Critical Analysis #2 |
Singing in the hackle-pines |
ken_wertz New Member
since 2007-03-22
Posts 6 |
Sorry if this a bit long on first post here, I A bloom unseen is unsettling, invidious to nothing, crying its color out like a lost child. Again I've returned, bewildered when Spring turns home her sweet cheek, slaps the last push of frost back from trees, red-tinged on the horizon. A girl I once knew had worn a trail with me there, in those dark woods. She had said, "If ever you should hear singing in the hackle-pine, in the manner of waters merging, or know that in the boughs where the birds are sleeping - that they are dreaming of flight, then you will know the birth of something chaotic in you." II Spring has brought back the raven, whose black, cold eyes cry. Where now are those encomium faces of preservation when a breeze can carry the echoes of a wood being leveled, but not its precious pollen out? They have no self-burying bones for the lack of prevenience in such a piteous place, gasping in the earth. Where now are those intellectual ears of reasoning when the dark's draconian breath is whispering, whispering, whispering that I am still a child in the night? III A bloom unseen is unsettling, like the fresh tracks outside a window in the morning, or a howl in the absence of any discernable light. It is not unlike the emptiness when a lover, leaving, leaves her scent on an intimate thing. And one cannot kiss the (thought) of ones cheek, only the cheek itself. There is beauty in chaos, in the way that the stars shift in unforgiving sweeps across the blackness that they keep, and that keeps them, unimaginably and perfectly random, or the way two thunderstorms collide with the power less than that of a honeybee that strikes, upending the lily's impurpled universe. IV Oh timeless raven - spring has come, and still you occupy the sicker tree, how is it that your myth is so mired when so iridescent your outers refract its sun? Can you not be beautiful? There is that proclivity to be content, knowing in a broad sense that, somewhere, something is loving something, like the honeybee percussing the intercourse of patterns on its way to some flight out, unseen, and I should wish for such a brutality upon myself. |
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© Copyright 2007 ken_wertz - All Rights Reserved | |||
Brad Member Ascendant
since 1999-08-20
Posts 5705Jejudo, South Korea |
How can an unseen bloom unsettle you? I can think of a few times when that might be true, I just don't see it expressed here. It is very uneven and your use of 'chaotic', 'brutality', '(thought)' and a few other points strikes me that you are trying to unsettle the reader. No problem with that, but the same trick can also lead to a numbing effect. It's an interesting start, however, I hope we see a second draft. |
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