Hi grasshopper,
The first time I read this I wanted to stop at the end of the penultimate
verse. I also felt the repetead lines/phrases distracting...
But each other time I've read it I've got more used to what it's doing - and
how it's doing it. It seems a poem that needs a second reading to adjust to
how it's working (no bad thing in my opinion for a poem!).
I guess the repeated phrases/lines are risky... but I'm thinking this poem
wouldn't work as well by finding alternative words/phrases all the time. I'm
thinking how the repetitions work alongside the contrasts with "soft
phrases" and "harsh phrases" that the poem has.
A quibble: I'm disappointed by the cats! Between vultures and burning (like
tygers?) with light, their noise seems a tad too tame to me. (OK, I know
each cat puts his or her whole heart and soul into their yowl, their "gimmie
food" call, but this poem's grown so big by the time they get mentioned...)
But I like the way you've handled your subject. Rilke's angels were pretty
scarey creatures too, and the Gateshead Angel is so awesomely huge and
powerful, and I guess the culture they got imported from had as tough, or
maybe a lot tougher, an appreciation of them as you're giving here!
Bob


>From: grasshopper <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New sub: The Truth about Angels
>Date: Sat, 8 May 2004 20:33:28 +0100
>
>        The Truth about Angels
>
>
>Twelve angels stand around my bed.
>They gather like crows to watch me sleep
>or screw or die. They stand around your bed too,
>watching. How sweetly you sleep, my dear.
>Listen for the tiny rattle of their quills
>in the night's stillness. They bend over beds
>like vampires, the feathered bastards, ravenous
>for sensation, because they have no flesh.
>
>They crowd about us, bright robed, like choirs
>with weasel faces. Hungry, always hungry,
>bending close, closer while we dream.
>How sweetly you sleep, my dear.
>Listen for the stir of plumes, sniff the air
>for a trace of violets. Do not believe
>in the holiness of angels, in their guardianship,
>in gentle helpful fingers and healing wings -
>
>all myths spread by thrones and dominions.
>The seraphim invented those soft tales
>and they are the biggest and the hungriest.
>How sweetly you sleep, my dear.
>Fleshless, remember, but carnivorous, and working
>hard on the problem of having no teeth.
>I heard a rumour they have settled
>on the beak solution. Think of that, a dozen angels -
>your dozen angels - all with horny billhooks
>between those blazing feral eyes,
>
>bending over you as you dream, with the concern
>of a stepmother. How sweetly you sleep, my dear.
>The wolf faces of the deeply spiritual. A smell
>of incense. Jesu, cross your breast 7 times
>and pray for Lucifer to aid you. He took on flesh.
>Blood runs through his spread shoulders and wings.
>He beats above your mattress and drives
>the vulture flock away, They cry like hungry cats.
>They burn with light, with the terrible brightness
>of the void. How sweetly you sleep, my dear.
>
>                                            grasshopper

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