> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Barbara Ostrander" <[log in to unmask]>
> Sent: Tuesday, October 14, 2003 1:57 AM
> Subject: New sub: Kathmandu trip
>
>
> > Just some thoughts from my recent trip. I'd love your critiques.
> >
> > Good to be back,
> > Barbara
> > ***********************************************
> >
> > Thai Airways:
> >
> > *the smell of rose water on hot towels
> > *stewardesses that skim the aisles like goddesses
> > *the colors purple and fuchsia, the richness of silk, the taste of
spices
> > *food and more food
I think you should set these out as four tercets
the smell
of rose water
on hot towels
the second and third lines well offset by tabs
this may not show up correctly in plain email
stewardesses
skim the aisles
like goddesses
the colours purple and fuchsia
the richness of silk
the taste of spices
food
more
food
Ideally all four should be spaced so that together they occupy an A5 page
that way the words themselves will breathe.
> > **************************************
> >
> > In Kathmandu
> >
> > the devout ring bells,
> > whirl prayer wheels,
> > slaughter goats,
> > touch red to phallic symbols
> > and foreheads,
> > worship what they have made
> > with their own hands.
> >
> > we all find comfort, at times,
> > in ritual,
> >
> > but what can it save?
The first stanza is fine
except I'm puzzled by "touch red"
is this the blood of goats?
I don't care for the comment that follows -- it sounds a little bit
pretensious.
Is there perhaps a way of just hinting at what you feel without it sounding
heavy-handed?
> > ********************************
> >
> > When I forget You
> >
> > I'm one of the devout
> > who worship daily at the temple,
> > feel the emptiness of these gods
> > I have chosen.
Fine -- leave as is.
> > ***************************************
> >
> > Pashupati at Kathmandu
> >
> > 4 things I cannot forget:
> >
> > * wood thrown with a hollow thud to the temple's stone terrace
> > * a stricken mother's face as she drips holy water into her baby's
> uncovered
> > mouth
> > * a bundle of infant clothing released to float downstream
> > * the smell of smoke
Like the first one -- this would again work well as a set of short images on
a single page.
If I'm correct in thinking that Pashupatu is the name of the temple
then you could drop the word temple from the first if you used
PASHUPATU TEMPLE for the title
a hollow thud
thrown wood
on the stone terrace
[you might consider the effect of changing the order of these lines]
she drips holy water
into her baby's uncovered mouth
mother's stricken face
[do we need "uncovered"?]
floating downstream
a bundle
of infant clothing
the smell
of smoke
> > *****************************************
> >
> > There are monkeys
> >
> > at the Swambu Temple in Kathmandu,
> > high up the steep steps among the trees,
> > they swing along the lattice work
> > of prayer flags,
> > eat food set before the gods.
> >
> > No one shoos them away,
> > they are left to tread and touch
> > what is forbidden to man.
I would suggest you use
SWAMBU TEMPLE, (KATHMANDU)
as the title and then start with
High up the steep steps
among the trees,
monkeys swing
along the lattice work
of prayer flags,
eat food
set before gods.
No one shoos them away,
they are left to tread and touch
what is forbidden to man.
> > *****************************************
> > Everest
> >
> > a dream of a lifetime
> > magnificent, awe-inspiring,
> >
> > a part of the whole,
> > yet undeniable
> >
> > not.
Fine -- leave as is
> > **************************************
> >
> > Raxaul, Armpit of India
> >
> > The smell of sewage claims the place,
> > welcomes you first.
> > The faces suspicious and questioning.
> > But through the door of the orphanage,
> > every hand is outstretched in welcome,
> > every face alive with greeting.
> > Like love, children can do this...
> >
> > bridge the gap between worlds.
fine - leave as is
> > ***************************************************
> >
> > Scabies
> >
> > can burrow under the skin within 2 minutes,
> > lay their eggs,
> > erupt into open wounds.
> > I watch you limp,
> > touch hand to your hot face,
> > investigate the bottom of your feet
> > the infection, the green pus,
> > that mingles with filthy ground.
> >
> > Not a tear or whimper,
> > you join the others for dinner
> > but I wonder,
> >
> > how to clean away a world of dirt,
> > wash your feet so they stay clean
> >
> > after I am gone?
I would cut the word "but"
and move
I wonder
to the start of the next stanza
> > ***************************************
> >
> > Flying Yeti Airlines from Raxaul, India, back to Kathmandu:
> >
> > I start to clean my glasses, but it is the window that is dirty.
> > Flat green plains below give way to forests with wide sandy river beds
> > that cut through the densely growing trees. The Monsoons have passed
> > and the rivers are virtually dried up.
> > Next to me, a woman in sari, her baby cries, but her young son sits
> > glued to the window, bouncing in his seat, excited by flight.
> > The steep hills rise up from the plains, cut with deep ravines
> > and dotted with huts and terraced farms,
> > mustard, tea, lush from above.
> > Now flying blindly, over peaks, only clouds ahead through
> > the cockpit window.
This is a bit prosaic.
It only really needs tidying up a bit
and would transform into a neat poem
I'd cut several of the definite articles and the word "but":-
I start to clean my glasses,
but it is the window that is dirty.
Flat green plains below give way to forests
with wide sandy river beds
that cut through densely growing trees.
The Monsoons have passed,
rivers are virtually dried up.
Next to me,
a woman in a sari --
her baby cries,
her young son sits glued to the window,
bouncing in his seat, excited by flight.
Steep hills rise above plains, cut with deep ravines,
dotted with huts and terraced farms,
mustard, tea, lush from above.
Flying blindly now over peaks,
only clouds ahead through
the cockpit window.
> > ******************************************
> > Jetlag
> >
> > In Bangkok it's 2 A.M.
> > and jetlag won't let me fall asleep.
> > My friend's noise maker leaves me
> > drowning in a swollen river,
> > the traffic outside the hotel window
> > hasn't died out yet,
> > nor has the light that trickles
> > through the slit in the curtains.
> >
> > I count breaths,
> > I count sheep,
> > the alarm is set for 4 A.M.
> >
> > and I can't sleep.
excellent -- fine -- leave as is
> > ******************************************
> > Home
> >
> > I am so close now,
> > another thirty minutes and I'll be there,
> > these are the longest miles of all.
this is OK too
> > *****************************************
> >
> > I'm no poet
of course you are
> > I only play at words
> > try to capture what I see
> > already written
> > behind eyes
isn't this what poets do?
> > in the end
> > all I can do is weep
> > each story
> > into the ground
Regardless of anything said previously
this is a good set of poems
each needs to be presented on a single page.
You just need to arrange the images so they can all breathe freely and be
seen
without any extra commentary.
Add a couple of neat drawings
and you've got a little 16 page chapbook.
yours
Gerald
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