Savant weapon silenced the heart
Better than to feel pain of spinning wheel
Or remnants of warmth as away they steal
The sorting of emotions as I rip apart
Returning to the blade that I was at start
I am not she/he, without become mere thing
Twilight to nothing, his/her passing.
2001
Image from Derknives.com
There's a poll up on the top left:
do y'all want a Questing for Food mix tape?
Very dark, Alesa. Very dark indeed ...
ReplyDeleteCan I just say, about the poll: What's a mix tape?!!! LoL!
ReplyDeleteCool poem!
To the previous commenter: Dark? I dunno this feels like a piece about rebirth.
Heya Jessica!
ReplyDeleteHmm... Dark? What defines something as dark? For me, this isn't very dark, just hard. Relativity at work, I guess.
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Heheh. Heya Jupiter, long time no see!
You'd be surprised, there are generations of music fans who have never known tapes, let alone 8-tracks or records.
Glad you liked it. I reckon you're right, it could be about rebirth.
Well, it made me think of suicide ... but my brain goes in directions it's probably not meant to! :o)
ReplyDeleteI thought I should explain:
ReplyDelete"Tending my self's edge, dangerously sharp"
blade to person's wrist
"Savant weapon silenced the heart"
the weapon will save you, take you to a better place, no need to express pain anymore
"Better than to feel pain of spinning wheel"
Something is torturing your mind and you want to escape it.
"Or remnants of warmth as away they steal"
The warmth one might feel as they drift into the unknown world that awaits.
"The sorting of emotions as I rip apart"
as you die, everything becomes clear in your mind
"Returning to the blade that I was at start"
You are revived, and reminded of the weapon you tried to kill yourself with.
"I am not she/he, without become mere thing"
You don't know who you are anymore, no reason to keep living.
"Twilight to nothing, his/her passing."
Moments pass, days pass, but you still don't feel alive.
Oooh! That's very interesting!
ReplyDeleteAnd you're completely right, it could very easily be interpreted to mean that!
And interpreted that way it has an entirely different meaning! Neat!
I really love the ambivalent nature of the pictures words can form.
Though I don't usually go on the record for the meanings of my pieces, I have to admit that suicide angle is completely removed from what I had in mind when I wrote it. Thanks Jessica!
LoL, you didn't need to explain... You had me at suicide. ; j
ReplyDeleteAs soon as you mentioned it I saw how it worked with the words. : j
Though now with your explanations I see that even with the suicide angle I would have interpreted some of the stuff differently! Interesting! Interesting!
haha! I just wanted to make myself clear for Jupiter too :o) Great poem!
ReplyDeleteNicely written! You write rhyming poetry without sounding cheesy, which is hard for me to do. I like it!
ReplyDeleteHeya Shelley!
ReplyDeleteWow, I'm not cheesy! Thanks! ; j
Glad you found the piece interesting!
Hmm... Are you setting out to write a specific form of rhyming poetry?
I find that the only way to write formal poetry is for the form to become so ingrained that it becomes natural (second best it becomes so ingrained it sounds natural;)). I can't do that.
Perhaps I escape sounding cheesy because I mainly use the rhymes for the way they sound with everything else. I love the way the way words can flow, or better yet the phonemes call out to each other.
I generally have a problem with formal, metrical, poetry because I find the metre can be too dominant. This, however, admirably overcomes that problem: I hear each individual word as well as the metre and rhyme.
ReplyDeleteThe more I read this the more I think about textiles and and sewing; as well as a broken relationship.
I love this. Tending to your own edge, dangerously sharp. Sometimes, to focus on self, truly cuts like this. Cuts things out, dices them in. Surgery with little other for pain than a leather strap between the teeth and a shot of moonshine. Whew...yes, I am sharp as well.
ReplyDeleteI feel the pain of loss or even betrayal. The photo makes me think of the heat generated in creating the sharp steel. Perhaps the loss of a love?
ReplyDeleteI can now see my own comments on my own and other blogs but no one elses! Almost all the (Blogger) bloggers I know are having similar problems.
ReplyDeleteYep, mine has vanished. Not only that, the last comment I see here was posted by Wine and Words at 1.58AM. I can't see your comments after the one you posted at 5.00PM yesterday.
ReplyDeleteEryl its happening to all of us!!! :o( I can only see comments in my email.
ReplyDeleteTAA have you seen the spreadsheet Blogger is making to try and get a hold of the problem, you can find it here.
ReplyDeleteActually, not knowing how the link will transfer to email the address is: http://spreadsheets.google.com/viewform?formkey=dEpRZEk5YzRmVUQ5d3B4ZFVSYVQ1UFE6MQ
Well worth completing the questionnaire if you are having problems, and haven't yet done so.
I love how this circle of the blog world is so relatively supportive. : j
ReplyDeletefilled it out. Thanks!
ReplyDeleteAlesa - you left a comment on my blog, but now it's gone. This is so weird. Other people have reported their comments disappearing.
ReplyDeleteI've read your poem over and over, but I think I'm distracted by the missing comments so I'll have to come back to tell you what I think. That is, if blogger comment ghost lets me.
No worries.
ReplyDeleteThe bug squall seems to have abated.
Take care, Kass. : j
Alesa. Dude. Moody, delicious poem. Nice!! Got your comment - TOTALLY look me up when you're here in October, dammit! BEER. HIJINKS. Seriously. This is happening :D
ReplyDeleteHA! Dude, the more the merrier. And YES that's TOTALLY what drinks are for (even if they're flammable, lol)!!
ReplyDeleteNow that I've read A. A.'s suicide take on the poem, I'm having a hard time seeing it another way, but I like the idea of the sharpness of your mind. I like the play on words of the title - if you cut, you lose - and also misreading it as cutting your losses - double meaning. Hope the comment problem is solved and ended. It kinda reminded me of 'big brother' looking in on our interactions and censoring them.
ReplyDeleteReading this I get a feeling that the person wishes to hurt herself – like Christians in a procession, or Muslims with chains – but this time it is with a blade. Do not see a suicide though, just pleasure in being a martyr.
ReplyDeleteGood poem, dark though - which is not a bad thing x
ReplyDeleteFor strange reason this reminds me of a Mediaeval Fair I went to a couple of years ago; they had a Blacksmith there as well.;)
ReplyDeletexo
About the poem... I'm really pleased people are getting such different stories from it... Sometimes, and this poem is such a time, I make a deliberate effort to write in such a manner that the piece can be interpreted many ways.
ReplyDeleteBut now I'm tempted to break custom and share my take on the story I wrote. ; j
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Heya Kass! Hmm... I really don't think Big brother is not watching. I expect that Big brother is as sentient as a factory robot, endlessly dumping loaves of sliced bread into brightly colored plastic bags. Except big brother got loaded with the wrong kind of bags so now we have a couple hundred loaves of mispackaged bread.
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Hello Vagabonde. As I mentioned above that's really interesting. I can safely say that's not an angle I had considered at all. : j Thanks for sharing your perception of this piece!
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Hello Lulu! I guess it is dark, and agreed, nothing wrong with that. Tangentially, Darth Vader in French becomes Dark Vador. Yes this is irrelevant trivia. But I just discovered the fact this week so I'm still amused by it. ; j
Oh and Harrison Ford's character flies the Millenium Condor. Heheheh.
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Heya Zuzana! Ha renfairs are fun! They don't really get the concept of it in France. They either take it too seriously or don't do it at all. I remember my first renfair... I got a beautiful birch slingshot with a leather pouch. It was my first slingshot. And I remember the a couple "knights" taking, bizarrely enough, an instant liking to me when I told them that their martial arts weren't very good. I was seven or eight... I think they started out by humoring me but then tried out a suggestion I made and realized it made movement easier for them. In return they put a chainmail coif over my head, I could barely stand with that thing, and stuck me on a horse for a picture. : j Ha, funny I haven't though about that for a long time. Thanks for the Proust moment Zuzana. : j