Free verse № 145463
With Old Light
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
17 comments
"When wedding bells no longer sound contrite" seems irrelivant to "I will have no need to bid adieu", though it's a nice line by itself.
"where honeybees and heather grew" sets a scene, but the vinyard seems to change it.
"every hour is a cobweb flecked with frost" - effective. But switching to a "rusted gateway" could maybe be "fastened to a rusty fence" or something to keep the thought going.
The "windmills" verse hold a metaphor throughout, though it sets a new scene; I think of Holland now, and move away from the vinyards.
This may be of no help, but it's some thoughts.
It didn't occur to me that the mills would make people think of Holland - I'm probably too used to them being over here. Same goes for the vineyards, I guess. Thank you for your thoughts, they are always of use :-)
I need to really read this and think about it (when has that ever stopped anyone from commenting?), but initial impressions:
metaphors are all over the place and too disconnected from one another. Some common thread to pull it together, subtle or otherwise, would give this better continuity and ground it or center it or whatever. But some excellent lines and images ("rusted gateway of a silly notion").
Maybe I'll just go back to writing miserable verse ;-)
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
With this, which seems more awkward:
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.
It's sooo close. I want it to be there.
Okay, my little nits aside, this is nicely done in tone and technique--you've written an olde tymey pastoral poem that doesn't sound horribly dated or terribly derivative, which is quite a feat. You've come a long way, baby. ;)
Metre is where I usually fall down, I'm still coming to terms with words not doing everything I want them to, precisely when I want them to ;-) I'll work on getting the stresses right (it may take a while though...)
Perhaps I should change the opening stanza to something less pictorial? Stanza 6 is going, when next I edit this, and I really like Niphredil's idea for altering the final stanza, so maybe if I just keep 2, 3, 4 and 5 they'll have plenty enough images to see the poem through. It's a wrench to leave out some lines, but I'll save them for another outing, methinks ;-)
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.
I love the idea of making the last stanza flawed...perhaps if I changed 'free of knot or tether' it might work? I couldn't say where you might have seen this before, although I wouldn't be surprised if you've found similar in Kipling or Milne (big influences :-D). I guarantee the work is my own though ;-)
Once more, thank you for reading and suggesting ideas, you're always so kind about my writing :-)
Log in to add a comment.