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Literature Text
From deep to deep he goes, and wither then?
We do not know—
But whether to a hill, the grassy green
Enclosing darkness underneath, so warm
Within the earth, where roots of flowers flow
Along the cragged ceiling, formed by drops
Of river-water years and years ago;
Or to the sea itself, where rivers spring
And everything is ever changed—the foam
Becomes the crests, the crests the rippled swells,
The swells the currents warm within the cold
Of darkness absolute and unexplored;
Or to an island swept away with fog
That mists about its rolling flower-fields
All blue and purple, scattered 'gainst the bright
And rising light, as rays envelop night—
Wherever he still dwells—we do not know—
It does not matter now—we cannot tell—
O he goes deep to deep, but now he rests
And is asleep.
We do not know—
But whether to a hill, the grassy green
Enclosing darkness underneath, so warm
Within the earth, where roots of flowers flow
Along the cragged ceiling, formed by drops
Of river-water years and years ago;
Or to the sea itself, where rivers spring
And everything is ever changed—the foam
Becomes the crests, the crests the rippled swells,
The swells the currents warm within the cold
Of darkness absolute and unexplored;
Or to an island swept away with fog
That mists about its rolling flower-fields
All blue and purple, scattered 'gainst the bright
And rising light, as rays envelop night—
Wherever he still dwells—we do not know—
It does not matter now—we cannot tell—
O he goes deep to deep, but now he rests
And is asleep.
Literature
The poem-meter
The poem-meter, such incredible yet stupid feature.
Covered with ice for so long.
Singing its silent song.
An iceberg in my memory.
All it does is sleep but somehow it can see.
It also can feel; it can sense.
But stays still with confidence.
For eleven months I waited.
For this thing which I strangely loved and weirdly hated.
No answers heard when I need it most.
It squeezes my needs into a crimson toast.
But it burns me now with might and rage.
After a cold slumber for a long age.
Words and feelings all flying about.
In all directions leaving their hideout.
I take a feather; I drown it in ink.
Without a thought or ability to
Literature
Oathkeeper
I wrote a poem,
Forever ago.
I know,
That's nothing new.
It's also not new,
That it was about you.
But this one?
This one was goodbye.
This one was my final...
Correction.
It was SUPPOSED to be
My final love letter to you.
But poetry,
Love,
Never quite works out that way,
Does it?
This one was
Supposed to be
A step towards getting over you.
It was supposed to be
A promise.
To you,
To the world,
To myself.
I wrote in this letter
A due date.
I wrote that I wouldn't show it to
ANYONE
Until I was over you.
I thought the
Feelings
Would be gone by now,
But they still linger,
Ever present.
Love for others
Has come and gone.
But for you?
My
Literature
A Sailor's Heart (The Ocean V)
I navigate the sea,
led by the twin stars
that are so like your eyes,
deep-blue and all-knowing,
d
r
o
w
n
i
n
g
me ,
more unyielding than the flood
that beats across the hull of
the ship that is my heart.
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So I just bought a second, very pretty copy of Tennyson's Idylls of the King and have been rereading it. As a result, I now have two companion poems inspired by it--this is the first.
The lines that are directly reflected in the poem are the title, from:
"he saw, the speck that bare the King,
Down that long water opening on the deep
Somewhere far off".
and the line "from deep to deep he goes", from:
"'From the great deep to the great deep he goes'".
I will post the second poem soon, but I'm still working on the ending.
Some questions:
Comments on the structure of the poem?
Any thoughts on the last four lines? Especially the two lines with matching em-dash offsets.
Is the ending solid enough?
What emotional impact do you get from the end? Do you find it hopeful or something else?
And, as always, any form of feedback/criticism is much appreciated. Thank you!
The lines that are directly reflected in the poem are the title, from:
"he saw, the speck that bare the King,
Down that long water opening on the deep
Somewhere far off".
and the line "from deep to deep he goes", from:
"'From the great deep to the great deep he goes'".
I will post the second poem soon, but I'm still working on the ending.
Some questions:
Comments on the structure of the poem?
Any thoughts on the last four lines? Especially the two lines with matching em-dash offsets.
Is the ending solid enough?
What emotional impact do you get from the end? Do you find it hopeful or something else?
And, as always, any form of feedback/criticism is much appreciated. Thank you!
© 2012 - 2024 williamszm
Comments11
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Firstly, it's a real treat to see someone write in unrhymed pentameter, and write it well. I intend to have a nice slow stroll through your gallery when I have the time to do it justice.
I think the halved lines at start and finish make excellent bookends, giving good definition to the poem's boundaries.
If I were to tweak a line, I think it would be
'O he goes deep to deep, but now he rests'
I hear the 'O' as a stress, and also the 'goes' as a stress, so for me that line has six. After the perfect rythym of the rest of the poem, that's a minor trip. Perhaps
'He goes from deep to deep, but now he rests'
Which has slightly evener stresses, or
'O he goes deep to deep, but now
he rests asleep'
if you are attached to the 'O'.
I like the companion poem just as much, although there too just one line nags at me:
'Deep, deep below the tilled and turbid soil'
Again I hear an unexpected sixth stress, and also, being a very literal minded reader of poetry, I can't quite see soil as being called 'turbid'. (I live on a farm, for the record.) It suggests quicksand, which I don't think was the intended image. Remove that word, and both trips are solved.
Stopping and reading what I've just written, I realise I sound terribly negative. Please don't take it that way: They are a great pair of poems, and were a pleasure to read.
I think the halved lines at start and finish make excellent bookends, giving good definition to the poem's boundaries.
If I were to tweak a line, I think it would be
'O he goes deep to deep, but now he rests'
I hear the 'O' as a stress, and also the 'goes' as a stress, so for me that line has six. After the perfect rythym of the rest of the poem, that's a minor trip. Perhaps
'He goes from deep to deep, but now he rests'
Which has slightly evener stresses, or
'O he goes deep to deep, but now
he rests asleep'
if you are attached to the 'O'.
I like the companion poem just as much, although there too just one line nags at me:
'Deep, deep below the tilled and turbid soil'
Again I hear an unexpected sixth stress, and also, being a very literal minded reader of poetry, I can't quite see soil as being called 'turbid'. (I live on a farm, for the record.) It suggests quicksand, which I don't think was the intended image. Remove that word, and both trips are solved.
Stopping and reading what I've just written, I realise I sound terribly negative. Please don't take it that way: They are a great pair of poems, and were a pleasure to read.