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Transfixed (#2) (Free verse) by Christof A broken spine of cloud above me
Barely winds across the sky,
A sky so clear that space can see us
Like a speck upon an eyeball.
What wind there is
Wraps your clothes against you
The long grass moulds you in its cup.
How definite you seem
As you lean across me cross-wise
And lower your face, and the broken spine
Is fixed somewhere above Kilburn.
I think how this transfixion must look from space.
Up the ladder:
while you are away on the islands
Down the ladder:
the rhyming one
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 5.7826085
Posted: September 27, 2002 2:37 AM PDT; Last modified: September 27, 2002 2:37 AM PDTWeighted score: 5.7685328 Overall Rank: 1765 Comments:
[8]
Nicholas Jones @ 137.44.1.200
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27-Sep-02/3:20 AM
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Reply
Interesting. The visual images are very strong. Lots of damage and brokenness. It makes me think of the poem that the guy writes in George Orwell's 'Keep the Aspidistra Flying' about wind and poplars.
Interesting. The visual images are very strong. Lots of damage and brokenness. It makes me think of the poem that the guy writes in George Orwell's 'Keep the Aspidistra Flying' about wind and poplars.
Thanks for that. I haven't read that - I must seek it out.
Yes, Orwell is being ironic, and it demonstrates the obsession of the character with money. It's not meant to stand as a poem in its own right, but parts of it are surprisingly good. Orwell always wanted to be a poet but was rubbish at it.
This is the poem in question - I found it on the internet. Remember, it's written by a character in the novel.
Sharply the menacing wind sweeps over The bending poplars, newly bare, And the dark ribbons of the chimneys Veer downward; flicked by whips of air, Torn posters flutter; coldly sound The boom of trains and the rattle of hooves, And the clerks who hurry to the station Look, shuddering, over the eastern rooves, Thinking, each one, ???Here comes the winter! Please God I keep my job this year!??? And bleakly, as the cold strikes through Their entrails like an icy spear, They think of rent, rates, season tickets, Insurance, coal, the skivvy???s wages, Boots, school-bills, and the next instalment Upon the two twin beds from Drage???s. For if in careless summer days In groves of Ashtaroth we whored, Repentant now, when winds blow cold, We kneel before our rightful lord; The lord of all, the money-god, Who rules us blood and hand and brain, Who gives the roof that stops the wind, And, giving, takes away again; Who spies with jealous, watchful care, Our thoughts, our dreams, our secret ways, Who picks our words and cuts our clothes, And maps the pattern of our days; Who chills our anger, curbs our hope, And buys our lives and pays with toys, Who claims as tribute broken faith, Accepted insults, muted joys; Who binds with chains the poet???s wit, The navvy???s strength, the soldier???s pride, And lays the sleek, estranging shield Between the lover and his bride.
I think I can see what you mean, some of the imagery's similar. Orwell had quite a way with a phrase, but I wonder is her being ironic?
Since I've been on this site I've gotten better at studying others' work.This is really good. ditto.
"How definite you seem" brings the sensation of loving rushing to mind. I place my fingers to my forehead.
god's wife, are you sure it wasn't the 'cup' you are feeling?? ;)
I like this. So abstract! good job.
10 and beyond!(it fits any anthology of perfect pure prancing poetry!)10!
floating somewhere above us were you?
'A broken spine of cloud' is genius. Sheer.
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