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Weathering always with the weather I am rushing down cliff faces and across seas I have no pulse yet it races, bound by a breeze I breathe in and out, hot with flame I run deep and stout, into cracks without fame I am round beyond reckoning except by dust found beyond beckoning except by trust in my hands are rocks and trees in my sands I wear at your knees cupped with care you grow like weeds supped in screams that rattle like reeds rolling on, time settles like fog bells tolling in river's salty bog beginnings and endings blow to and fro a sun breaks into the valley below sun bleak and misted heather heat and frost and biting wind always with the weather do I begin |
Additional Notes:
This is about my memory and understanding of women in my now isolated contemplative place.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Elaine Marie Phalen On Date: 2004-12-01 22:45:41
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Regis,
The parallels between women and natural forces are very nicely drawn. I sense a sort of Gaia-principle running through this description. The Earth in all her fulness and tumult stands as metaphor for the feminine principle that links all women. Volcanic passion and pregnant serenity are two sides of the physical aspect of womanhood. The speaker's view of this Woman-Force is tinged with puzzled wonder at the combination of inertia and chaotic energy.
I breathe in and out, hot with flame
I run deep and stout, into cracks without fame
I am round beyond reckoning except by dust
There's a certain sensuality implied in words like "deep and stout" or "cracks". Only the dust measures our ultimate importance (which really doesn't account for much, does it?). Even the most fecund, desirable female must fall victim to the passage of time. Even the most promising relationship seems doomed to failure.
in my hands are rocks and trees
in my sands I wear at your knees
cupped with care you grow like weeds
supped in screams that rattle like reeds .... wow, what terrific use of alliteration in these lines!
Your use of rhyme really enhances this poem. It gives a chant-like effect. The internal rhyme, like round/reckong/found/beckoning, hands/sands, is also well done. The woman herself - and her relationships with the man in her life - incorporates the barrenness of rocks and sand and the rank growth of weeds and reeds. There seems to be neither control nor peace. The speaker's experiences end starkly. Wintry despair kills all the older emotions and leaves the lanscape scoured and empty. But then something new can appear, can't it?
The poet has chosen a detached perspective but is not denying the influence that women have had on his existence. He's surveying the past from his clear vantage point and acknowledging that, at the moment, he's in an end phase. Since all is cyclic, the next beginning may not be far off.
This is an imaginative, unusual exploration of the theme. I very much like what you've done here.
Brenda