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He slices them through birds of prey, infinite air
along the jet streams to slash
across their backs,
of blood constructed,
and watch them soar, sullen as words,
enormous as poems,
metaphors of dream stirring sails,
Transient bodies.
He did not set off
with the flesh of women.
He studied the phenomenon on the gaze of dreams
when obsession burns and fights
the quiet submission.
Horns of bulls garnish the secrets
of these nocturnal birds.
Arena, anaphora.
He slices them through caverns
and catches each virgin in the mystery
of the water that streams from fountains,
illuminating the mouths of serpents.
Red is the moon of the inaugural night.
Someone will fall into his silence, of white scarves, of love poems.
Of destiny.
Thank you all for the comments and feedback, here and in email. I truly appreciate it.
I am currently attempting to write a short essay on hyperlyricism, surrealism, and phonetic kabbalah - self-important as that may sound - that has been fascinating me and influencing my latest experiments, and that I hope will help clear some of the doubts you expressed. At the very least, I hope that putting on the metaphorical paper some of the concepts I have been exploring will help clear some of my own doubts about the process.
Please be patient. :)
Thank you all again.
Yes, a tightly woven piece.
Despite an overtendency to use linguistic and /or poetic terms
Arena, anaphora.
this works so well in the context.
Despite a tendency here also, to be overdramatic, i.e title, "Red is the moon of the inaugural night." it does work well
and can be forgiven.
This can't:
"Of destiny"
It screams self-importantance, and accents the worst tendencies of the rest of it with it.
But, that is just my humble opinion.
because I understand where ozymandiask is coming from. Even though I'm not completely sure what's happening in this poem, I'm enthralled.
I have read your poem at least 20 times and thought hard before responding. I don't understand it at all. At first I thought it might be about Patrick White, then bats then possibly a tribute to someone. I can't connect. But am I supposed to understand or are the words supposed to work much as an impressionist painting might?
The other comments talk of structure, images, and metaphor but mostly speak of their appreciation rather than what they appreciate, so I can't see through their 'eyes ' either. Could you give some guidance about how one should read/interpret/understand/ respond to your poem . Thank you