We all look backward down the years,
Remembering home -- in our own ways --
It was molded from happiness, hopes, and fears.
But home is a state of mind, so tears
And sorrow can't erase those days --
We all look backward down the years.
The old homestead peeks through crystal meres,
While the child we were still laughs and plays --
Molded from happiness, hopes and fears.
You can't go home, though bitter beers
Or drugs confuse or trick your gaze --
We all look backward down the years.
The past still tightly grips and sears
In a culture-shock nothing allays...
Molded from happiness, hopes and fears.
Regard the whole human race, your peers --
For all, home's a place and time...a phase
That leads our gaze back down the years --
Molded from happiness, hopes, and fears.
Author notes
How exactly do we define home. The word doesn't even exist in French, and possibly not in other languages. However, it's an integral part of life wherever one lives.
Dedicated to Julian (Victory Gin), in memoriam. He was an inspiration and a truly remarkable poet. R.I.P.
For those not familiar with the form, this is a villanelle.
A contest entry
- Thank you, Carolyn by Sonja.
5000 points, ended July 17, 15 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think?
Comments
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Your villianelles are nothing short of perfect!!!
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Ingenious, well-crafted...
...to use a cliche. It really is well put to-gether. The form would make it a little dry, but the content makes up for all that. In London, where I live, amongst the poor one used to hear 'home' referred to, as if to mean the furniture and effects. I have a daughter about to buy a house, and a son who has just bought one. For their children, it is the parents who are the chief elements of home; yet they in turn choose to take certain things with them, of sentimental importance, both to make the children feel "at home", and also the same for themselves..
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Actually ...
I used this form because Julian loved villanelles, and the poem is, of course, dedicated to him. I don't write lots of these, because, as you say, they can seem a bit too repetitious -- particularly to those who aren't used to them. I've often thought I'd like to write one that would come even remotely close to Dylan Thomas's "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good NIght", but so far I've never managed to even come close. Also, they are not as easy to write as one would think from reading them.
It occurs to me that if you like poems about WWII, you might like my poem, "Symbols In Flight: 1941".
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You captured "home" very well
This message fit the villanelle form so very well.
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I'm so glad you did a villanelle. (and so well) I really wanted to, and just ain't good enough to do it right. Like Julien, you seem to make the restrictions of the form read as pluses. I'm sure he would have loved this, as do I.
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Merci beaucoup.
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That leads our gaze back down the years --
Molded from happiness, hopes, and fears.
That was just gorgeous...and in his favorite style too. I think he would have loved this incredible piece of art. I know I do.
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He did seem ...
to like my villanelles, so I suspect he would have liked this one too.
Have you read any of his comments? They are still there, and there are some really intriguing things in them. Unfortunately, I never thought to keep the im's he sent me. We had some really good talks about poetry, and particularly about villanelles.
Thanks again. I guess I'd better head off to bed. (And no doubt you should too, if you have to work tomorrow.)
Take care,
J.D.
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This really struck a chord in me. In my dreams, I am constantly trying to get home. In my waking moments I know home, as I remember it, has long been consigned to the history books. This is a powerful poem. Well done
Mariana
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Mille fois merci ...
and thanks for stopping by.
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Ha!
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Ha?
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I liked your reply. It made me smile that you used French. No offence intended.
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I used French ...
because of your previous comment on "Une chanson pour Anne".
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I know...it was a nice touch!
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good luck in the contest, i did not read your poem either but that's okay, i will leave a comment.
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Thanks ...
however, you can read mine.
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This is a beautiful villanelle, Jim. I know he's smiling on you for the penning of it. It was one of his most favorite forms, you know. Sighhh...There are those among us who never knew the way home from the beginning, it seems. I believe that he is at peace now...savoring the solace he couldn't seem to find while he was here, within this realm. His spirit is far larger than any frame that could ever hold him. This is a lovely tribute to such a man, such an artist. We shall miss his presence, but he's still within us; we will meet him again one day. Until then, he is free & we...are not. Not yet, anyway.
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It is not easy to write a vilanelle like you do. Though the title confused me but when I finish its reading it says a lot to me. Thank you for this great poem.
~Sonja~
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Simply put ...
the title means that, as an expatriate (someone who has left a city, country, or other place to live elsewhere - an expatriate - will never be able to return to that place because the place won't be there any more.) A home, in other words, is not just a place, but a time and a state of mind; and returning to it is a metaphysical impossibility.
The dedication to Victory Gin is because he was one of those people who couldn't find the home he was searching for, at least not in this world. One can hope he is at rest in the next. -
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Thanks a lot for your extensive explanation. I read the metaphor but didn't know which way it will go. I hope he found a peace in his new home.
~Sonja~
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Thought provoking / Well written
It IS a place and time (I think).
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Profound!!
Lifting the veil of time for all humanity to see, O Wisest Sage of the Ages. Thank you for sharing, I'm wishing you all the best!! Write on, shine on... 
Peace & hugs,
xx Cyn xx
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