Hi Michaela,
I'm with this poem until the last stanza which seems in too much of a rush,
too condensed in what it's trying to say. The rest of the poem reads slower
(but has lots of energy in it as well!). I guess the name, Zidane, and the
word "climax" surprise me too much. And, in a second reading, I wondered if
the last 3 lines refered to the "you" of the poem or the "she."
And, because the "you" has heard a stag in the afternoon, and knows of
Zidane as well, I'm wondering about location: where is this happening? But
that isn't too big an issue for me.
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: Rediscovering Eve
>Date: Thu, 16 Dec 2004 15:17:53 +0000
>
>
>i don't know what it is at the moment, but titles are a pain ... *L*
>
>any comments appreciated. this is starting to cause me sleepless nights! ;)
>
>will comment on some poems soon, too.
>
>
>
>*****
>
>
>
>Rediscovering Eve
>
>
>
>This can only work in semi-darkness
>
>where her diamond ring doesn't sparkle,
>
>where you can pretend that you are twilight gods
>
>who have no need to dream.
>
>
>
>Everything you do makes sense, like petals
>
>closing at nightfall, like fire eating its way
>
>across gum tree forests, raging with greed.
>
>When she undresses, you stand still,
>
>
>
>a stag in the shadows, seismic heartbeat
>
>drowning out mundane sounds: water dripping
>
>from a tap; a fly buzzing against glass, trapped
>
>in its own hysteria; a bicycle bell.
>
>
>
>Her face reminds you of a song you heard
>
>that afternoon - a velvet voice, an invitation
>
>to a life complete with window paintings, babies,
>
>cushions on a couch. She raises her arms,
>
>
>
>a strange butterfly. In that instant you fall
>
>for her imperfections, string them together like pearls.
>
>This will be your rosary on solitary evenings:
>
>crooked eyebrows, a gap between her front teeth,
>
>
>
>the scar on her forehead. You touch it now,
>
>thumb to skin - this is it. Uncertainty shatters
>
>on the tiles. In your memory, everything
>
>will be blurred, except her startling beauty:
>
>
>
>a sculpture come to life beneath your hands -
>
>movements like Zidane, sinews stretching
>
>beneath skin, muscles preparing for climax,
>
>the abandon triggered by adrenaline rush.
>
>
>
>
>
>mag2004
>
>
>---------------------------------
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