The Writers Block

Why Is The Song of the Arctic White (revision)


The albino dove left its flock and
its waterbed, and now I hold this
feather, lone and silent in my hand.

I watch its filaments, lose myself
in thoughts of flight; that tiny eye,
the color of saffron, purple with

dashes of orange; its shiny pupil,
a round, onyx-black dot staring,
turned to me before it crashed.

Still, warm, I picked it up with
trepidation. My heartbeat trapped
in one single frozen tear.

Lips dry, I swallowed. Toes curled
as bird claws, he laid on his side,
so peaceful. So desolate, silence.

So cold, that summer day.
Too white, the winter. I sing
of spring this icicle autumn.

Hold me. Closer; not close enough.
Tight, tighter; not tight enough.

---

Spirit of the unborn;
aura of this albino dove,
its feather, lone and
silent in my hand.

I watch its filaments,
lose myself in thoughts
of flight; that tiny eye,
turned, towards me.

Still, warm, I picked it
up with trepidation.
My heartbeats icicles
down my cheeks.

Lips dry, I swallowed.
Toes curled as claws,
he lay on his side, quiet
is loud and desolate.

So cold, that summer
day. Too white, the
winter. I sing of spring
to frozen autumns.

Hold me. Closer;
not close enough.
Tight, tighter;
not tight enough.


pen

Pen---


oh, the stable, clear opening. almost all poems profit from the declarative open---and if you add in current tense, starting with action or some element of drama you give the poem better odds to reach the world cup.



as the innocence of the unborn


this opeining line strikes me as weak and not so fresh. low actual content.



but phrased like this---

this albino dove etc...


and you have a striking, and colorful open.

i firm base for the excellent following lines:


I watch its filaments, lose myself
in thoughts of flight; that tiny eye,
turned to me before it crashed.

Still, warm, I picked it up with
trepidation. My heartbeat trapped
in one single frozen tear.

Lips dry, I swallowed. Toes curled
as bird claws, he laid on his side,
so peaceful. So desolate, silence.

So cold, that summer day.
Too white, the winter. I sing
of spring this icicle autumn.

Hold me. Closer; not close enough.
Tight, tighter; not tight enough.



maybe, maybe----


[b]I watch its filaments, lose myself
in thoughts of flight; that tiny eye,
turned to me before it crashed.


take a stab at a line describing that eye.

the iris purple, the pupil
a black miniature disc.


such a line of description---an appeal to one or more of the senses -- can often be inserted if a base is first established so the reader knows what is being described.

and our ideas about modification, fewer rather than more, declarative sentences without sub-clauses, and a relationship to the total poem.


i liked this poem, just not the opening line. i like that the poem is focused on a strong, clear idea that is massaged into a broader statement. no preaching, sense we witness both the environent and a dying bird. that restraint, that discipline, helps to make the poem memorable and storng.


bernie

Bernie,

I agree with your comments. You have the keenest sight and I am thankful for your generosity, too.

It never ceases to amaze me how all living creatures look for eye-contact (I think of a lizard friend right now). What it means, so different, according to circumstance. A story:

A two year old came up to a blind friend of mine and handed him her work of art--a paper plate with cotton stuck on it and I do not remember now what it was supposed to be, as part of the design. My friend explained that he could not see, but that he could feel with his hands. She kept looking for eye-contact and was obviously disconcerted that there was no way to achieve that very important and familiar link. But, after he explained, she stretched out her arm and handed him the plate, close to his face, and she said, "Here, then sniff it." It was a great moment and we all laughed.

Non-sequitur, that.

I am glad you quoted what was there originally because I was fiddling with the poem straight into this window and do not know if I have the original in my files. I have copied your comments and will try to 'up' it, if I can.

Lately, I am more than a little discouraged with the result of what I write. If I get too discouraged, I end up with a lot of color splashed on me, brush in hand. Self-flagellation, you think?

With no magic formula for my expression, I have been afraid that it may be me, that the same may happen with the palette.

Thank you for stopping by with your offerings at this river's bend. They mean the world to me.

pen

Spirit of the unborn;
aura of this albino dove,

[I found these two lines rather astract and could not easily conect with them]

its feather, lone and

[do you mean feathers, plural, it 's hard to figure otherwise, what is special about one feather]

silent in my hand.

I watch its filaments,

[watch, you are not really watching are you, you gaze or stare, even look or perceive, I would prefer gaze because you are concerned, maybe captivated, I know it's just a lttle word, but gaze is so much more apt, no?]

lose myself in thoughts
of flight; that tiny eye,

[this line elicited more in me than the whole poem, it really is a marvellous line and yet I could not say exactly why. The first time I read this poem this one line jumped out, I could see the little white bird in your hand and could see the tiny eye in it's socket]
turned, towards me.

Still, warm, I picked it
up with trepidation.
My heartbeats icicles
down my cheeks.

Lips dry, I swallowed.
Toes curled as claws,
he lay on his side, quiet
is loud and desolate.

So cold, that summer
day. Too white, the
winter. I sing of spring
to frozen autumns.

Hold me. Closer;
not close enough.
Tight, tighter;
not tight enough.

It's a well written poem, I liked it. You described it very well, and with these birds the eyes are most expressive.

Ieuan

Hi Pen-

This poem has a strong backbone though its flesh softens the heart.
I enjoy poems that reach out unassumingly yet take control.
That albino dove is striking. The care that the speaker takes with the bird warms even though
thoughts drift to "that cold summer" and the not so perfect other seasons.
When I read "Spirit of the unborn" I thought of a childless mother.
I looked for clues that this was true but did not find any.

Enjoyed it. Glad you're here.

Peace,

Ieuan,

Thank you for the thorough consideration. This poem is due for a U-turn and some changes, and I am glad to count on your input when that moment comes.

As for the feather, yes, it is one feather--it is all the narrator has left of the physical being of the dove, as someone may be left with the ring of a loved one or a lock of their hair. I will consider 'gaze,' but I get the feeling of a blank look with those two words, and the idea is more about contemplation than of mesmerism. I was hoping the comment on filaments would be indicative of how closely it is being looked at, appreciated, maybe even induced feeling from that observation, not just dependent on the verb. Very good point and I will think about it.

lose myself in thoughts
of flight; that tiny eye,

Glad you liked the lines above and your sensitivity as a reader as you capture the narrator's. Bernie made a note about it, too, and it is pending revision.

In a human being, no pupilar reaction to light is evidence of cessation of life. Also, there are MD's who are looking at the eye to diagnose more diseases as, for a long time now, it was one way to diagnose diabetes. To me, it is the most interesting and intriguing anatomical part of a human being.

Thank you so much for your kind thoughts; they are important to me.

pen

Hello, Yoly,

Thank you for the warm welcome and your very helpful comments.

In the past, many times, I have attempted a message that delivers more than the words spelled, and I have, for the most part, failed crassly in the attempt. I know I have fallen into the right place when you mention having had a feeling of an empty nest. You got warm there, if not exact. If I can inject more consciousness of this parallel without altering the basic structure of the poem, I will do so--it is worth a try. Had you not mentioned this specific feeling you got, I may have discarded it entirely without giving it another go. Wonderful insight from you!

Yes, it is a cold day in any season when one is found in a helpless situation. "Spirit of the unborn" will change, somehow.

Thanks again for the welcome and wonderful pointers.

pen

Ah, your response intrigues.
Perhaps you might want to consider a new poem about the sprit of the unborn?
I'd love to see where that takes you and the reader.
You're quite welcome.

Cheers,

Yoly,

Thank you for clarifying; it helped me not to deviate.

Bernie,

I followed your suggestions to focus a bit more on describing the dove's eye. I just hope I did not overdo it.

Thank you all very much.

pen

Hi Pen, I'll just dash this off before bed, The poem is much easier to read and to understand. Oh and this is so difficult to say. Yet the eye may be slightly over done, I got it exactly as you meant it in your first poem, I knew and I could see that little bird turn his eye to look at you. Having siad that I found the same problem in my Brisago Snow poem. Now I feel it is too descriptive almost like a story. I feel that poem are best when less descriptive and yet the full meaning is there. But then I don't like a poem that is too brief thorughout. Some lines lend themselves to being padded out and other lines with core issues are better brief, there's no rule.

I felt you needed more padding with your first post now I feel the eye is over done...if that helps.

Ieuan

Ieuan,

Yes, you are correct. The poem turned narrative, and the description of the bird's eye is overdone. But something wonderful has happened--it is a huayno born in English, and a huayno is in its element with overdone descriptions. I do not yet hear its exact notes, but I recognize its tune.

I was so touched when I realized this (still am).

Thanks to all of you:

Song of the Cuculi (Mourning Dove)--listen closely to the second part: huayno (although mine is of the gaudier kind). The following is a pretty elegant rendition,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6yd-aXjE ... re=related

Added:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFLFc-l6TX8&NR=1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UF4AlHlLldY&NR=1

pen