hi bob,
middlesbrough is not TOO far from scarborough, is it? that's as far north as
i've made it, except scotland (incl the orkneys).
enjoyed your descriptions, maybe you should write a poem about yawning vs
dim, lonely stars? *G*
some people in austria have tiny yawns, some don't. just like anywhere else,
really, i suppose. *S*
viennese stars can be quite beautiful if one gets to see them, what with all
that light pollution.
m
----- Original Message -----
From: Bob Cooper <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Thursday, October 31, 2002 2:25 AM
Subject: Re: new sub: Autumn Blues // BOB
Hi Michi,
I live in a town of dim stars, Middlesbrough, somewhere almost off the edge
of the North East of England - y can't get to it by any starlight express!
But at least the sun rises over the sea, as does the moon, and each set
(like saucers of orange jelly?) over the hills...
And the streetlights are strong so the few stars that show themselves are
often lonely.
Perhaps people have tiny, discreet, yawns in Austria... or, if there's
saltings and pepperings of them, perhaps it's the astonished wide mouths of
those who rarely see them (that eventually turn into copycat yawns of
sympathy!)
Bob
>From: "michaela a. gabriel" <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Re: new sub: Autumn Blues // BOB
>Date: Wed, 30 Oct 2002 23:03:38 +0100
>
>bob,
>
>thanks for getting back to me ... and for your delightful moon metaphors. i
>must admit that i often use the moon ... i am a moon-child though, always
>been attracted to the moon; my internet nickname is (miss) moonie, and it
>is
>that for a reason. :)
>
>MY stars look tired, and they ARE yawning. *G*
>where do you live, i might come by and check out what yours are doing! *G*
>
>thanks,
>
>michi
>
>
>
>
>Hi Michi,
>Yeh... murdering one's darlings is often the cruelest part of poetry. It
>might be - because the moon is having to carry so much - you may only have
>to amputate some of the words (what a horrid metaphor to use!) and it can
>carry one phrase (even a new phrase) alongside it's presence.
>I once found I became obsessed with moons (usually full ones) and owls in
>poems and that obsession lasted for more than a year! I kept writing moons
>into my poems - but I accepted the challenge that I could only write about
>them if I didn't echo any metaphoric use I'd come across before! In one
>poem
>I, therefore, compared it to an oil rig (!) and in another I substituted a
>passenger aircraft (with it's lights on!). I kept remembering lil ol Ezra
>Pound's comment "make it new!" Your trees, grass, acorns (and saxaphone!)
>are, I feel, new.
>I still can't accept a (small) star - or lots of small stars - yawning,
>though!
>Bob
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> >From: "michaela a. gabriel" <[log in to unmask]>
> >Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
> >To: [log in to unmask]
> >Subject: Re: new sub: Autumn Blues // BOB
> >Date: Mon, 28 Oct 2002 22:45:39 +0100
> >
> >hi bob,
> >
> >thanks for the thorough read and your observations.
> >
> >re: the moon - it used to be "a lump of amber / clouded with fossilised
> >heartaches, splintered / bones of grief" which i then contracted,
>although
> >i
> >am still not entirely happy with these couple of lines; i am quite fond
>of
> >the idea of "fossilised heartaches" though, but i know that sometimes one
> >has to kill one's darlings. :)
> >
> >i know that many think of the moon as yawning, so that is too cliché. i
> >obviously thought of yawning stars, their flickering being their yawning
>in
> >the face of the chimneys' tales; it might not work for everybody though.
> >
> >and the title ... you are right, it is almost too ordinary for the poem.
> >maybe something more suitable will still come up.
> >
> >thanks again,
> >
> >michi
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >Hi Michi,
> >This is a powerful poem, it's measured and controlled. It sort of
> >progresses
> >with a gradual revealing of loss expressed in ways I don't expect (until
>I
> >get to the moon-rise in stanza 4, and I sort of sense "amber" "fossilised
> >heartaches" and "splintered bones of grief" are too much for the moon to
> >moon over. It's as if you're no longer trusting description and you're
>now
> >telling things that can be shown (are being shown?) in the rest of the
> >poem.
> >I want the moon to do what everything else does in the poem - no more! I
> >think it can do that!
> >I think the rest of the poem is more subtle.
> >I also wonder (myself) about stars yawning... I've never thought of a
>star
> >yawning (the full moon always looks as if it's yawning and dead tired
>when
> >it rises near here... but not the stars).
> >I think I'd also be searching for a title that is less "ordinary" - a
>title
> >that feels as powerful as the poem.
> >But it's a classy powerful poem! I'm just thinking how it can get more
> >distinct,even classier.
> >Bob
> >
> >
> >
> > >From: "michaela a. gabriel" <[log in to unmask]>
> > >Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
> > >To: [log in to unmask]
> > >Subject: new sub: Autumn Blues
> > >Date: Sun, 27 Oct 2002 09:52:45 +0100
> > >
> > >i have been wrestling with my disobedient muse (or am i the disobedient
> > >one? *G*) ... maybe you and your muse have any suggestions? cheers,
>michi
> > >
> > >
> > >Autumn Blues
> > >
> > >Midnight, and the hands of my clock
> > >edge deeper into the shadows.
> > >Sometimes rain breaks their soliloquy,
> > >but not tonight. Branches stiffen
> > >in dry cold, grass blades shiver.
> > >If only they knew your hands.
> > >
> > >They would no longer hope for
> > >resurrection, content to dream
> > >how your fingers squeeze
> > >poetry from each yellow leaf -
> > >crisp haiku, discarded syllables
> > >littering hedges like acorn seed.
> > >
> > >I keep them for the walk-on days
> > >of winter, nights between empty
> > >sheets and the impossibility of music.
> > >This is the dress rehearsal;
> > >silence follows the slow death
> > >of a livid next-door saxophone,
> > >chimneys sweat, plaguing the sky
> > >with insipid tales. Stars yawn
> > >and flicker out, wind curls up
> > >
> > >in drained swimming pools
> > >that pockmark suburbs like blind
> > >eyes, the moon's summertime mirrors.
> > >She rises regardless, a lump of amber -
> > >fossilised heartaches, splintered
> > >bones of grief; yet she resembles you.
> > >
> > >But I have learned to trace
> > >your features in every chestnut's
> > >clouded face, taught the wind chime
> > >your voice. This book in my lap
> > >can't be someone else's story,
> > >when I find among its pages
> > >a word I had not known before you.
> > >
> > >
> > >mag2002
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > >------ ----- ----- -----
> > >michi ~~~ http://www.geocities.com/lillith1971
> > >
> > >Good sex is like good bridge.
> > >If you don't have a good partner,
> > >you'd better have a good hand. - Mae West
> >
> >
> >_________________________________________________________________
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