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With Old Light (Free verse) by Ranger

When laughter meets like dust with wilting light That is when I will remember you When wedding bells no longer sound contrite I will have no need to bid adieu To fond memories of sweetened lovers' rites Lost, where honeybees and heather grew When the vineyards grow a grape to make a potion Of nostalgia and a sorrow for what's lost When I drink to lonely days and sad devotion And every hour is a cobweb flecked with frost On the rusted gateway of a silly notion Then our last words will disperse - with no riposte When the windmills slowly sigh like brooding giants Emptied of their tasks of toil and grain When they rot within yet still stand strong, defiant While hoping not to be recalled in vain And gaze through windows sturdy and reliant A collage of the seasons in their panes When the rivers claim a cargo of lost jewels To ferry them o'er distant plain and crest While the trees can only watch in silent schools And shiver at the spindle wind, undressed I will try to gather up a gleaming pool Then see it slip through fingers tightly pressed When the winter fields are watercolours running Like fraying fabrics failing at the hem When I catch the choke of tractor engines gunning But catch myself before I mimic them Through self-hood's solitude, through craft and cunning Then the skyline shall be sharpened once again So when the early masking mist is sallow, sullen But cannot deign to halt your weary feet When all the tunes of wooden panpipes' songs are spun Echoing across the lowland lee When the dawn burns bright with incense - and clouds of cinnamon Pause for just a moment and remember me Then if we meet - by chance or will - as two So laughter rings out, free of knot or tether When twilight settles we will wander through These woods above the honey fields of heather And maybe one day we will fade - but if we do I promise this; that we will fade together

Niphredil 5-Sep-06/1:20 AM
Ah, a poeme of ye olde pastoral Englande, before the wicked industrial revolution came to turn it into a haunt of machinery and smog! Wait, wait, I saw a reference to a tractor. Scratch that.

Stanzas 2,3,4 are my favorite, and despite all the criticism you've been getting about mixed metaphors, they are similar - because they all speak of nostalgia; of loss, and of what is left after the flurry of activity dies away.
I loved the windmills rotting within, although could not dislodge fleeting association of Don Quixote, which I doubt you were aiming at.

Stanza 5 is trickier. You've got the first reference to machinery, which would cause the reader (or at least, me) to perk up his proverbial ear. Although the first two lines fit in with the atmosphere of the previous stanzas, the rest are different and evoke action - engines are revving. You mention "craft and cunning", which in their turn imply action; the skyline sharpens (day is coming?).

I do not care for stanza 6, because it doesn't seem to fit in. I think it could probably be omitted, if you were to change the end of stanza 5.

First and closing stanzas are obviously very similar - heather, twilight, and two people. You should probably watch the twilight bit because stanza 6 is referring to the dawn, which might be temporally confusing...
They're terrific, of course, but I can't rid myself of the feeling that I've seen them, or something similar before. If I remember, I'll tell you; perhaps it's something in the unallayed peace and sweetness. I would personally prefer some imperfection in the final stanza, in order to connect it with the rest of the poem - for instance, a scene in which you are walking in wilted heather, the honeybees gone - but still together. It would fit in better, I feel, with the general "fading" of the poem.

But of course you do realize these are all comments on a masterly piece of work, right? 9 for now. With slight polish and rework, this would be a most beautiful 10.




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