark

In the inner court aborning fog adorned the cold March morning
Treading paths of herringbone eroded bricks toward that place
Seen in one disturbing vision, at the time of the collision,
In my mind a sharp incision time would neither purge nor case,
On my quest of revelations, labyrinths I’d have to trace:
                           Track a lady christened Grace.

Eerily, no sound would hustle sacred mystic nature‘s rustle,
Hooded crows there pillage garbage as black cats deer mice deface;
Swiftly northern winds were steaming, frozen sparrows started screaming,
In the sky a pale sun gleaming through the haze-invaded space,
Molecules of smoke and humus polkaed deftly on my face;
                       But of Grace there was no trace.

When I reached the stairwell landing, torn face bricks my conscience branding
With awareness that I’d timely leave behind the human race;
T’was so still you’d hear the echo of the motions of a gecko;
On the inner walls a secco, on the floor a broken vase
And some weathered relics from a golden age we can’t replace:
                                  Then I heard a double bass.

As my heart was wildly pounding, treacherous slanted winders rounding
Leaden double bass still droning, charcoal sweat flowed down my face;
As I dropped, a decrescendo while my pulse reached a stringendo,
Clammy walls gave innuendo there my ghost I would encase,
My remaining lifeblood wasted in a fatal chase for Grace;
                         On the wall there leaned a mace.

Rusty shovels draped with dank clay, in a spandrel on red shale lay,
Through a cleft I saw a shadow, could it be the one of Grace?
It was then I heard a rumble as the string of stairs would crumble,
Walls shook plaster off in tumble, disinterring hoar high place
As I clutched the cast iron handrail, dangling feet in empty space -
                                  Struggling to the spandrel brace.

I heard voices that lamented from a regal sulphur-scented
Hall whose walls the still lifes of Picasso and Cezanne would trace,
In the corner black antique hearse, blanketed by scrolls of dark curse,
And graffitied with Rimbaud’s verse, sketches of the Virgin’s face;
Soon there closed a lady donning frock made of Chantilly lace:
                                  Thus appeared my lady Grace.

Ashen was her smooth complexion, and her visage pure perfection
Though coagulated blood anointed her angelic face;
Her plush breasts and tempting lush hips matched her charming purple full lips
But her neck and shoulders bore rips that e’en time could not efface;
On the ebony four-poster bed I was soon laid by Grace,
                         Strongly held in her embrace.

First as hard and cold as marble, murmuring exotic garble,
She was like basalt that fused and melted, bonding in embrace;
And inside her flowed pure manna as she wildly cried “hosannah”
In the temple of Diana, love profaning sacred place;
Thus my conscience captured in the existential prisoner’s base,
                                    In temptation of her grace.

“Welcome, darling, to the life’s trough, realm where reigns the death’s-head hawk moth;
Trapped between Sheol and foul Gehanna is this Hilbert space:
Yon Rosetta stone unravel would amount to naught but cavil,
Long ago was struck the gavel“, in my ear would whisper Grace
With a  kiss  suppressing  pining to rejoin the livings’ base;
                                    In a coma I’d found Grace.

Copyright 2009 by Marc-Andre Germain - All Rights Reserved

Balladeer

Administrator

Member Empyrean

since 1999-06-05

Posts 25505
Ft. Lauderdale, Fl USA

1 posted 2009-01-24 08:54 PM

Marc-Andre, every rhyme perfect and not a syllable out of place. Poe himself would be proud of this one.

Congrats on your hard work and insistence on producing nothing less than the best you can do. This is a piece of work to be proud of, sir.

Marc-Andre
Senior Member

since 2008-12-07

Posts 501

2 posted 2009-01-24 11:10 PM

Once more, many thanks for the invaluable help, Balladeer. Have a wonderful day! Mark

Alison

Member Rara Avis

since 2008-01-27

Posts 9318
Lumpy oatmeal makes me crazy!

3 posted 2009-01-27 01:58 AM

Mark,

I am not sure that a poem in PiP has captured me in quite the same way that this one has. I didn't feel it in your previous draft, but I have to admit that I have printed this revision out and have read it several times throughout the day.

There are so many lines that I fell in love with:

quote:
Hooded crows there pillage garbage as black cats deer mice deface;

and

quote:
T'ws so still you'd hear the echo of the motions of a gecko;

and

quote:
Through the cleft I penetrated one grand sulphur-permeated
Hall whose walls the still lifes of Picasso and Cezanne would trace,

and there are too many more to add here.

Your changes of words and word placement made this poem a one-of-a-kind.  Yes, it reminds me of Poe and it reminds me of Lewis Carroll and it reminds me of you.

May I save this one on my computer?  I won't share it but I would love to read it many more times.

You have shown me the importance of rewriting and you have reminded me how fortunate we are to have Balladeer help us with our poetry.

You shine, Mark.  This is wonderful writing.

Alison

Marc-Andre
Senior Member

since 2008-12-07

Posts 501

4 posted 2009-01-27 09:54 AM

Thanks for the nice comments, Alison. Yes, Balladeer is contributing much, both directly and indirectly. You may certainly save the poem, and as long as I get the credit for it, you may share it. I write in the hope to be read. I'm thinking of submitting this poem for publication some time this year. Mark

Dr.Moose1
Member Elite

since 1999-09-05

Posts 3448
Bewilderment , USA

5 posted 2009-02-03 12:12 PM

Marc Andre,
An excellently written piece to showcase your talent. I offer my own little tongue- in-cheek review for your comments as well.
Doc

Take this poem resembling Poe's
Crafted with such style it shows
Just so, my friends, you know
We all might rise above
We just need a little shove
To attempt the daunting task
There is help if we but ask
Of a poet, or a friend
As we've witnessed what Marc's penned
Evolve with each new draft
To elevate our poets' craft.

An ear to phrases spoke
Bound in such poetic cloak
Seldom heard within these walls
'Twould hold the mind in thrall
A while, that time stands still
Then reversed as ink is spilled
With such skill, with such skill!
Think not, that I detract,
Nay! More , in point of fact
Such work by far outshines
that which I've posted as mine
Yet still when, it comes to "Grace"
'Tis preferred sans bouillabaisse.

Marc-Andre
Senior Member

since 2008-12-07

Posts 501

6 posted 2009-02-03 12:47 PM

Thanks, Doc. The ending couplet brought a big smile to my face

Indeed, this piece is what comes out of days spent on revision, with the right coaching and support. My heartfelt thanks to all who have contributed to this poem through their inputs. Mark

Dr.Moose1
Member Elite

since 1999-09-05

Posts 3448
Bewilderment , USA

7 posted 2009-02-04 07:11 AM

Marc,
Lol, that's me, anything for a laugh. Even re-writing Poe's "Dream Within a Dream" into a "Poem Within a Poem".
Doc

Boshii2
Member

since 2009-02-01

Posts 146

8 posted 2009-02-24 01:46 PM

OOh Happy to have found this one too.I am not surprised your lovemaking could wake the dead.
I cannot even sleep.
Boshii2

Marc-Andre
Senior Member

since 2008-12-07

Posts 501

9 posted 2009-02-24 08:33 PM

Thanks, Boshhi2. I was pretty sure you would like this one too

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