Nightfall https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/t2156 Runboard| Nightfall en-us Thu, 28 Mar 2024 20:32:05 +0000 Thu, 28 Mar 2024 20:32:05 +0000 https://www.runboard.com/ rssfeeds_managingeditor@runboard.com (Runboard.com RSS feeds managing editor) rssfeeds_webmaster@runboard.com (Runboard.com RSS feeds webmaster) akBBS 60 Re: Nightfallhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15377,from=rss#post15377https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15377,from=rss#post15377QF--- i hope the revolver is not seen as a gimmick. thanks for looking over this california poem. bernienondisclosed_email@example.com (Bernie01)Wed, 10 Apr 2013 03:11:45 +0000 Re: Nightfallhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15373,from=rss#post15373https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15373,from=rss#post15373nice touch - that silver revolver! an ooooomph poem!nondisclosed_email@example.com (queenfisher)Wed, 10 Apr 2013 01:59:14 +0000 Re: Nightfallhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15339,from=rss#post15339https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15339,from=rss#post15339T--- to convey gender without a direct statement --- i tried the mother offering a makeup lesson and a little brittle advice about boys. seemed to run long. will keep looking, thanks for looking this one over. bernie nondisclosed_email@example.com (Bernie01)Sat, 06 Apr 2013 12:35:13 +0000 Re: Nightfallhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15338,from=rss#post15338https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15338,from=rss#post15338Interesting poem. A period piece of sorts, yes? Objects catalogued (of wealth?) the most active part of the poem. What I do respond to is how the subject, the daughter's mother, breezes through like a Joan Crawford, which I think is the intention. As for the narrator's gender, the only since I have of her sex is that she declares herself a daughter. Not sure how, but I should like to know as much without having to be explicitly told. Silver revolver a nice touch by the way. Gives the poem a bite. Terenondisclosed_email@example.com (Terreson)Sat, 06 Apr 2013 10:27:08 +0000 Re: Nightfallhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15194,from=rss#post15194https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15194,from=rss#post15194hi Zak--- distance in a poem. let me quote our IBPC judge again commenting on altoona, a recent winner---she noticed a hopperesque quality that emerged from the portrait described by the poet. is that distance necessary---i just mentioned pachelbel's Canon---maybe by george winston: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5OTH3mj2Q8 to Zak--no. Tom Jones and much of Joyce, but that quality emerges in fitzgerald---say Gatsby. i was commenting on the need or lack of it for distance, for that Hopperesque quality--- and gave two examples where distance didn't matter, the novel Tom Jones and most of James Joyce. or Zola and other classic story tellers like that. longway from a little distance in a poem to minimalism--just as George Winston's playing of the Canon is a long way from John Cage. Ginsberg, best known for HOWL, but here a softer voice, but not minimalist: 1, Taxi ghosts at dusk pass Monoprix in Paris 20 years ago. 2. Put on my tie in a taxi, short of breath, rushing to meditate.   3. Tompkins Square Lower East Side N.Y. Four skinheads stand in the streetlight rain chatting under an umbrella. i try to use examples of what i mean, philosophy is fine, but so are examples. here, a poem moving close to minimalism: Fall Bob Grenier the leaves falling out of the water by the table here a longer poem, but using the minimalist philosophy. william carlos williams: By the road to the contagious hospital under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen patches of standing water the scattering of tall trees All along the road the reddish purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy stuff of bushes and small trees with dead, brown leaves under them leafless vines— Lifeless in appearance, sluggish dazed spring approaches— They enter the new world naked, cold, uncertain of all save that they enter. All about them the cold, familiar wind— Now the grass, tomorrow the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf One by one objects are defined— It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf But now the stark dignity of entrance—Still, the profound change has come upon them: rooted they grip down and begin to awaken A Forum of crit writers might suggest taking out two of those cold words. and here the real, minimalist poem starts a fund drive---Black Mountain School: I Know a Man As I sd to my friend, because I am always talking, -- John, I SD, which was not his name, the darkness sur- rounds us, what From I Know a Man by Robert Creeley bernie   nondisclosed_email@example.com (Bernie01)Mon, 25 Mar 2013 21:40:46 +0000 Re: Nightfallhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15192,from=rss#post15192https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15192,from=rss#post15192Bernie, "to Zak--no. Tom Jones and much of Joyce, but that quality emerges in fitzgerald---say Gatsby." What???????????????? Also, notice in the chinese poem: "I would have you mark the tortoise and the snake locked in tight embrace. Locked in tight embrace, the vital powers are strong;" that "locked in tight embrace" is repeated. That is one of the reasons I doubt some analysts on certain online poetry sites; minimalism is taken to ridiculous lengths when they cross out any repetition. Zak   nondisclosed_email@example.com (Zakzzz5)Mon, 25 Mar 2013 20:01:36 +0000 Re: Nightfallhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15190,from=rss#post15190https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15190,from=rss#post15190K--- yes, yes. that photo. looked at it many times. i first said two-piece but decided to push this just a little further back in time, and now say one-piece swim suit. distance in a poem. let me quote our IBPC judge again commenting on altoona, a recent winner---she noticed a hopperesque quality that emerged from the portrait described by the poet. is that distance necessary---i just mentioned pachelbel's Canon---maybe by george winston: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5OTH3mj2Q8 to Zak--no. Tom Jones and much of Joyce, but that quality emerges in fitzgerald---say Gatsby. you were interested in the headstone---now and then, i'm told, ted hughes haters attempt to scratch his name away, but it was clear when i visited. From 16th century Chinese poet Wu Ch’Eng-En." Here, I believe, the poem from in which the lines emerge: The Patriarch Subodhi then recited: To spare and tend the vital powers, this and nothing else Is sum and total of all magic, secret and profane. All is comprised in these three, Spirit, Breath and Soul; Guard them closely, screen them well; let there be no leak. Store them within the frame. That is all that can be learnt, and all that can be taught. I would have you mark the tortoise and the snake locked in tight embrace. Locked in tight embrace, the vital powers are strong; Even in the midst of fierce flames the Golden Lotus may be planted, The Five Elements compounded and transposed, and put to new use. When that is done, be which you please, Buddha or Immortal." thanks for your insight. i sent you a reply. it happily accepted the nomination. the version posted here as Revision #1 is my final. double spacing or single is also fine, what do you think? bernie henrie9999@aol.com         nondisclosed_email@example.com (Bernie01)Mon, 25 Mar 2013 19:38:36 +0000 Re: Nightfallhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15188,from=rss#post15188https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15188,from=rss#post15188When you mentioned Plath, I immediately thought of that picture of her, young and blonde and wearing a two-piece swimsuit. I'm fascinated to learn what is on her headstone. While reading the poem, I imagined the mother as a movie star perhaps, someone who would have been away from home a lot and photographed often. In some ways it feels as if the N is viewing the mother through the lens of a camera. I think that is where the distant feeling Zak mentioned comes from. He even used the word "snapshot". “Kiss me and you will see how important I am.” - Sylvia Plath PS I have sent you a PM, too, in case fb isn't good for you. Will try email as well. Trying to get in touch with you regarding IBPC. nondisclosed_email@example.com (Katlin)Mon, 25 Mar 2013 18:55:11 +0000 Re: Nightfallhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15184,from=rss#post15184https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15184,from=rss#post15184Z--- excellent summary of the competing images, impressions and emotions of the narrator: a snapshot, a distillation of a life (as perceived by the daughter), or is it a complaint? Does the daughter see her mother as a sort of romantic figure, always stepping off a Catalina sea plane, or is there a sliver of complaint that the mother was somehow THAT distant from her daughter? you finished by adding: It's at least got me speculating about this. this is not about Sylvia Plath, yet others have made that comparison. my poems are like background music in a movie, a good movie, a good piece of music i can only hope. the idea is to open the reader to a meditative state that is at once calming and yet edged with a disturbing thought that the poem's "music" is a theme in our own lives. rage conflict humor ambiguity forgiveness misunderstanding transfiguration just to name of few. i am facing a liver transplant, a two-year battle at this point---yet despite the long odds i have never thought of suicide, but how can i read about Plath, or Sexton (who was so unbelievably kind when i was lost after viet nam) or hemingway or any dozen other favorites writers of mine---how can i not feel the wisp of their words, their apparitions on the stairs late at night, kathleen asleep, the house still as the grave... i would hope to be an apparition on the stairs, good or bad, a lobby, a vote, an inducement, an encouragement for sanity, humor and commitment to those close to us and to our work. pachelbel's Canon---maybe by george winston: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5OTH3mj2Q8 boy, would i love to move closer to that stillness, that affirmative referendum on life, peace and love for ourselves, our work and those close to us, those less close but like us in so many ways, despite color, language and geography. as for money--- Andrew Wilson's biography of early Plath life events and poetry reviewed in the Australian magazine---the Arts: Considering the causes of her 1953 breakdown, he examines a society where sex, power and money combined to pressure and thwart a libidinous and impecunious young woman of great ambition. In particular, he argues that "the constraints and repressions surrounding [sex]" were central to her creative development. American biographer and scholar Phyllis Rose has written of a history of "partial biographies" of women, curtailed by prudery and convention. Wilson's is far from partial in this sense, including as it does a detailed account of Plath's sexual history and menstrual cramps, alongside sinusitis, salmonella and schadenfreude. bernienondisclosed_email@example.com (Bernie01)Mon, 25 Mar 2013 18:13:19 +0000 Re: Nightfallhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15177,from=rss#post15177https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15177,from=rss#post15177Bernie, The ending was quite unexpected, even though the fact that the revolver was silver stayed in character with the poem. Many of your poems have these touches -- Dalton China, Borsalino, etc. -- that might be related to money (I don't know, as I lean in another direction most of the time, though not always). Yet, you do a good job with the materials you use. This is actually a very good poem, IMO. But I'm trying to figure out what the poem is trying to tell me? Is it simply a snapshot, a distillation of a life (as perceived by the daughter), or is it a complaint? Does the daughter see her mother as a sort of romantic figure, always stepping off a Catalina sea plane, or is there a sliver of complaint that the mother was somehow THAT distant from her daughter? It's at least got me speculating about this. Zak quote:Bernie01 wrote: My mother was good looking and once presented a trophy to winning rowers on the St. Charles. Dalton China complexion, single strand of pearls given by a deep sea diver; Borsalino slouch hat for fun; her pleasure in kissing games; the unfinished romance novel she was writing. I was her only daughter and to me she was always stepping off a Catalina sea plane or about to board; sea breeze in her hair, a hint of palm and lemon. Twenty years, but I still see her sunburnt torso in a two-piece swim suit poised at the edge of expanding nightfall. The silver revolver on her nightstand. nondisclosed_email@example.com (Zakzzz5)Mon, 25 Mar 2013 15:11:51 +0000 Re: Nightfallhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15176,from=rss#post15176https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15176,from=rss#post15176K--- great suggestions and i have attempted to implement them all. for whatever it is worth, i was thinking of the I. Asimov short story in which the citizens of a planet have only experienced daylight and are now terrified by nightfall; the penduum swings as in most of our lives. the story is entilted, Nightfall. also, i have always been deeply disturbed and puzzled by a comment in Plath's letters---perhaps only a joke---but she invites her mother to commit suicide with her. long before England and all of that sad final ending with Ted Hughes. Plath to her mother: quote:"Then the worst happened, that big, dark, hunky boy, the only one there huge enough for me, who had been hunching around over women, and whose name I had asked the minute I had come into the room, but no one told me, came over and was looking hard in my eyes and it was Ted Hughes." "…and I was stamping and he was stamping on the floor, and then he kissed me bang smash on the mouth and ripped my hairband off, my lovely red hairband scarf which has weathered the sun and much love, and whose like I shall never again find, and my favorite silver earrings: hah, I shall keep, he barked. And when he kissed my neck I bit him long and hard on the cheek, and when we came out of the room, blood was running down his face." Sylvia Plath's grave at Heptonstall, West Yorkshire, near Ted Hughes' birthplace. The name on the headstone is Sylvia Plath Hughes. The epitaph: 'Even amidst fierce flames the golden lotus can be planted' i admit, that when a magazine at Cambridge picked up four of my poems for a June publication, i was not thinking of my hero, henry james (who relinquised his US citizenship in favor of england and never married) or even t.s. eliot---with his emotionally unstable first wife, but ted hughes and sylvia plath.      thanks again. bernie       nondisclosed_email@example.com (Bernie01)Mon, 25 Mar 2013 15:06:19 +0000 Re: Nightfallhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15171,from=rss#post15171https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15171,from=rss#post15171Hey Bernie, Taking on a female N--good for you. I know you tweak this type of poem until you get it right, so I'll just give you a few first thoughts: Drop "than me" in the first line. The who will become evident later on, and without the qualification at the beginning, there is a little mystery. Maybe sharpen some of a the images? For example, what type of novel was she writing? What kind of fruit was on the sea breeze? "flanks" is the one word in the poem that gave me pause. It doesn't feel right to me. Maybe just because I can't imagine describing my own mother's body that way. I like the way the last line in S4 ties back to the title. Strong ending image that opens up a lot of possibilities in this reader's mind. HTH, Kat PS I left you a message on facebook.nondisclosed_email@example.com (Katlin)Mon, 25 Mar 2013 11:50:45 +0000 Nightfallhttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15158,from=rss#post15158https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p15158,from=rss#post15158My mother was good looking and once presented a trophy to winning rowers on the St. Charles. Dalton China complexion, single strand of pearls given by a deep sea diver; Borsalino slouch hat for fun; her pleasure in kissing games; the unfinished romance novel she was writing. She taught me makeup, hair coloring, how to promise without delivering. Ramp of a Catalina sea plane, red car with no top; her lips just slightly parted, ocean breeze ruffling the bangs shimmering on her forehead. Twenty years, I still see her sunburned torso in a one-piece swim suit poised at the edge of expanding nightfall. The silver revolver on her nightstand. nondisclosed_email@example.com (Bernie01)Sat, 23 Mar 2013 20:19:46 +0000