Dear Shah,
I'm afraid my comments about this poem are going to be negative.
     For a start, the title puts me right off . - Tales of Yonder ,which
sounds to me like I'm in for something antique and wishy-washy.
What I felt as I read this is that you're not really thinking about what
you're writing, as long as it sounds 'poetic', that's enough. But I'm afraid
it's not,and you need to look at what you write in a more rigorous way and
make sure of the underlying organisation of images and ideas.. Otherwise you
will produce flabby poetry, that lacks a strong skeleton.
In the first verse for instance, you have both the winds and the mountains
carrying the 'tales' which are described as light. (but in the next stanza
they're characterised as 'hunger of flesh and love--scarcely 'light') You
establish the mountains as the focus of the poem, and then 'I' is popped in,
limping up to catch tales. You don't explain why you have to limp--did you
fall off on your last ascent? Since that is the only time 'I' is brought in,
why not drop it altogether?
In the final stanza, you use the metaphor of the mountain as a sort of
petrified book of stories (although these are the same tales that are
'light' and 'float' they now suddenly become volcanic sediments -snow and
ice have suddenly transformed to lava ?)--if so why do you have to limp your
way to the peak? All the mountain will yield stories, surely?
Apologies if these comments are of no help. I am trying to explain why this
poem doesn't hold up for me. To write good poetry requires a lot of
discipline, and to me this poem seems like lazy writing.
Kind regards,
            grasshopper

---- Original Message -----
From: "c s shah" <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, August 22, 2003 6:06 PM
Subject: [THE-WORKS] NEW:Tales of Yonder


> Tales of Yonder
>
> Blue mountains carry the tales of yonder
> the whispering winds bring with them.
> The tales are light and float up and above,
> I've to limp my way up and catch them atop.
>
> Blue mountains store the tales in safety of ice,
> the red and the blue hide in the white of snow;
> moods and passions, hunger of flesh and love,
> float in the avalanche of cross-cultural show.
>
> Blue mountains become monuments of desires:
> for a martyr a flag flutters high on road to heaven,
> a lady waits for her lover under the roof of stars,
> a rainbow weaves threads of tattered emotions;
> the book is now bound as a lasting scripture -
> folded in reverence in those volcanic sediments.
> --
>
> c s shah
>