i wonder if the sun
really brings things back to life.
at 15, i gagged up my heart
in the middle of the deserts'
giant arms
and it bled bright in the sand,
it was vile and identical
to yours.
in the night, chameleons wander
through my bloodstream,
they scurry through my arms
and gather at the fountain
of my absent
heart.
they weave into a face
and turn to stone.
there's a boulder in my chest
that keeps me from roaming away,
i am anchored to the bed
so despite what has been said
i cannot go
anywhere i want.
Author notes
something to do with guilt and obligation
-editing
Comments
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ok, since you asked for a critique, i am going to try to give you one. this is basically what is going through my head reading it a third time, not some epic analysis. and i hope i don't seem overly critical because i truly do love this poem.
"it was vile and identical
to yours." - first stanza is lovely but this seems awkward and somewhat regressive after such a powerful opening
second stanza i have a similar opinion on.
"they weave into a face
and turn to stone." - i like the idea in the third stanza of a boulder replacing your heart, but why a face? and more importantly, why do they weave at all? you're showing what is but not really why it came to be, which is often the most meaningful question. maybe the reasons are too complicated or repressed or something of that nature. sorry, i like freud
there's a boulder in my chest
that keeps me from roaming away,
i am anchored to the bed
so despite what has been said
i cannot go
anywhere i want. - pretty, but everything past the second line and maybe even including the first and second lines isn't needed. maybe "i cannot go anywhere i want" is meant more symbolically and i'm just not getting it. i get this definitive "fate" vibe from this piece. things have been set in a certain course of motion and now you're trapped in them and don't really have the freedom to make choices that would lead you somewhere else figuratively/literally.
but as with any good poem this just leads me back to the beginning.
"i wonder if the sun
really brings things back to life." - is such an amazing opening, and i assume you're talking about yourself, which implies that you aren't alive in some way or another.
"at 15, i gagged up my heart
in the middle of the deserts'
giant arms" - i am really unsure of how to read this. the desert is obviously a land of the sun, so perhaps gagging up your heart (gagging could or could not be intentional, which leads to more confusion, in me anyway) is an offering of sorts in an attempted rebirth. or it could be, more simply, that you lost some part of yourself.
"it was vile and identical
to yours. " - the only mention of someone else i could find. this is one of the few things in this entire critique that i have a set opinion on. who? there is no info. for me it reads "it was vile and identical to someone else's" implies that you have seen the heart of this other person or perhaps they gagged theirs up in the desert with you. either way, this isn't really enough to tell me anything.
ok. chameleons. probably 99% of chameleon usage in writing is symbolic and is chosen for their camouflage so i'm assuming that's what you're going with. so they in a way become your blood, "gathering at the fountain of my absent heart." - that is beautiful. if you edit this piece in anyway do not change that.
ok, so here we have all these living things which have either a. replaced your blood or b. are imitating it. "they weave into a face and turn to stone." -medusa reference? gorgons are my favorite mythological creatures btw. anyhow, assuming the medusa thing wasn't intended, why a face and why are they turning to stone? if it was medusa, i would have expected snakes instead of chameleons because of all the wonderful symbolism and allusion that goes along with snakes in addition to the medusa thing. ok, but chameleons are there for a reason. if they are turning to stone where your heart is supposed to be perhaps they aren't actually becoming stone but merely reflecting the stone that is already there. but then the obvious question would be "where did the stone come from?" i feel like i'm way overanalyzing but that's what i always do when i try to critique.
"something to do with guilt and obligation" - i would interpret this piece differently if not for this, which i assume is talking about the poem itself. so you can't leave because of obligation? obligation is such a flimsy thing, to me anyway, not like a boulder. i'm thinking that this poem deals with how you would feel guilty about moving away either physically, emotionally, or philosophically, perhaps all three, but i really have no idea which. but if you stay here you will stay dead, your only hope being an eventual revival which you don't seem to have much faith in.
in summary, my best advice:
answer the questions that this piece begs to be asked.
beautiful either way though.
sorry this is so sporadic. long day @ work, filled with several examples of the following exchange:
them: "hi, um, i'm looking for this book, but i'm not sure which one"
me: "do you know the title?"
t: "no"
m: "the author?"
t: "no"
m: "a plot summary, another book by the author, anything like that?"
t: "um, i'm pretty sure it was red. and i remember something about a little girl."
m: "oh, ok. let me go grab my magic wand."
t: "what?"
i wave the wand around
m: "that's odd. i don't seem to be magical."
t: "what?"
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at 15, i gagged up my heart
in the middle of the deserts'
giant arms
and it bled bright in the sand
Haunting and powerful in its simplicity. This caused massive outbreaks of the shivers. The good ones.
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i don't know how to comment on your poems
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now you know what i feel like all the time
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is that good or bad? how do i read into that?
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i feel like that about everyone's poems, not just yours. so... neither. but this poem/your writing in general does deserve a big compliment. i just can't think of one.
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lol oh okay, thanks then
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you are a booger
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no, you are! tell me why you don't like this poem!
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