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Fanatic (Free verse) by Dovina Fanatic
Walled in a city of visions,
he believed in beauty and order.
Bogged in a gray slough of facts,
his tongue had learned to mock,
his lips to sneer.
Prepared with opium hopes,
he came greenly on life,
to receive flowers of tenderness
and gentleness he had little known.
(old version 12/29/06)
Walled up in his great city of visions,
his tongue had learned to mock,
his lips to sneer,
bogged in the gray slough of factuality.
Thus he came greenly on life,
unprepared,
save for opium visions of himself.
He believed in fine flowers of tenderness
and gentleness he had little known.
He believed in beauty and order.
Up the ladder:
Bloom Inside
Down the ladder:
The True Fate of Humpty Dumpty
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.0
Posted: December 28, 2006 2:58 PM PST; Last modified: January 11, 2007 7:46 PM PSTWeighted score: 5.119203 Overall Rank: 5811 Comments:
Love the last stanza and like the idea within 'greenly', although I hate the word itself. 'Factuality' really doesn't sit well as a line end, 'fact' would do just as well for me.
Too many uses of 'he'; maybe you're trying to show his idealistic egocentrism, but it sits awkwardly with me. Still effective though. Happy New Year :-)
Is this about Saddam Hussein?
If so its brilliant. If not it makes no sense. Happy New Year, and enjoy the hadj.
Maybe you really don't understand my poems. Maybe I overestimated you, and should show more sympathy. What may I do to explain?
Perhaps you could provide a brief introduction to your poems explaining what the poem is about? I know that, for many, this is accomplished by a poems title or indeed its content but I am always left feeling like I am either very thick or sheltered when I read your words. And I can't be thick as I got a 2:2 from Hull and I am not sheltered as I live in God's own city of London.
Alright:
Fanatic (a poem about Stephen Robins) Walled in a city of visions, (London) he believed in beauty and order. (of dubious leanings) Bogged in a gray slough of facts, (about abominable acts) his tongue had learned to mock, his lips to sneer. Prepared with opium hopes, (well, you get the gist) he came greenly on life, to receive flowers of tenderness and gentleness he had little known.
Right, don't quite understand the ending. But much more helpful.
"bogged in the gray slough of factuality." I quite like that line--it reminds me of a couple of people I know.
Very well put. An idea well conveyed.
nice to know you're still writing about me ;)
in all seriousness, very nice...how have you been?
If this is about you, it was unintentional. We had a good dialog going at:
http://poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?i and continued at: http://poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?i Then you dropped off the radar. Iâve been doing alright, thank you for asking, but then I have an anchor. Howâs it going with you?
We did have nice, philosophical conversations...those were the days...I'm well, finishing up school this semester, and then continuing on to complete uncertainty. The rate at which I hate my work has increased to every time I complete about 4 lines so I haven't been writing much. Well, time to go shoot myself in the face again.
I like the first one better. It would get an 8.
I like the first better too. Itâs just that, here and elsewhere, few people got it. Would you have gotten it without the revision?
Sure. But then, I'm a genius.
Thanks for the raise.
Is this about how people who know things mock people who don't know things because people who know things have not received 'gentleness'. I think it is.
The most interesting returns from writing a poem are the responses so far from what I was thinking while writing and editing it that itâs as if the English language carries with it sub-cultures of meaning, invisible to me like the baggage of bacteria we all carry in our bodies. Yet, on considering a response such as yours, I see how it could be sincere, and how the poem falls apart if understood in that way.
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open up, surrender to the plot
when a cold wind blew on this day
we looked the other way
tomorrow we might find
the answers lay in riverbeds and dust
we believed sth beyond the beauty and order
our great city of vision lost in this beautiful choas
Should have known his mocking sneers were paper shields,
should have surrendered his great city of vision
to the reality of a larger plot.
So, when a cold wind slammed into his green life,
it forced him to stop looking the other way,
to face the instruction of a whip,
and cast his pat answers into the riverbed as dust.
He gave up his vision of beauty and order
For the void of chaos.
It was the first stage of his growing up.
open up, surrender to the plot
beautiful, show them all you have got
Great song.