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libramoon Profile
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Beginnings


take two

Beginnings


Memory’s child, forced to hopeless obliviation long before
a chance for clarity, sense of agency,
for a self to determine.
Undermined.
Violation, violent broken boundaries;
a monster fearsome,
because grotesque beyond comfort.
A twisted face to pin on evil tales, to
spit out sobbing poisons, paint in shades
concealing
lies that harden into revelations,
legends, the stuff of nightmares
and deflected shame.
A child wants the safety of hearth and tribe,
of happy fairytales, everybody well fed and
tucked to bed, caressed in love that hugs away
the slavering beast.
A child wants, a busy mother wants,
a charming serpent, cowering servant, honest merchant
wants. Voice of sympathy, soothing harmony,
innocent pleasure.

Sing for your supper; patrons toss coins to amuse,
rapacious, their cultured appetites.
A darkened Church (candles saved for opulent ritual
-- none may steal this God’s fire), blood bond, sacrifice.
Taste of copper and iron.
We are of the Earth, Her mighty Sun, of
tides and moonbeams and molten seas.
Not love --
chemistry, explosions, immortal fire.

I have wandered, blundered forth as a leaf in the wind,
as a pebble scoured by erratic waves, as
a child of Man loosened from mortality.
If there are stories I could tell my mind
to feel safety in dreaming, to feel
a possibility of home,
I have yet to find them.
Still, I listen for a voice to believe, for a song
that might feel like hope,
or finality.



-------------


Beginnings


A child forced to hopeless obliviation long before
a chance for clarity, for sense of agency,
for a self to determine, undermined.
Violation, violent broken boundaries;
a monster not because fearsome,
because grotesque beyond comfort.
Safe to hate, at a distance.
A twisted face to pin on evil shades, to
spit out sobbing poisons that paint
concealing lies that harden into revelations,
legends, the stuff of nightmares
and deflected guilt.
A child wants the safety of hearth and tribe,
of happy fairytales, everybody well fed and
tucked to bed, caressed in love that hugs away
the slavering beast.
A child wants, a busy mother wants,
a charming serpent, cowering servant, honest merchant
wants. Voice of mystery, soothing harmony,
innocent pleasure.

Sing for your supper; patrons toss coins to amuse
their cultured appetites.
A darkened Church (candles saved for opulent ritual
-- none may steal this God’s fire), blood sacrifice.
Taste of copper and iron.
We are of the Earth, of Her mighty Sun, of
tides and moonbeams and molten seas.
Not love --
chemistry, explosions, immortal fire.
I have wandered, sent forth as a leaf in the wind,
as a pebble scoured by erratic waves, as
a child of Man loosened from mortality.
If there are stories I could tell my mind
to feel safety in dreaming, to feel
a possibility of home,
I have yet to find them.
Still, I listen for a voice to believe, for a song
that might feel like hope,
or finality.


January 20, 2013

Last edited by libramoon, Jan/21/2013, 8:42 pm
Jan/20/2013, 3:42 pm Link to this post Send Email to libramoon   Send PM to libramoon Blog
 
Katlin Profile
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Re: Beginnings


Hi libra,

Although I had a sense of what it might mean, I looked up "obliviation" and found it in the Urban Dictionary:

"An indescribable horror; Oblivion and annihilated combined to create one black hole of madness."

That definition gives me an idea of what you are going after there, but without specific images, I don't actually feel anything in response. Although I can try to imagine what the child experienced, "hopeless obliviation" remains vague, more of concept to me than an actual horrific experience the child endured. I have a similar reaction to these lines:

"Violation, violent broken boundaries;
a monster fearsome,
because grotesque beyond comfort."

The last stanza, when you switch to the first person N, works better for me as a reader because I can imagine what it feels like to be a leaf or a scoured pebble. I can imagine how it feels not to have any stories that bring a sense of comfort, safety, home. But to keep on listening anyway. . .

"I have wandered, blundered forth as a leaf in the wind,
as a pebble scoured by erratic waves, as
a child of Man loosened from mortality.
If there are stories I could tell my mind
to feel safety in dreaming, to feel
a possibility of home,
I have yet to find them.
Still, I listen for a voice to believe, for a song
that might feel like hope,
or finality."

I hope some of this is helpful. Thanks for posting, libra. I admire the way you are willing to take on such dark topics.


 
Feb/6/2013, 11:53 am Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 
libramoon Profile
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Re: Beginnings


Thank you, Kat, for commenting. I do have a hard time knowing what will translate well to a reader's ear, as I see the whole story in my inner theater.

This piece, which is meant as part of my current "patchwork narrative" project, is kind of a reverie for the narrator of origin story.
Feb/6/2013, 3:57 pm Link to this post Send Email to libramoon   Send PM to libramoon Blog
 
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Libra, over the years I've noticed that language is a double edged sword, emotionally. Used to either push away or pull in. Language here does not pull me in, cannot feel engaged.

Tere
Feb/11/2013, 9:58 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
vkp Profile
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Re: Beginnings


Libra: The monster, the boundaries, the church, the earth, the child of Man – these (and other) concepts are all potentially so interesting, as is the mood you are going for here, but I find myself wanting rounded images to rest my inner eye upon. I guess it just feels a little bit vague in this version, begging for some fleshing out.
vkp
Mar/2/2013, 4:31 pm Link to this post Send Email to vkp   Send PM to vkp Blog
 
Zakzzz5 Profile
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Re: Beginnings


libramoon,

Instantly on reading this the sometimes difficult prose and concepts of Flannery O'Connor, who wrote Southern Gothic (female, died young, in case you're not familiar with her), came to mind. I know I'm going to read this again. For me, it DOES pull me in. I recognize that maybe poetically it may not be as smooth as it should be; but I'll look at it again. It seems strong, and very serious. I'll come back to it. Zak

 
Mar/13/2013, 7:14 pm Link to this post Send Email to Zakzzz5   Send PM to Zakzzz5
 
Terreson Profile
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Re: Beginnings


I can't decide. Either take 2 is better, more engaging, or I did not read the first version with the right slant. Either way the poem is working for me and on several different levels.

I sometimes have a difficulty with the trope of your poetry. I think it fair to say that you can tend to the didactic, that, for me at least, you can be preachy. Not always and not here. I feel as if you are putting me inside something, maybe a kind of torment or torture that, at least on one level, speaks to the torment of an Age. Our Age. Poem gives me the portrait of a child caught up by terrible forces she/he can neither escape or control. The whole of the poem works well within this context. Ending especially working well. Either hope or finality, some kind of resolution for its own sake or for closure. I get that, Libra. I get that in my body. Enough so that I feel the poem is speaking to me personally. No greater accomplishment than that.

The poem brings something to mind. Let me say this so that the meaning of what I mean is understood.

Colette, a writer who taught me so much, was quite the wild child. Many lovers, both men and women, including a stepson, the son of her second husband. Her third husband was much her younger when they fell in love, she in her fifties, he in his thirties. Maurice Goudeket, a French Jew. Goudeket was entirely devoted to Collete. In her later years she suffered from a particularly debilitating form of arthritis. Writing even was painful and she never let up. Goudeket was always there for her. Of course, in the French way, he had his lovers. Not so much later as in the middle years of their marriage. Colette said something that struck me and that maybe only a French woman can come to. In a letter to a friend, I think it was, she said she knew why Goudeket always came back to her. It was because there was enough of a man in her so that they could be friends. Quite a remarkable insight.

Meant in this spirit there is a bit of the masculine voice in this poem of yours and it is striking. Men too have the capacity for the kinbd of empathy that can put a reader inside a poem, if just not as frequently. I hope what I say is understood in the way it is intended.

Just a good poem, Libra.

Tere
Mar/16/2013, 1:34 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
Bernie01 Profile
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Re: Beginnings


L---

the changes are few and far between, yes?

see the line by line comparison following a compression i worked out on my Ouija Board.

Memory’s child, long before
a chance for clarity,

Violation, violent broken boundaries;
sobbing poisons, paint in shades
concealing
lies that harden into revelations,
the stuff of nightmares.
I have wandered, blundered;
a child of Man loosened from mortality.
If there are stories I could tell my mind
to feel safety in dreaming, to feel
a possibility of home,
I have yet to find them.
Still, I listen for a voice to believe, for a song
that might feel like hope.



gone, gone the sermon on the mount, the dimestore/Disney insights into childhood.

(what child wants abuse? hardly a revelation. what abusing adult/parent cannot justify his/her abuse---anymore than the sociopath identifies with his/her victims.


here is a line by line, the revision vs the original.

what i discovered was not just that you made only cosmetic changes, but that i like the core poem.


quote:

Memory’s child, forced to hopeless obliviation long before
A child forced to hopeless obliviation



a chance for clarity, sense of agency,
a chance for clarity, for sense of agency


Beginnings


for a self to determine.
for a self to determine, undermined.


Violation, violent broken boundaries;
Violation, violent broken boundaries;


Undermined.


a monster fearsome,
a monster not because fearsome,


because grotesque beyond comfort.
because grotesque beyond comfort.

Isn’t the grotesque usually thought of as beyond comfort?


A twisted face to pin on evil tales, to
Safe to hate, at a distance.

Prefer the original which flows, the revision is awkward.


spit out sobbing poisons, paint in shades
spit out sobbing poisons that paint


Spit out sobbing poisons is an image too far; spit or sob, get off the pot.


A twisted face to pin on evil shades, to

concealing
concealing legends, the stuff of nightmares

lies that harden into revelations,
lies that harden into revelations,

legends, the stuff of nightmares
yes, the stuff of nightmares is much stronger than mere guilt.


and deflected shame.
and deflected guilt.


A child wants the safety of hearth and tribe,
A child wants the safety of hearth and tribe,

of happy fairytales, everybody well fed and
`gof happy fairytales, everybody well fed and

tucked to bed, caressed in love that hugs away
tucked to bed, caressed in love that hugs away

the slavering beast.
the slavering beast.


A child wants, a busy mother wants,
A child wants, a busy mother wants,


a charming serpent, cowering servant, honest merchant
a charming serpent, cowering servant, honest merchant

wants. Voice of sympathy, soothing harmony,
wants. Voice of mystery, soothing harmony,

innocent pleasure.
innocent pleasure.


Sing for your supper; patrons toss coins to amuse,
Sing for your supper; patrons toss coins to amuse

rapacious, their cultured appetites.
their cultured appetites.

A darkened Church (candles saved for opulent ritual
A darkened Church (candles saved for opulent ritual

-- none may steal this God’s fire), blood bond, sacrifice.
-- none may steal this God’s fire), blood sacrifice.


Taste of copper and iron.
Taste of copper and iron.


We are of the Earth, Her mighty Sun, of
We are of the Earth, of Her mighty Sun, of


tides and moonbeams and molten seas.
tides and moonbeams and molten seas.


Not love –
Not love –


chemistry, explosions, immortal fire.
chemistry, explosions, immortal fire.

I have wandered, blundered forth as a leaf in the wind,
I have wandered, sent forth as a leaf in the wind,


as a pebble scoured by erratic waves, as
as a pebble scoured by erratic waves, as


a child of Man loosened from mortality.
a child of Man loosened from mortality.

If there are stories I could tell my mind
If there are stories I could tell my mind

to feel safety in dreaming, to feel
to feel safety in dreaming, to feel

I like this phrase, to feel safety in dreaming…

a possibility of home,
a possibility of home,

I have yet to find them.
I have yet to find them.

Still, I listen for a voice to believe, for a song
Still, I listen for a voice to believe, for a song

that might feel like hope,
that might feel like hope,

or finality.
or finality.






bernie

---
Fall

Bob Grenier: the leaves / falling / out of the / water by the / table
Mar/16/2013, 4:13 pm Link to this post Send Email to Bernie01   Send PM to Bernie01 Blog
 
Zakzzz5 Profile
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Re: Beginnings


libramoon,

Things I particularly like:
a) lies that harden into revelations [WOW! SO TRUE!]
b) A child wants the safety of hearth and tribe [great use of "tribe" because it doesn't try to be poetic. It doesn't "fit" on a superficial, poetic level, but fits on a deeper level (somehow)
c) rapacious, their cultured appetites [love the paradox. Cultured as rapacious!]
Zak

 
Mar/18/2013, 11:48 am Link to this post Send Email to Zakzzz5   Send PM to Zakzzz5
 
libramoon Profile
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Re: Beginnings


Thanks so much everyone for such thoughtful comments. I will consider them all, with appreciation for your interest and respect.
Mar/18/2013, 2:22 pm Link to this post Send Email to libramoon   Send PM to libramoon Blog
 


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