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Maria Divina Profile
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Bumping into fantasy while travelling to my origins


1. like a pond

It's a daunting experience
to watch letters form like
ripples in a pond.

I write about poetry
and poetry smiles at me

and tells me to try to capture
the tiny shadows on the keyboard,
the sighs and breath of miraculous
beginnings.


2. of pauses

The best times of our lives
is a wonderful cliche that
refers to meaningful
moments wrapped in gold.

After the storm finishes,
I'll go out for a walk.


3. by the lake

I'd like to invite everyone I meet
to walk inside my shadow

and I will turn around and do the same.
I'll rehearse the same line,

our discovery of a new shore
will become the frame of another
patch of sky. When we stop

to have a coffee in a bar
our hands will hold the words we've found.


4. one more poem

Songs of your past can haunt you till
you feel like dying in one breath,

only one breath
of metaphorical despair,
the envelope of your heart.

How many whispers
come out of the envelope
as you open it and find yourself
travelling back to places where

you've sat and spoken to strangers
telling them where you're from and
when you're leaving.


5. and a letter

What makes a letter a poem and the shadows
below my fingers the ink spots of my heart?
Knowledge comes from the myths of life,
yes, repeat please how happy you are.

I am happy because I have met you
and this happiness is all I know at the moment.
I can see you hiding behind the tree,
pretending you're not there. Your playfulness
is my joy, my reason for being here in the darkest
moment of the night, writing a letter to your shadow.


6. my home on the hill

There is everything you'll need here,
I promise. Can you see my shadow?
Can you hear the sound of my leaves?

I'm fond of the eternal whispers of the moon
at this hour, the magic of its stillness.
Did I ever warn you not to think too much,
not to tarry too long in the memory

of our summers together, holding hands
and waiting for the moon to show us
the way to our winters. I will tell you
again and again. I don't care what they say.

I'm not afraid to wander inside the magic
of your shadow. Finally, I know where I’m going.
I know where I am. Where are you?


6. the leaves

The leaves are whispering something in my ears.
I must listen. My soul will listen, too,

my heart will fly
to infinity, my mind will dissolve
into the dust I am falling on.

I'm learning to fall on my feet--
and when I am inspired
I remain for hours in the silence of my hill.

I know what you're thinking. But do you know
that my heart follows me everywhere I go?


7. and origins

Sometimes I want to leave it behind but no –
it won’t obey. It keeps following and following me

until it is as big and red as the moon
rising from the Southern seas
where our Greek ship left us to wander
into the loneliness of a quiet evening in August.

Who will believe me when I say that I've drowned
and resuscitated on hills of Celtic glory.

I know I should have never left:
you told me that I would lose myself,
my identity—everything. I am back now.
I am back.



---

Last edited by Maria Divina, Apr/25/2010, 2:33 am
Feb/17/2010, 3:49 pm Link to this post Send Email to Maria Divina   Send PM to Maria Divina
 
deepwaters Profile
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Re: Bumping into fantasy while travelling to my origins


Maria -

Wonderful to see you here. Welcome.

What a poem this is. I will be back with more time to talk more meaningfully (if I can). In the meantime, this has an epic quality to it; it had a slow start, but it gathered momentum and finished with a bang. Thanks for the read.
-shab
Feb/17/2010, 5:52 pm Link to this post Send Email to deepwaters   Send PM to deepwaters
 
Terreson Profile
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Re: Bumping into fantasy while travelling to my origins


I too will have to come back to the poem, it being a mid-week worknight night. But I agree. This is a big-little poem gathering momentuum as it goes. 7 just might be some fine writing and finer thinking. It is true. We are always our origins. Poets have always known it. Lately scientists have discovered as much. I'll come back for the closer read.

Tere
Feb/17/2010, 8:41 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
Katlin Profile
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Re: Bumping into fantasy while travelling to my origins


Hi Maria,

You have a quiet, calm, understated voice in this poem. Freindly and comforting too. "In the end is my beginning." Those are my first impressions. Will have to return for a second, closer reading, but I wanted to add my voice to the ones welcoming you. emoticon
Feb/18/2010, 1:53 pm Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 
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Re: Bumping into fantasy while travelling to my origins


I had three main board-time objectives this Saturday afternoon. It was to respond to Zak's thoughts in Field Notes and involving the sacrifice of little birds. To slow-read Auto's most recently posted poem. And to get to this poem in a slow-read way too. It has taken five hours to accomplish the objectives, but I am getting there.

So, Maria, I am new to your poetry and you are new to the board. Members are likely bored with some of the things I say repeatedly. I don't blame them. Your poem immediately brings to mind something that has always resonated for me, something the Arch-Symbolist poet, Stephane Mallarme, said:

"The contemplation of objects, the image which takes wing from the dreams they stir up, these are the song...To name an object is to suppress three quarters of the pleasure of the poem which is made to be understood little by little; to suggest it -- that is the dream."

From 1:
"and tells me to try to capture
the tiny shadows on the keyboard,
the sighs and breath of miraculous
beginnings."

This is what brings Mallarme's 'suggestiveness' to mind. It also brings to mind Debussey's piano playing, and how he hated that it is a percussion instrument, and he always looking for the modulation, the half-tone, the curved corner, the suggestion. So this is how I approach the poem.

2. "meaningful / moments wrapped in gold." This works on my ear and on my sense of what?, of encasements. Klimt comes to mind. 2's stand alone couplet stands out starkly.

3. This doesn't entirely work for me. What is a patch of sky? Does the poem look to patch the sky? I think that is what the lines are really wanting to say. But they don't.

4. Man, this is so true. The haunting. This is almost a poem in its own right. Only, when is despair ever metaphorical, except maybe in the artifice poetry all too often trades in. Give me something fleshy here, really touching on despair.

5. I could take issue with certain words and usages. But I won't. The fulcrum is right here: "I can see you hiding behind the tree." I see a child, a lover, a meaning, a gone youth, divinity herself just out of reach. So evokative.

6. No comment. This is where the poem goes defenseless, opens up, gets honest, does not boast about its prowess. This is where the poem gets essential, allowing of no self-saving conceit.

The second 6. Were this my poem I would drop it, strike it out.

7. This is such a powerful last section. I can't know why the ships have to be Greek or glory Celtic. I can't see how what is Greek or Celtic adds to the poem, which is powerful in its own right.

There you go. Aside from everything else I am loving the chances the poem takes.

Tere

quote:

Maria Divina wrote:

1. like a pond

It's a daunting experience
to watch letters form like
ripples in a pond.

I write about poetry
and poetry smiles at me

and tells me to try to capture
the tiny shadows on the keyboard,
the sighs and breath of miraculous
beginnings.


2. of pauses

The best times of our lives
is a wonderful cliche that
refers to meaningful
moments wrapped in gold.

After the storm finishes,
I'll go out for a walk.


3. by the lake

I'd like to invite everyone I meet
to walk inside my shadow

and I will turn around and do the same.
I'll rehearse the same line,

our discovery of a new shore
will become the frame of another
patch of sky. When we stop

to have a coffee in a bar
our hands will hold the words we've found.


4. one more poem

Songs of your past can haunt you till
you feel like dying in one breath,

only one breath
of metaphorical despair,
the envelope of your heart;
and the stamps are frozen whispers.

How many whispers come out of
the envelope
as you open it and find yourself
travelling back to places where

you've sat and spoken to strangers
telling them where you're from and
when you're leaving.


5. and a letter

What makes a letter a poem and the shadows
below my fingers the ink spots of my heart?
Knowledge comes from the myths of life,
yes, repeat please how happy you are.

I am happy because I have met you
and this happiness is all I know at the moment.
I can see you hiding behind the tree,
pretending you're not there. Your playfulness
is my joy, my reason for being here in the darkest
moment of the night, writing a letter to your shadow.


6. my home on the hill

There is everything you'll need here,
I promise. Can you see my shadow?
Can you hear the sound of my leaves?

I'm fond of the eternal whispers of the moon
at this hour, the magic of its stillness.
Did I ever warn you not to think too much,
not to tarry too long in the memory

of our summers together, holding hands
and waiting for the moon to show us
the way to our winters. I will tell you
again and again. I don't care what they say.

I'm not afraid to wander inside the magic
of your shadow. Finally, I know where I’m going.
I know where I am. Where are you?


6. the leaves

The leaves are whispering something in my ears.
I must listen. My soul will listen, too,

my heart will fly
to infinity, my mind will dissolve
into the dust I am falling on.

I'm learning to fall on my feet--
and when I am inspired
I remain for hours in the silence of my hill.

I know what you're thinking. But do you know
that my heart follows me everywhere I go?


7. and origins

Sometimes I want to leave it behind but no –
it won’t obey. It keeps following and following me

until it is as big and red as the moon
rising from the Southern seas
where our Greek ship left us to wander
into the loneliness of a quiet evening in August.

Who will believe me when I say that I've drowned
and resuscitated on hills of Celtic glory.

I know I should have never left:
you told me that I would lose myself,
my identity—everything. I am back now.
I am back.



---



Feb/20/2010, 6:49 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
deepwaters Profile
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Re: Bumping into fantasy while travelling to my origins


Maria, I am finally back.

1. like a pond

It's a daunting experience
to watch letters form like
ripples in a pond.
daunting: I am not sure I get this. I feel that the poet is saying approaching poetry, trying to form these ripples can be intimidating/daunting.

I write about poetry
and poetry smiles at me

and tells me to try to capture
the tiny shadows on the keyboard,
the sighs and breath of miraculous
beginnings.
I like this beginning, no pun intended emoticon I keep wanting “breath” to be plural; is the singularity intentional?
 


2. of pauses

The best times of our lives
is a wonderful cliche that
refers to meaningful
moments wrapped in gold.

After the storm finishes,
I'll go out for a walk.
Somehow I would not have thought 2 wasn’t going to work, but it does. I like the title, its position after the pond, and its language.


3. by the lake

I'd like to invite everyone I meet
to walk inside my shadow

and I will turn around and do the same.
There are some thing I like here, like this last line. But I stumbled through this. L1 and L2 work, but L3 falls flat – it also raises the question of “so you won’t do it until they do? what is this walking in the shadow anyways?” Do you see what I mean? It takes me on a detour that is unnecessary.

I'll rehearse the same line,
what line?

our discovery of a new shore
will become the frame of another
patch of sky. When we stop
discovering new shore seems like a cliché that does not help the poem progress.
to have a coffee in a bar
our hands will hold the words we've found.
I like this last line. I think this and the first two lines is where this part lives.

4. one more poem

Songs of your past can haunt you till
you feel like dying in one breath,
in one reading I like “dying in one breath” and in the next one I don’t. so, perhaps I don’t know what I am reading.

only one breath
of metaphorical despair,
metaphorical? Hm. this makes me wrinkle my nose a bit. It also reduces the impact of the being haunted, or the enveloping heart that follows.
the envelope of your heart;
and the stamps are frozen whispers.

How many whispers come out of
the envelope
as you open it and find yourself
travelling back to places where

you've sat and spoken to strangers
telling them where you're from and
when you're leaving.
I love how this part ends, the stamps, the whispers, all of it. Well, “as you open it” seems unnecessary to me, but I still like everything here.


5. and a letter

What makes a letter a poem and the shadows
below my fingers the ink spots of my heart?
not sure I get what the shadows *below* fingers are…maybe the ink spots on the finger are shadows of the heart? Just thinking out loud here…
Knowledge comes from the myths of life,
yes, repeat please how happy you are.

I am happy because I have met you
and this happiness is all I know at the moment.
I can see you hiding behind the tree,
pretending you're not there. Your playfulness
is my joy, my reason for being here in the darkest
moment of the night, writing a letter to your shadow.
While I like the second part, I am uncertain as to whether it is communicating a happiness true and felt, or one fake. L4 suggests that it is fake, but then L9 and 10 suggest that it is a happiness felt, a joy alive.


6. my home on the hill

There is everything you'll need here,
”Everything you’ll need is here” reads better to my humble ear
I promise. Can you see my shadow?
Can you hear the sound of my leaves?

I'm fond of the eternal whispers of the moon
at this hour, the magic of its stillness.
Did I ever warn you not to think too much,
not to tarry too long in the memory

of our summers together, holding hands
and waiting for the moon to show us
the way to our winters. I will tell you
again and again. I don't care what they say.

I'm not afraid to wander inside the magic
of your shadow. Finally, I know where I’m going.
I know where I am. Where are you?
great section here

6. the leaves

The leaves are whispering something in my ears.
I must listen. My soul will listen, too,
somehow I feel these lines escaped from “my home on the hill”. in every section, there has been some loose connection to other pieces, but this is not in tune for me because I feel it is too connected to the earlier segment.

my heart will fly
to infinity, my mind will dissolve
into the dust I am falling on.
Heart flying to infinity is too cliché to me, and somewhat meaningless to this humble reader. also, what dust is the poet falling into? I just don’t get this section.

I'm learning to fall on my feet--
and when I am inspired
I remain for hours in the silence of my hill.
once again, this segment strikes me as poetics without purpose. I don’t get what fall on feet means or what it refers to.

I know what you're thinking. But do you know
that my heart follows me everywhere I go?
I like the idea of your heart following you everywhere you go, but I just don’t see a transition to this from what came before.


7. and origins

Sometimes I want to leave it behind but no –
it won’t obey. It keeps following and following me

until it is as big and red as the moon
this is a wild image…
rising from the Southern seas
where our Greek ship left us to wander
into the loneliness of a quiet evening in August.
wonderful lines, although not sure where the Greek came from except that there was a reference to myths earlier.

Who will believe me when I say that I've drowned
and resuscitated on hills of Celtic glory.

I know I should have never left:
you told me that I would lose myself,
my identity—everything. I am back now.
I am back.
great ending. again, I don’t get why on Greek ships we have Celtic glory…the last 4 lines are great.

Anyhow, just my two cents. Throw it away if it is not helpful. Thanks for the read.

Feb/21/2010, 11:52 pm Link to this post Send Email to deepwaters   Send PM to deepwaters
 
Maria Divina Profile
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Re: Bumping into fantasy while travelling to my origins


Katlin
Thanks so much. I am delighted that you could hear the quiet, calm, understated voice in this poem. I really appreciate that.
It's nice to meet you.


Shab
Thanks a lot for the walm welcome. I'm sorry I don't have much time right now to address all the points you make, but I just wanted to let you know how grateful I am for your thorough critique. I live by a lake and so what I am trying to do here is not only write with words, my hands, but also with my feet, as I walk around the lake's shores, a sort of poetic journey into and out of the poem. Some parts of this was written in memory of a friend who died very young. But then I don't believe it is important to know who the 'you' is in the poem. I think it is a mixture of past and present.


Tere
Your generous comment warms my heart. The Mallarmé quote is enlightening to my mind. I want to lose my self/selves, my identity, my name, until I need no other identity other than the knowledge of life itself. I like to believe that the shadows and our breath are enough to 'suggest' the expressions of our being alive. However, there are other aspects that sort of creep in - our background, our feelings, our fears and idiosyncrasies. Looking for 'hidden correspondences' is perhaps an attempt to overcome those aspects and enter a new world, which isn't good or bad, but which simply exists. 'I can see you hiding behind the tree' refers to childhood, to the past in the present.
You say ... I am loving the chances the poem takes ... that is exactly what I am doing - taking chances. I have not totally managed, but your comment has helped me see the poem in a different light/shadow. Thanks for that. Greek culture played an influential role in the development of Western civilization - but what is this civilization anyway. The glories of the past are not the glories of the present. The fact that my very distant ancestry is Greek is therefore unnecessary to know, I hope, as is my consideration of the similarities with Celtic culture.

Shab and Tere, I will keep your suggestions and comments in mind for future edits. I look forward to participating more actively.


All the best

Maria
Feb/22/2010, 1:56 pm Link to this post Send Email to Maria Divina   Send PM to Maria Divina
 
Zakzzz5 Profile
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Re: Bumping into fantasy while travelling to my origins


Maria Divina,

Nice to meet you. I get the impression you're trying to infuse the poem with feeling, but also with perspective. And more. This site is all inclusive, doesn't at the moment separate mild criticism from "hard" criticism, so I'm not exactly sure how to approach it. The poem appears to be "retro" -- having something of the romantics in it. You've got some good lines, which I discuss below. At some other sites I've frequented you would probably get zinged for using terms from a bygone era -- words like "soul" and "glory". I'm not zinging you because I think it all depends on how we use them. You're writing a particular type of poem, so I'm mostly reading it that way. I only got down to #5 but generally, that explains how I felt about the poem. You've already gotten a lot of feedback, good feedback. You covered a lot of ground. Thanks for posting. Zak

 Maria Divina wrote:

1. like a pond

It's a daunting experience
to watch letters form like
ripples in a pond.

I write about poetry
and poetry smiles at me

and tells me to try to capture
the tiny shadows on the keyboard,
the sighs and breath of miraculous
beginnings.


2. of pauses

The best times of our lives
is a wonderful cliche that
refers to meaningful
moments wrapped in gold.

After the storm finishes,
I'll go out for a walk.


3. by the lake

I'd like to invite everyone I meet
to walk inside my shadow

and I will turn around and do the same.
I'll rehearse the same line,

our discovery of a new shore
will become the frame of another
patch of sky. When we stop

to have a coffee in a bar [I generally associate "bar" with drinking spirits, so "coffee" here strikes a discordant note. But maybe you live in a place where that's normal.]
our hands will hold the words we've found.


4. one more poem

Songs of your past can haunt you till
you feel like dying in one breath, [Interesting how the words "one breath" change the meaning completelly of "you feel like dying" -- that reflects a good understanding of words]

only one breath
of metaphorical despair,
the envelope of your heart;
and the stamps are frozen whispers. [This stanza seems flacid. In an earlier time it might have worked.]

How many whispers come out of
the envelope [I have a problem with "whispers" because you just said that the stamps on the outside of the envelope were whispers]
as you open it and find yourself
travelling back to places where

you've sat and spoken to strangers
telling them where you're from and
when you're leaving.


5. and a letter

What makes a letter a poem and the shadows
below my fingers the ink spots of my heart?
Knowledge comes from the myths of life,
yes, repeat please how happy you are.

I am happy because I have met you
and this happiness is all I know at the moment.
I can see you hiding behind the tree,
pretending you're not there. Your playfulness
is my joy, my reason for being here in the darkest
moment of the night, writing a letter to your shadow.


6. my home on the hill

There is everything you'll need here,
I promise. Can you see my shadow?
Can you hear the sound of my leaves?

I'm fond of the eternal whispers of the moon
at this hour, the magic of its stillness.
Did I ever warn you not to think too much,
not to tarry too long in the memory

of our summers together, holding hands
and waiting for the moon to show us
the way to our winters. [This moon and winters is really quite good.] I will tell you
again and again. I don't care what they say.

I'm not afraid to wander inside the magic
of your shadow. Finally, I know where I’m going.
I know where I am. Where are you? [This is surprising. It seems to introduce a little distance with the other person. It's intriguing, enigmatic somehow. What does she mean?]


6. the leaves

The leaves are whispering something in my ears.
I must listen. My soul will listen, too,

my heart will fly
to infinity, my mind will dissolve
into the dust I am falling on.

I'm learning to fall on my feet--
and when I am inspired
I remain for hours in the silence of my hill.

I know what you're thinking. But do you know
that my heart follows me everywhere I go?


7. and origins

Sometimes I want to leave it behind but no –
it won’t obey. It keeps following and following me

until it is as big and red as the moon
rising from the Southern seas
where our Greek ship left us to wander
into the loneliness of a quiet evening in August.

Who will believe me when I say that I've drowned
and resuscitated on hills of Celtic glory.

I know I should have never left:
you told me that I would lose myself,
my identity—everything. I am back now.
I am back.



 

Feb/27/2010, 8:50 am Link to this post Send Email to Zakzzz5   Send PM to Zakzzz5
 
pjouissance Profile
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Re: Bumping into fantasy while travelling to my origins


Hi, Maria,

This is certainly well-written and enjoyable to read. I think some of it is weaker and could be cut to cast a stronger light on the rest. I'm thinking especially about the direct references to poems and writing poems. Guess I'm kind of leery about being a poet writing about me being a poet these days, and this poem doesn't need such references.

Very romantic, a little remote, careful, like a poet paddling a canoe with his love in the front along the Avon...

Thanks for the posting, Maria,

Auto
Mar/14/2010, 2:46 pm Link to this post Send Email to pjouissance   Send PM to pjouissance
 
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Re: Bumping into fantasy while travelling to my origins


Zak

Nice to meet you, too. I'm sorry for this late reply but here I am. After mulling over this poem for quite a long time now, I think what it's really about is that sort of loneliness you feel when you are writing or even speaking to others knowing from the start that the best you can hope for is a few rare momemts of interconnectedness. I realize that words like soul and heart aren't supposed be used in a poem but sometimes I don't want to care. Yes, I live in Italy, so drinking coffee in a bar is normal indeed. I just can't wrap my mind calling these bars cafes. I meant the whispers to be the stamps. So, the line 'how many whispers' is my way of saying 'how many stamps'. I think I'm just going to remove that line. Thanks for pointing that out to me and thanks for taking the time to read and communicate your impressions to me.
My best.


Auto
Thanks for your kind words. This was my attempt at writing a poem using/interpreting the words of people I have known, people of my past, people I have never met. Maybe even a tribute. Your comments are greatly appreciated.


Maria
Apr/25/2010, 2:25 am Link to this post Send Email to Maria Divina   Send PM to Maria Divina
 


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