Sunlight falls on the marble floor
The fisherman in a blue jacket looks on
With a father's stare. A rose of soft red
Grows between the tiles, half its petals
Caught by the late winter sunlight.
Two columns rise at the corner of the eye,
Rustic towers cradling the womb of the mossy vine.
In between them: a wooden altar,
Covered over with tapestry depicting a small naval battle,
Where the galleons are manned by a marching band
Dressed in a solemn red and white.
On the altar there stands a golden skeleton
With hands outstrechted towards the sky
As he holds a black hammer between his teeth.
Chairs of rusted iron lead up to the altar,
All empty, except for one at the back
Where a grey shadow sits, head bowed.
The ceiling is replaced by a sky
In the climax of sunrise: the sun is bright red
And the clouds like fields of bitter oranges,
The sky is still shedding its coat of night
And gently putting on the morning skin,
Helped by the burning hands of sunlight,
And shedding silver dew as it yawns widely.
The fisherman still looks on: like a son.
* * * *
A mid-day sea across the horizon,
Silent waves foaming like dances,
Ochre cliffs divide the sea from the skyline,
The cliff-face wears golden smiles
And frowns of pierced grey.
Two markets are in sight:
The bustle of boats at sea,
And the fishing market
Along the promenade.
The boats are mostly old fishing boats
Between them sharing the colours of the rainbow.
They cast a benevolent glare towards the promenade,
Wearing eye-liners of mat black, and dark magenta.
On a couple of them, men can be seen:
Cigarette in one hand
And a beer bottle in the other,
Wearing thin vests
With subtle brand-names across the chest.
The fishing boats have a violet silhouette upon them
Cast by a dull grey warship, and a carnival yacht
Sailing side by side across the narrow waters.
They look to be sailing around seeking a place
To make land, but the promenade is packed.
The marketplace is filled with tents
All white, adorned at the top
With black and white coat-of-arms
Bearing the names of the fish.
At the pier's end, two men with ivory rifles
Are talking to each other with
Expressions of borrowed hatred
As they point malignantly towards the sea.
The people pass them by without a care.
The people in the market
Are dressed in suits;
Some three-piece,
Some double-breasted.
At one of the stalls, the sons
Of Gaddafi are haggling for fresh swordfish,
One of the onlookers is lighting a torch
And placing it on a marble tile
Of one of the coutner-tops selling fern.
A woman pushing a pram
Looks up to an invisible steeple
With a hurried face
As she begins to turn around.
* * * *
The full-moon at the centre of the cafe
Ingrained into the parque floor
With graffiti across its 180 degrees.
The name of a city in italic fonts, in red and yellow.
A group of names; friends and lovers, scribbled in violet.
Battles between neighbouring saints in black letters.
Emblems of all kinds: sports, politics, clubs, in a spectrum of earth.
Around the moon there are tables
Of bronze and oak, the legs spiralling
Like a tree of life fearing death.
The lettering on the menus is hand-knitted in purple.
All manner of drinks can be seen on the tables;
Golden pints, black coffee, sparkling water, green absinthe.
All of them still full, people either staring at them
Or across the table.
A man in a white trench coat
Is on his way out, a table of old women
Standing on top of their seats as if in a balcony,
Gleefully stare at him as if he was death.
The full moon at the centre of the cafe
Esteemed by the blue patterns on the wall
Is surrounded by words across its 360 degrees.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Nice exercise, I guess you were trying to paint scenes within a scene; it will be too prosy for the poetically art-hungry crowd, the English is common and plain, nothing catchy, and the narrator's voice does not offer variations;
the piece could serve as a part of a larger work of novel length, but as is, it goes nowhere and seems pointless! Why did you tell the reader all of this? Yes, I know you were merely painting scenes, like a mural, but the writing is too literal with too many small words- and too many small words tend to break-up the reader's image-forming... if you want feeling in the piece, use more vowels, less consonants... you have 88 words of three letters or less in the first segment alone- hey- that would make a good contest- write something that has no words less than four letters... that would mean no complete sentences, most likely... but back to image creation- less literal descriptions work better when it comes to stimulating the reader's imagination, and there is no formula for that, it takes intuition...
So, what would I do with the piece if it were mine? I'd probably go for deeper meaning, for that is why I write- for me, message comes first, and the images, emotions, and scenery are support... here you're working on the scenery without any message, like an exercise, and what reader is going to want to read an exercise? It is clear that you haven't been to the scenes that you're painting, that they are purely intellectual products, and readers look for writing that draws more from real life in some way- situations and solutions, conflict and resolution- here you are trying to paint static images of a life that you haven't lived yet- which is important, for most of the value behind a poem is the poet...
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Without you saying that it was experimental, I wouldn't have labeled it that way myself; is it a bit of imagism and a lot of what I am assuming is your own style (this being the first poem of yours I've read.) It's really very good, though, and lacks any errors of grammar or punctuation (which are dumb things to worry about, but they really bother me when they crop up in otherwise wonderful poems.) I think the length does the subject matter justice.
The only thing I'd suggest (and I'm using the word suggest in its most mild form here) is to eliminate some of the initial capitals; I think that they would be better used to emphasize certain lines. Of course, if the staccato rhythm is intentional, then leave them in.
I disagree a bit with you saying that not being able to read a very long poem is laziness; it is more a matter of taste. Some very short poems require a helluva lot more rigorous reading than most epics, and some epics are almost laughably juvenile.
All in all, great job. Lots of imagery, not terribly cliche, and obviously on a subject you have some reverence for.
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I appreciate all of your comments, but I must say something: how can you measure poetry? "It's too long for an experimental poem", where is that written? And as for not reading it for being too long, that I cannot understand, that is laziness, and there can be no place for it in art. So would you not see all of Diego Rivera's murals because they are too long? Again thank you for the comments.
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I would have to agree with the previous comments that it is too long for an experimental poem. But i think experimenting with poetry is great, its how you develop your skills. I do like the imagery you paint, but you seem to have adopted a slightly narrative style in doing so, which is something very different from poetry itself.
Tammy x -
I've always like abstract and experimental type poetry. I tend to write alot in experimental styles my self. I do like piece, it's very well written and the imagery is strong. However I think for an experimental type piece the lenght may have been overwhelming for some who might read this. The problem with experimental poetry is getting people to stay focused on your work. The abstractness already puts it in jeopardy to not be read or mis-understood, so the lenght makes it harder for many people to grasp and appriciate the art you created. But pesonally i liked it and understand your vision.
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The idea, I like, the length I found too much, I have to admit I didn't read the whole thing and one more thing and this is just my opinion. It's too much like a reportage, this is this and that is that. 'Old fishing boats share the colors of the rainbows' this is how I would write, instead of two lines, just to say a statement, rather than a reportage, it gets tiresome, reporting. but on the whole I like the images you have, so strong and beautiful to read, just get rid of the reporting.
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