|
|
Post by bluebird on Jan 12, 2019 18:35:44 GMT -5
Turning Time
This morning of more
seconds of light
more muscular wind
hardly perceptible notes of thin
glass chimes
that paddle
a rise in my throat,
such flood of sorrow
I cannot navigate
just go
knowing his bend
has come
now, as he
stands ankle deep in our creek
to lap up winter solstice, then
looks up towards
my command to come,
dumbfounded how to climb
back up the muddy bank
to me
standing in leaves
without a mantle to wrap
around his shoulders, or
blue ribbons, or bouquets, yet
reaching my hand to pull him
out of this stream
unheard, unseen in the flow
of our deaf, blind universe
begging him
to follow me, back
the way the sun falls
backwards, seemingly
into the longest night of
the shortest day of the year.
|
|
|
|
Post by lildawnrae on Jan 13, 2019 20:28:17 GMT -5
Hello Karen,
I’m glad I waited until morning to comment on your poem which I enjoyed very much. I loved the "muscular wind" and the fact that the increasing light only amounts to a second or two. (sad but true) Of course the darkness of the solstice is also an image of grief for the loss of a beloved companion—perhaps a dog or considering the awards of the past, a horse. I wasn’t sure if the dog died in the time frame of the poem or if the vision of calling the dog (or horse?) at the end of the poem was more like a wish or dream to call this entity back to a physical existence.
The most confusing part for me was "knowing his bend/ has come/ now, as he…/" Is the bend illness, death, a tremendous change in health and vitality? I want to know if the speaker is trying to call him back from death or trying to spend a few more days with an animal that doesn’t have much time left.
I loved the levels of metaphor here—the winter creek full of the water of the solstice, the sun falling into darkness as if winter is a black hole. The deaf blind universe seems to suggest the animal is also blind and deaf. It certainly resonates with what I'm experiencing today in Detroit: Dark at 7:30/ 17°
|
|
|
|
Post by bluebird on Jan 14, 2019 8:59:20 GMT -5
Good questions all dawnrae. I'll wait to answer them until I hear what other's might make of this poem. we had 4 inches of snow yesterday..
a wonderful, light, fluffy snow...today sky is blue but it is cold...for you, b rrrrrrrr.
|
|
linm
Junior Member
Posts: 92 
|
Post by linm on Jan 14, 2019 10:11:02 GMT -5
Hi Karen,
I really appreciate tenderness in this poem; you portray a poignant scene clearly and delicately. For me the poem takes off with the lines, “I cannot navigate/ just go.” From there, the images of the dog’s situation are riveting. I especially like,“ankle deep in our creek/ to lap up winter solstice...” I noticed the word, “dumbfounded,” a link to Gregerson’s poem, that works here to show the dog in living-in-the-present innocence/ aged helplessness. And then you have the beautiful image of “begging” him to follow,”back /the way the sun falls/ backwards.” The poem ends wonderfully with “the longest night of/ the shortest day of the year.” (I think “seemingly” is not necessary.) I also wonder if the opening could be trimmed. My least favorite part of that is “that paddles/ a rise in my throat/ such flood of sorrow.” I think the sorrow comes through in the details that follow and doesn’t need saying. Thanks for sharing this.
(I relate: I lost my big old dog a few years ago over a long slow bunch of months; the confusion/seeming sadness they experience is really hard to handle.)
|
|
|
|
Post by Gerry on Jan 15, 2019 19:00:44 GMT -5
Karen, the opening of this poem is very strong. It goes great guns until "his bend," which came out a bit of nowhere.
I know this is about Blue, but I don't think it's clear to someone who doesn't know you that the he is a dog. Because we're in a stream it could easily be a prize buck as a dog. It becomes a little clearer, but not necessarily. I'm okay with ambiguity, but I think the pronoun feels a bit jarring.
I'm not quite sure of all the "of..." phrases that close the poem. The whole thing feels too easily set up. We know it's the solstice. I think it has to be played with so that the expected thing isn't what the poem is dependent on.
|
|
