surreal is really what I meant with lullaby, it's a weird synonym to draw maybe.
I just find it an irksome mode to use, like trying to build a poem out
of tiny pieces of a still frame. it's not that there's no movement,
but rather that the movement is abstract to the degree that it can
feel still, uneventful. as a narration it's especially nagging to me;
e.g. if I would imagine trying to read this aloud to someone.
BUT the description is homely & thought-invoking & surreal in the way
that a normal day can feel surreal. the annoyance with the style goes
away, sort of, after maybe the fourth stanza.
KS
On 26/03/2008, sharon brogan <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> On Wed, Mar 26, 2008 at 3:26 PM, kasper salonen <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
> > a fine, nature-connected lullaby narrative. but what's with the
> > paratactic sentences?
>
>
>
> I had to look that up.
>
> Aren't a lot of my poems like that?
>
> Actually, I was trying to be surreal.
>
>
>
>
> >
> >
> > On 26/03/2008, sharon brogan <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> > > It's spring again. The garden knows it. From beneath,
> > > green and purple leaves, reaching up. Reaching out.
> > >
> > > A winter vine climbs the fence. It separates the boards.
> > > Strong and woody, it goes where it pleases. In all directions.
> > >
> > > A Japanese lantern hangs on a steel hook. At night, long
> > > winter nights, it warms the garden. I am not like other
> > >
> > > people. I watch them, for clues. A woman passes by
> > > with two small dogs on a leash. She smiles. Why?
> > >
> > > I go to the door and look through the glass. On the fence,
> > > at my eye level, a black cat looks back at me. I open
> > >
> > > the door, and the cat vanishes in an arc over the fence.
> > > A squirrel eats buds from a scrap tree. A weed, aggressive,
> > >
> > > but harmless in its own right, it feeds the tree rats, the various
> > > birds. I am chased by a monster. It's kill or be killed. I am so weak
> > >
> > > I can barely lift the hammer; the blow only cracks the monster's
> > > bald skull. Like an egg, cracking. This happens many times, many
> > >
> > > iterations. I find a green light and shine it on the monster. I sing it
> > > a love song, and it dies, finally, peacefully. Sitting very still, I
> > hold
> > >
> > > my aging cat against my aging breasts. We both purr. With my
> > > breath, we purr. I decide to allow deep pleasure back into my life.
> > >
> > > A snow shovel stands against the wall. Unused, unneeded, this
> > > warm spring. Everything has a function. We all do what we must.
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > > --
> > >
> > >
> > > ~ SB | http://www.sbpoet.com | =^..^=
> > >
> >
>
>
>
>
> --
>
>
>
> ~ SB | http://www.sbpoet.com | =^..^=
>
|