This Poem was Submitted By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2004-11-08 10:32:45 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
The Cabin Softly I stepped upon a carpet bestrewed with needles
of jade. I saw pine trees that clutched the forest floor
and streched so high they poked the sky. At the snap
of a branch I whirled about to face a startled deer with
antlers of grandeur that crowned his head. I barely heard
the tramp of his hooves as he stirred and disappered in
the persistant woods. I spied a narrow esplanade that
split timber grasses and quickly laid my feet upon it.
Glancing rays of sun wrapped around trees pushing
wispy pieces of gray shadows aside. The path led me
to a glade and a deserted log cabin nestled in noontide.
Questions of who built and inhabited this dwelling pulsed
through my mind. Behind a cloudy window the shadowy
figure of a woman beckoned me to come closer. I stepped
across the threshold and inhaled the scent of baking bread
in a coal stove that stood against the wall, coffee perking in
a blackened urn, and a whimsical butter churn. A breathless
hush, as soft as whispering wings, settled about this hollow
homestead as I stood inside the door, a quickening gust of
wind shook the sunbeams hovering above the floor. Voices
of generations dead fell on vacant ears in the stagnant silence.
Momentary images of old began to fade and perish and the
chimney stones turned cold but for a tick of time I visited
dulcet days of yore. With one look back at the eerie tenuous
shape I smiled and stepped across the doorsill and returned
to the clamor of my technicolor world.
Will this phantom abide when time is dead and I am gone?
Or will it vanish in mystic mountain vapors with but
a whimper...that no one hears? |
|
Copyright © November 2004 marilyn terwilleger
This Poem was Critiqued By: Elaine Marie Phalen On Date: 2004-12-07 18:26:09
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Marilyn, what an "immersive" poem (is that a word?)! I feel surrounded by the cabin in all its rich detail and tangible atmosphere. The lead-in to the cabin's discovery is that antlered deer which, to my mind, might represent something far older and more mystical than a mere animal. To me, he may well be the spirit of Herne, the Forest Lord, keeping an interested eye on his kingdom and guarding it against intrusion by those who might not mean well.
The speaker is permitted to experience the past, and communicates to the reader all the homey touches - the bread, the coffee, the churn, the shadow woman who undoubtedly kept her household in order. Her invitation is a gift from one soul to another, spanning the decades or even centuries. This is a poem imbued with a sense of history. Many of us, I'm sure, were products of ancestors who tended such simple cabins and gradually moved on to other places and other lifestyles. But there's a longing, still, for the honest basics of pioneer experiences, living off the land, working hard for the reward of having done one's best. "Dulcet days of yore" do seem somehow more golden, more kind and humane. Of course, we know this might be illusion because people were so much more vulnerable to hardship and illnesses, but the human-to-human bonds seem to have been firmer and more loving. I think we've traded off this gift of compassion for greater convenience, more material goods and sharper focus on self.
I love "tick of time", implying both the clock and the brevity of the ghostly visit. "Technicolor world" nicely suits the vividness of our modern environment, but that can become TOO vivid with the brightness of spilled blood and the harsh gleam of steel and plate glass.
A few typos in S1 - stretched, disappeared, persistent - but easily fixed. This is a terrific descriptive piece and one which I really enjoyed because it speaks to my own set of values. I, too, treasure the woods, the rustic pleasures and freedom from hassle. I'd love to find an intriguing glimpse of an older world, more attuned to nature. You've given me a chance to share in that kind of place for the duration of the poem. Thank you so much!
All the Best,
Brenda
This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2004-12-07 15:35:05
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.82051
Marilyn,
What a wonderful poem!
I felt like I walked into the woods, down a old pathway, and found an old deserted cabin.
as I have before... This is so reminescent of yesterday.
The forest was quite quiet and peaceful.
today's world is chaotic....
you ended it all perfectly...
the sound like a tree falling....does anyone hear?
Few do, but you hear!
keep on listening. you will be surprised...
Dellena
This Poem was Critiqued By: James Edward Schanne On Date: 2004-12-02 14:52:06
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.26471
This poem pretty well captivated me ( I think I read it about Ten times) I wouldn't change a thing.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2004-11-23 16:37:13
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Marilyn:
I've been noodling with "Cabin" (#43 or so) but I have some ideas I think
will help. When you began posting poetry at TPL, you were writing primarily
narrative prose. We worked on form, getting it to look like a poem, syntax, beefed
up your imagery and you bagan to pen imaginative, quite good pieces.
Then I don't know if you got bored or decided to try and expand your parameters,
but I started noticing a lot of unusual adjectives and adverbs which served no
purpose that I could see, and that's where I think you still are.
When you began, your first sentence would have been: "I walked quietly on the forest
floor, covering with pine needles of jade." We see your current sentence but "bestrewn
with needles of jade" is a bit over the top or pushing the envelope. Particularly, IMO,
you need to lose the bewstrewed...the Globe theater burned before Shakespeare could have
his plays put on there. (TIC)
If someone is reading this, dear heart, they do not know our history and are thinking,
'Who the hades does she think she is?' To go on, the next line is lovely except for
one word..."poked." I suggest prod or nudge, etc. "I whirled (about) to face a deer
with a grand crown of antlers."
We could take every paragraph and "un-fancy" it and that's coming from me, the fancier
of words. Such phrases as "dulcet days of yore" are cliche-ridden and always be careful of
those.
I personally do not have a problem with the ending but that kind of finish is seen more in pulp fiction than than in highly-regarded paublishers.
You still have to endure block, depression, to be a true poet (Ha) but I think the best
advice right now is to hit the middle man, the middle bewtween stark narrative and
fancy/schmancy. I would take a bare-bones poem, remove every adjective and adverb, then
start over/ write and rewrite and have some one (me?) check your progress.
Best wishes and happy writing,
Mell
This Poem was Critiqued By: Keith Robson On Date: 2004-11-18 00:58:11
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Hello Marilyn, I absolutely love imagery, as you will have guessed from my poem'In my minds eye', and this is a beautiful example of painting a picture with words! The whole work stands up really well, and I found myself immersed in the sights and aromas of yesteryear. I think you are very talented, and also I am a bit jealous too, with you living in such a beautiful area(such inspiration you must get!)Keith P.S. Would you mind if I messaged you soon?
This Poem was Critiqued By: Brandon Gene Petit On Date: 2004-11-13 14:46:01
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Wow, what a mouthful! This is really beautiful, beautiful work, Marilyn. I'm impressed; there's so many interesting lines here, I don't know where to begin! I can really feel your emotion every step of the way through this stunning mental gallery. "...noontide", "Chimney stones turned cold", "returned to the clamor of my technicolor world" "...a breathless hush", "dulcet days of yore","a narrow esplanade that split timber grasses..." A lot of great wording in this one. The ending is a nice touch as well..."Will this phantom abide......?" You really let yourself go on this one (how un-trendy and non-mainstream of you!). This one goes on my voting list. Thanks for sharing
- Brandon
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2004-11-12 16:24:39
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.75000
Will this phantom abide when time is dead and I am gone?
Or will it vanish in mystic mountain vapors with but
a whimper...that no one hears?
Marilyn, here you have posed for those watching the beauty around, a question that will remain till the mystery is resolved. Am I skipping to the ending? Shame on me, but since i thrice walked the trail of the cabin before arriving here, I am , entitled, to linger on the memory you have left us.
I could not decide whether you wrote from waking, and imagining the wonder of this cabin, or if it is often visited by you, either way, i chose to separate myself from you and visit this marvelous place myself.
I could smell the pine needles and the fulfilling, earthy scent of the forest. "I whirled about to face a startled deer with
antlers of grandeur that crowned his head. " what struck me were two fold, the wonder of the sight of nature and a deer, but also the "crowning" amazement that one attune would see. Also, you "I spied a narrow esplanade that
split timber grasses ", and it was as if the buck himself, in a royal sort of manner, showed you a direction yet unseen, where the esplanade was like a green carpet laid out specifically for you. It is sort of the way I feel when the sunlight breaks through the clouds and calls me to awe.
Then you find the old, broken down cabin that magically comes to life with ghosts of the past "I stepped
across the threshold and inhaled the scent of baking bread
in a coal stove that stood against the wall, coffee perking in
a blackened urn, and a whimsical butter churn
I have often yearned for a simpler life, a less amoral world of goodness measured in churned butter, baking bread, and hot coffee on a cool day. This imagery is magnificent, and as i watch her, I wonder at the metaphor of heaven itself, awaiting as hope provides, those properties seen only in dreams and hope.
"Momentary images of old began to fade and perish and the
chimney stones turned cold but for a tick of time I visited
dulcet days of yore" - Here, how many times have I returned, sometimes even with disdain, wishing to remain. Those worlds have a magnetic hold on life itself, and then we come to the end.
Will this phantom abide when time is dead and I am gone?
Or will it vanish in mystic mountain vapors with but
a whimper...that no one hears?
To answer this is that some attuned will respond to the beauty carried by the cabin, but most will only see an old cabin that might hold something that they can take home when they leave the woods. Most will never find see the buck who leads us to the esplanade. A wonderful piece, voting list, stark and beautiful.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-11-09 14:41:25
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Dear Marilyn:
I ought to have caught "The Cabin" at first glimpse at the top of my
list. Your poems are 'gobbled up' quickly, too, and with good reason!
This one is ambitious and filled with imagery and metaphysical gems.
It's like a four-course meal. I am devouring it once more, as I read
through again. I think that it's outstanding, and the only thing I'd
suggest is a rule I try to follow myself but sometimes fail to do,
inevitably at my own chagrin: always use spellcheck. This poem is
so far and above any minor typos that it seems silly to dwell on
that and miss the meaning. I'll give you my impressions, and also
my congratulations for another poem that I believe will rank up
there with your best, and likely be high on the Winner's List.
Softly I stepped upon a carpet bestrewed with needles
of jade. I saw pine trees that clutched the forest floor
and (stretched) so high they poked the sky. At the snap
of a branch I whirled about to face a startled deer with
antlers of grandeur that crowned his head. I barely heard
the tramp of his hooves as he stirred and (disappeared) in
the (persistent) woods. I spied a narrow esplanade that
split timber grasses and quickly laid my feet upon it.
You've captured the way pine trees seem to clutch the
forest floor, and "poke the sky." There's something
about the pine that has that kind of feel. These
images give me a genuine thrill, for your display
a deep understanding of nature and reverence for it.
I love the 'antler crown' on the deer's head, and his
quiet hooves. Shivers happened when I read "persistent
woods" as your personifications of nature are delectable
desserts for me. The atmosphere is surreal, one in
which anything can and may happen. You've set the stage
and I am an eager audience of one. You bring me with
you on the "narrow esplanade" -- I am quickly reminded
of Frost's "The Road Not Taken" here.
Glancing rays of sun wrapped around trees pushing
wispy pieces of gray shadows aside. The path led me
to a glade and a deserted log cabin nestled in noontide.---ahhh! WONDERFUL!
Questions of who built and inhabited this dwelling pulsed
through my mind. Behind a cloudy window the shadowy
figure of a woman beckoned me to come closer. I stepped --more shivers
across the threshold and inhaled the scent of baking bread
in a coal stove that stood against the wall, coffee perking in
Oh, the details of "the scent of baking bread" and the aroma
and sound of "coffee perking" have me mesmerized. I wouldn't
stop reading now if Mt Rainier's earthquakes reached under
my house, and the lahar warning horn blared! <smile>
a blackened urn, and a "whimsical" butter churn. A breathless
hush, as soft as "whispering wings", settled about this hollow
homestead as I stood inside the door, a quickening gust of
wind shook the sunbeams hovering above the floor. Voices
of generations dead fell on vacant ears in the stagnant silence.
Luscious allits, my friend! And the internal rhymes of "urn/churn"
give this narrative poem a fairy-tale feeling. I am enveloped by
the "hush" and soft "whispering wings" and feel the "gust" as
surely as if I were present in that setting. Now, my goosebumps
have offspring as you introduce "voices of generations dead."
Momentary images of old began to fade and perish and the
chimney stones turned cold but for a tick of time I visited
dulcet days of yore. With one look back at the eerie tenuous
shape I smiled and stepped across the doorsill and returned
to the clamor of my technicolor world.
How did the speaker so quickly disengage from the enthralling
scene? I cannot bear the suspense!
Will this phantom abide when time is dead and I am gone?
Or will it vanish in mystic mountain vapors with but
a whimper...that no one hears?
This ending definitely calls for another poem. Or a Part Two,
if you will! How did the speaker (writer?) leave the eerie
setting, even though the "images of old began to fade" and
step back into her colorful world? Who were the "voices"
and who is "this phantom"? I hope that my response will
encourage you to continue this poem, if you haven't
already done so. I'll be waiting and watching. <smile>
Fabulously done!
All my best,
Joanne
This Poem was Critiqued By: DeniMari Z. On Date: 2004-11-09 02:31:33
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Dear Marilyn,
This month is starting out fantastic and you've done an amazing job with this poem. I absolutely love the whole poem from start to finish. Such beautiful images that you give the reader, very inspiring.
Of course - there's nothing I would change in this poem. I was removed to a quiet place, to the woods,
to seeing the sunbeams hovering above the floor (great line!) seeing them actually shake. This could be the beginning of a wonderful story - do you have more?
I like how you refer to the woods as persistant - works very well, I appreciate the style in which all of it
is clear and comprehendable to everyone that reads it.
The ending has a sad tone to it - an eerie question - that completes this piece and compliments the story.
I wish you all the best with this one - it gets an "A" in my book.
Sincerely,
DeniMari
This Poem was Critiqued By: Turner Lee Williams On Date: 2004-11-08 17:39:08
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Marilyn--Again, from your pen a magnificent story. Who cares if it's from a dream,
factual or a figment or that great imagination of yours. The main thing is it's well
scribed and uplifting with a saturation of vivid imagery that's captivating. An array
of oxymoronic episodes produce a nirvana presence. This entire incident seemingly had
a profound affect on the protagonist/writer, apparently describing a "between" world
stepped into for a uknown time span.
This mystical/naturesque visit with some type of benign apparition is truly descriptive
in splendor and indicates a sense of return/leaving with reluctance. The metaphoric
questioningof the last strophe put the crowning touches on this post. Thanks for this
"creative" writing clinic. TLW
Poetry Contests Online at The Poetic Link
Click HERE to
return to ThePoeticLink.com Database Page!