Is it the pond top
or waves in my eyes
that ripple pink's silver delight?
Muffling moves of my robe’s soothing silk
or whistle-soft geese taking flight?
The air’s touch stalls stagnant
yet reeds chitter "Breeze."
The sun’s warmth diffused while crisp-bright.
The scent null and grey, flat as newspaper smears
and dawn turns so blandly towards night.
I, fingers to cold pane,
smear pleas for release
in dew from the heat of my gasps,
Inside, my dominion
reflections confuse
this pondering ...
life under glass.
Author notes
Confined by recovery, I ache to again be out in my world on the other side of my window.
Written January 9th, 2006
In a list
A contest entry
- For the Winklings - on invitation. by Anna Emkah.
300 points, ended February 8, 2006, 7 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 31 of 31
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Congrats Jane! (I had you pegged for top two, too lol)
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Hearty congratulations, Jane, on your well-deserved trophy. I feel all poems deserved something, as Anna said. However, I remember coming back to your page several times as your poem "Life Under Glass" effectively enticed the reader to look at the world differently. That, for a poet, is a triumph. As we say in Australia, Good on yer! Oi! Oi! Oi!
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Congratulations with your BRONZE trophy. Very well done Jane.
Anna.
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Congrats on your Bronze, Jane!
(although I had you pegged for Gold or Silver at least 
)
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Thanks for entering the Contest. When all the entries are in please send me your votes by IM. Anna.
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Well, exquisite orchid, you did rather well out of this Winkling critiquing experience. I think we have all grown in maturity as poets. Congratulations, Jane. Ron
Edited on Feb 01, 9:46 because ''. -
In reply to myrataal
What a beautiful way to frame this experience. You breathe into a sense of hope. Thank you.
Jane -
chitters of charms
I can but agree with Ron on the careful work -- well done! Your poem shows sight, sounds, touch, smell -- I miss taste LOL -- a lovely, tactile poem.
Grow, exquisite Orchid, towards rejuvenating blooms in your hot house of poetry!
Myra -
wonderful
I have commented earlier, Jane, on this poem. There is one thing I should add for the benefit of others who read comments. Your onomatopoeia in this poem: "soothing silk"; "whistle-soft geese"; "ripple pink's silver delight" (and, oh, the assonantal echoes rippling!); "chitter"; "smears"; "crisp bright" and "gasps". (People do not honor poets enough for hard work with diction. It is not enough to say 'Awesome. It flows well.' I do not follow such meanings.) Sorry, Jane. I am talking to prospective young readers.) Amazing musicality in this poem. Ron
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This piece opens with such soft imagery, I had to whisper while reading aloud. (and it had to be read aloud, it's too beautiful!) That first line is my favourite.
Each stanza actually begins with a fabulous line.
"The air’s touch stalls stagnant
yet reeds chitter "Breeze.""
It's like a tease, and I feel the stagnation is more a personal perception, that the breeze doesn't penetrate the glass. The whole second stanza is coloured by that perception, and I love that transition from the first stanza. From longing and enchanted, to bitter, and than finally that caged desperation of the third stanza.
The word "blandly" affected me more than any other word in the poem. (but I'm weird)
Believe it or not, I really tried like hell to find something to critique here, in a "this could be better" sense. But, I am still unable to. I really do love it, Jane. It is one of my favourite pieces of yours.
Chenoa
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OMG. In honest, I would not change a thing. A gripping piece that wrenches the insides with inner turmoil. Wow. Amazing work. ~Pam
Edited on Jan 28, 11:30 because 'That dreaded typo!!!
'.
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Hi, good dicription of being closed inside with the longing to go out into the air, the only thing I thought that did not ring right was dawn turns so blandley towards night, but there again if the days were empty then perhaps this is the reason,dawn to night and nothing in between, lovely discriptions, good feel, liked it very much, all the best in the comp, Di
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Gorgeous!
Oh my! This is beautifully written, Jane!
Your imagery and metaphors are exceptional; the flow, with intermittent rhyme, is superb. I love the assonance and alliteration throughout which make it a pleasure to recite. It conveys a sense and mood of suffocation and frustration in soft surroundings (a bird in a gilded cage)
These lines are exquisite:
Muffling moves of my robe’s soothing silk
or whistle-soft geese taking flight?
My only suggestion would be to hyphenate 'crisp-bright', to eliminate any grammatical doubt.
A real pleasure to read. And the last stanza you certainly tweaked to perfection.
~Gennelle
Edited on Jan 22, 7:26 because 'typo'. -
Ah, would all free verse go down as smoothly as this beautiful words and the flow is smooth as silk
Ruth -
Marvelous write. You did well to put me into your picture. Well done.
~Mary O -
What do you think of
I, fingers to cold pane,
smear pleas for release
in dew from the breath of my gasp,
or maybe even the heat of my gasp?
Edited on Jan 13, 10:58 because ''. -
Hmm..
How about something like,
"I, fingers to cold pane,
smear pleas for release in dew
made by the warmth of my grasp
Inside, my dominion..."
Or:
"smear pleas for release
dew made by my warm grasp"
Just suggestions, and thanks for taking my critique kindly.
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Rowan,
Thank you for your Winkling honesty. I to a degree agree with you. It is the struggle to express the contrast of morning condensation on the outside with the image of a person fogging the glass with their breath in a concise way that led me to that. It ain't the most elegant, is it? Any suggestions how it might be stated otherwise? I do agree a rewording would be a strengthening.
Thank you, my kind fellow Winkling.
Jane -
This has such a ring of soft sadness, and melancholy.
I felt myself caught up in the drifting and swaying of the words.
The only critique I would have perhaps is in the third stanza, the line, "in dew made from but my warm gasp," it's the words 'made from but' that sound off a bit, could be just me.
But I adored this write.
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Excellence
I feel this lyric has class. Firstly the imagery is topnotch, but one needs to read the whole poem and then reflect on the lines. The perspective is the eyes behind glass. "Under" is a fine symbolic measure to promote the suffocating feeling of seeing now darkly and yet amazingly tantalizing such things imagined as " ... whistle-soft geese take flight". Sound and movement in this poem rate with among the best lyrics I have seen from 'Dead Poets'. However, I must not have all the say. I shall let others speak, too. Lyn. -
Wonderful
This is a poem that sheds light upon my own darkest feelings. So many times I feel constrained by the bonds of mediocrity. Even now I am sitting at my laptop on my first brake, in a somewhat chilly office, staring out at the world as it passes me by. I, like so many others, want to accomplish great things. Perhaps, I would start a company, travel the world, or hit it big in Vegas! Yet each time I mention this, the skeptics remind me that I've a family to provide for; thus I must play it safe and be satisfied with mediocrity. I may be way off base, but these are the feeling that this poem stirred with in my discontented soul. -
The opening "Is it the pond top/or waves in my eyes" is an excellent example of the mind's ability to play with reality. Definately "cabin fever" - but so finely expressed!
Best,
p -
The only element that runs in my mind in this piece is the frustrations of confinement that restrict me from directly enjoying my natural surroundings and to a lesser degree the confusion that the interplay of the outside images with my more immediate surroundings inside.
So maybe for me alone it carries a darker feeling than that which it conveys.
I could be wildly incorrect as I often am. lol
happy to have you rubbing up against my words and thoughts again, my friend. You make writing so much more rewarding for me.
Jane -
It is always fun to open a poem by you Jane. I know that I am in for a challenge in thought the minute I read the words -- lol.
Here I was envisioning a poet in a Thoreau's Walden Pond type of environment, cherishing her morning coffee and peering out at the landscape through the windows of her home, musing on the deeper issues hidden in nature. The pond top waves that ripple not merely the mirrored surface, but the ponderings in the poet's head as she stares at them. The sight of geese taking flight mirroring the soft goose-down comfort of a robe, and the stagnant marsh air mirroring the stagnancy of the news available in a nearby newspaper. Such is life "under glass" -- where we inevitably have the ability to peer into the inner workings and thoughts of a poet -- for even private reflections on the dawning day are in the end put to the artistic microscope.
As I always tell you -- I know I could be wildly incorrect in my interpretation. I often am. Yet those were the thoughts that occurred to me as I read this lovely piece. -
Interesting way of looking at beeing cooped up in the house when you are sick. Life under glass - sort of like duck under glass, an entre´. Will be nice to get out I think.
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Thought Provocing
Reminds me of being the "bubble boy." This could be taken soooo many ways. It's a very deep write if you think about it. So many interpretations to ponder. Is it the capturing of animals in cages? Is it a metaphor for an illness that keeps you from the world? Could it be an internal struggle that hides your trueself from the rest of us, leaving us wondering who you are and tormenting yourself the whole time. this is an amazing piece for being so short. I'm impressed. -
and will you blow your cheeks out, eyes cross-eyed, in a Harpo Marx impression???? horn honking silliness in curls?
My day is coming - tomorrow I hope all in the name of my dog. He get's groomed the next day so he shall be given his day of wave front freedom spewing sand and salt as he charges in endless frivolity.
My view shall be high above him on a bench atop the dunes but shall savour it in milliseconds as a special gift from you.
hugs that soon shall have the stink of the dead blown off so you can take that clothespin off your nose,
j -
I'll come stand on the other side of your window pane, press my face up against it and make funny faces atcha ..ok?
I do know what it feels like to be a prisoner...I know that ache, that impatient ache - watching people walk by so easily, so effortlessly -eventually i started hating them and throwing stuff at'em...
Most are totally unaware that their ability to get around is the result of such a small movement, requiring no thought - moving one foot in front of the other. Well not exactly in front of the other, else they'd be falling on their faces. Have a nice trip...see ya next fall
Your time will come Jane, every day behind you is one step closer to your first day of freedom. You'll lift that glass and and there'll be an ocean breeze somewhere out there with your name on it. I want that for you!
Bravo on this!
gal
Edited on Jan 09, 1:57 p.m. because ''. -
We tend to put ourselves under the glass. And far too often the more we look the more diffused our introspection can become. And I wonder at those times, am I writing my words against the glass through condesation or my tears. Let the sun shine through the glass only long enough to dry them, if we linger too long surely we become burned. And there lies clarity. Accepting that which we cannot change, changing what we can. It is in that moment in which we find the strength to lift the glass and breathe in the fresh air that awaits us.
~Michelle~
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Cabin fever I suppose... feeling like a dog restrained by that invisible electronic fence - stunned into submission.
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I am impressed with your perserverence as well as your intensity. Despite my superfluous ramblings you've managed to pen a piece worthy of serious note. I loudly applaud your effort.
Sincerely,
Leo Long
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