More poetry for Herge
since he asked so nicely. THis one is about 10 years old (holy FUCK-it's been THAT long since High school-crap) but I've never edited it, or really shared it with anyone that I remember...so it might suck, but I'm to lazy to edit anything recent right now....I'm tired.
Bio[logical] Baby
I see eyes over cold
coffee and eggs and see
myself mirrored,
doppleganger for the first time.
You who bore me a
quick birth you said, you who
struggled, waited, watched
loved me before all others.
Your eyes lash out to mine and I see
you staring as I often do.
Same nonchalance.
Same lack of training.
And I do want the
open arms you hold. I
want the space you create for me except
it cannot be spoken. I'd
swallow your love but
fences well built are not so
easily broken.
I fear I can never pull them down.
I have precious nothing save these
eyes of yours these
arms of yours this
castoff love of yours.
I feel bad hearing your
childish visions, so tattered and worn at
the edges. Are you really as
content defeated as you seem?
And I see sister, forgetful. May I
sacrifice myself on the
altar of her future spare
the heartbreak lying in wait?
Men, women, whispers will
tarnish the crystalinne goodness that
sleeps in wait deep inside.
My eyes drop back to
coffee. Tears shed fall
unseen.
These eyes we share will be
shadowed and shattered
to quickly to bear.
Bio[logical] Baby
I see eyes over cold
coffee and eggs and see
myself mirrored,
doppleganger for the first time.
You who bore me a
quick birth you said, you who
struggled, waited, watched
loved me before all others.
Your eyes lash out to mine and I see
you staring as I often do.
Same nonchalance.
Same lack of training.
And I do want the
open arms you hold. I
want the space you create for me except
it cannot be spoken. I'd
swallow your love but
fences well built are not so
easily broken.
I fear I can never pull them down.
I have precious nothing save these
eyes of yours these
arms of yours this
castoff love of yours.
I feel bad hearing your
childish visions, so tattered and worn at
the edges. Are you really as
content defeated as you seem?
And I see sister, forgetful. May I
sacrifice myself on the
altar of her future spare
the heartbreak lying in wait?
Men, women, whispers will
tarnish the crystalinne goodness that
sleeps in wait deep inside.
My eyes drop back to
coffee. Tears shed fall
unseen.
These eyes we share will be
shadowed and shattered
to quickly to bear.
That was fabulous - it's especially good knowing a little about you from your history.
More more...
Posted by Anonymous | 10:22 p.m.
I really enjoyed it, thanks for sharing.
Posted by Anonymous | 4:41 a.m.
Get writing, you started something now...
Posted by Anonymous | 12:34 p.m.
Are you a closet poetry fan Herge? Should I quote Gerald Manley Hopkins, William Carlos Williams or Rilke for you?
Just curious where you lean on this one...
And started what? It's mostly crap, truth be told. I did find an old journal today with pieces from around 9/11 however....
I'm curious what you like about these...most people don't know crap about poetry, and can't offer honest critique or opinion. SO I rarely show them to anyone...you have started me writing again however....
speaking of which, no Dorf (out buying stupid Justice League comics) I think I'll go do some editing...
I should thank you for this Herge....but ONLY if I get more Dalek & Borg fixes...
Posted by thordora | 7:57 p.m.
Bollocks! I just wrote a really long explanation of why I like your writing and promptly lost it all....
Anyway, because I do like your writing I will try to explain why I like it again.
Ahem.
I'm not really a poetry lover - I don't know any poets to quote, I do like Bukowski and Tony Harrison, but that's about it.
I get put off poetry because of what it typically represents - a white suburban middle class view of the world, and lots of poems about 'love' and flowers.
Your stuff is like reading shards of glass. I mean that in a great way - like two poets I mentioned, reading your stuff has grit, and you can feel that as you wrote them they are acting in a real cathartic way - not just, 'I know, I'll bung some flowery words on the page and lament my naval'. That older poem - man, that was intense - and I got so much about you, particularly the harrowing feeling that it's just too late to make up for what they did to you.
I also like the fact that your work has all your baggage (sorry - I assure you I don't mean that in a derogatory way) so tightly entwined with it.
Does writing make you feel better? Worse or indifferent? - I'd be interested to know.
Yeah, you should get writing more, remember, it's like reading shards of glass... I'm quite pleased with that, perhaps I can be a poet - Nah, I'm sticking with the blogcomics and celebrity orbits.
More please.
Posted by Anonymous | 9:29 p.m.
I apologise for dissecting your work with my crude tools - yet I feel moved to say I think this is right bloody good!
:P
Posted by Anonymous | 12:25 p.m.
funny that the shards of glass should come up...someone mentioned an image along those lines in terms of what my empathy is like...
I'm glad you like it. I mean, yeah, everyone should write for "themselves" blah blah fricken blah, but at the end of the day, I don't want to pull and Emily Dickenson or anything....and I have no one around me anymore with more than a passing familiarity of literature, let alone poetry. And sadly many of the people I run into fall prey to exactly what you describe Herge-flowery justifications of their latest SUV.
I still remember the first thing I ever wrote-it was just after Mom died, something lame along the lines of
" I didn't do anything, no, nothing wrong
put still she died"
crap, but not terribly bad for an 11 year old.
So yeah, I've used my writing as catharsis for awhile, and sometimes it works. It's more like bleeding a vein to kill a headache. Helps for a minute, then it builds up again. I find it nice to have a well turned phrase, sometimes it just rolls off the toungue in a way that's almost sensual, like
"the sun lolls down my back like a lazy lizard". Images like that evoke a host of memories and moments for me, and I think that's where my joy in writing is. It's also in making other people FEEL what I see, what I have in me that's just reaching out to them. It's a really primal thing for me, and I've always held it quite close.
Despite some of the crap in my life, at my core I feel lucky.
I don't write much because when I do finally, it's all I want to do. The person I THOUGHT I'd be was some weird old lady poet with too many cats, not the weird young mommy wearing army boots, listening to Skinny Puppy. So I'm trying to move my writing more towards intergrating the personalities. It's hard, and time is not abundant lately either.
I find many people are put off poetry by the 'I know, I'll bung some flowery words on the page and lament my naval' as you mentioned (great phrase by the way) There is just WAY too much of this around, especially on the internet. I want to challenge the FORM of a poem, challenge the image. Not just lament my ex boyfriend who kinda might have said my ass was too big.
Anyway, rambling when I should be eating, when I should be writing.
Thanks OWL!
Oh, and one of the even MORE fun parts of ADD is the constant thought that one sucks balls. So pardon me if I constantly minimize anything I write. To me, it will always suck because I hold it up to other writers, which is kinda like holding kids against other kids...
Posted by thordora | 1:41 p.m.
holy freudian slip batman!
Anyway, rambling when I should be eating, when I should be writing.
writing should be "working"
earlier, while msn'ing the Dorf, I said "ewmail" instead of email....heh
Posted by thordora | 1:43 p.m.