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This Poem was Submitted By: G. Donald Cribbs On Date: 2004-04-16 08:52:39 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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What is Rooted We Revisit in Sleep

Tonight we closed the bookstore, a warm privacy of illumination clustered around and around us. Our hunger poured over pages of words, gobbled down with sips of coffee. This pleasant frolicking lightens steps taken to the field, and the heavied ones afterward. All evening long our boats with oars drift through dark waters, rippled currents edged in deep night. By morning our bedclothes are soaked, hulking vessels chugging towards the shore. Our footprints threaded through watery pastures have all gone, leaving no trace, no sound. Alone in the field, our sycamore resolutely stands—a sentinel guarding moments still sacred, altared before us, silences of unspoken words when I knelt before you, made the scream rise gurgling from the back of your throat’s delicious and silky darkness; an offering, a receiving. The wind is hoarse from wailing all night, wheat threshed upon the ground. From here we see each marker, every dog-eared page, words risen prayers before these life altars. One sleep passes into another sleep, days tumbling end over end. Under the torpid darkness of trees the body slowly heals. We have forgotten all words, silence except the rustling of browned stalks, the winter wheat extends its hairy bristled arms to hold us longer in the field. How often we go back to the sycamore, guarding the field’s edge. Our words are all gone—spilt out over our lips spread wide open to take, but what to give? The hope of trees, new leaves.

Additional Notes:
The sycamore is significant to my wife and I, as it is where I proposed to her, and where we had an early first date long ago.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Jennifer j Hill On Date: 2004-05-05 13:21:50
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.81250
Hi Don, This poem is a fabulous journey over the narrators life and I so thouroughly enjoyed reading it. I only hope that my own marriage(3y) will grow like this. "A warm privacy of illumination" is an appealing phrase that gives off warmth and light. It reminds me of that bible verse, Matthew 5: 14----"You are the light of the world. A city on a hill can not be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on a stand and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way let your light shine before men that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven." So true how the time spent together helps to lighten the load of the work. The journey and the world make us feel very small, and the journey seems so quick! The words flow much like the breeze through the leaves of the sycamore. I only have one suggestion for this piece and that is to cut these lines in half to make it not quite so long. I think this will give a neater look to the piece without actually changing anything. But in honesty, it's quite lovely as is. Thanks for a warm bright spot in my day. Blessings, Jennifer The ending is exquisite, "The hope of trees, new leaves"

This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Andrew Hislop On Date: 2004-05-03 07:56:17
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.45455
Dear Don Maybe I am just a an old pervert, but it sounds like more happened beneath the oak than a proposal ... perhaps a proposal made flesh ... But it is a romantic and elegiac remembrance of that time, and hope for what will grow from it. I have nothing to add except an acknowledgment of the deep and rugged detail of that night you describe. Peace Mark

This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-04-27 14:22:59
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Don: I have read this at least a dozen times, and each time I come to it, it reveals fresh insights. I want to offer comments which are worthy of so fine a work, and yet I find my thoughts are diffuse and still forming. This poem is not finished doing its 'work' on me, but nevertheless, I offer my responses now, imperfect as they are, before time and month's end may prevent my doing so. Tonight we closed the bookstore, a warm privacy of illumination clustered around and around us. Our hunger poured over pages of words, gobbled down with sips of coffee. This pleasant frolicking lightens steps taken to the field, and the heavied ones afterward. "around and around us" is an example of the kind of crafting that makes a poem like a warm sweater on a cold day - it simply surrounds one with its safety and assurance. I found a home in these words, in the bookstore, that I did not want to leave. Perhaps that is some of the procrastination I experienced about offering comments - it will be in my 'done' pile. I don't want to bid it 'good-bye'. We are prepared for the "heavied" steps to come "afterward." I was completely immersed in the poem from this word, "afterward." A true book lover understands that "hunger" which "poured over the pages." Magnificent! All evening long our boats with oars drift through dark waters, rippled currents edged in deep night. By morning our bedclothes are soaked, hulking vessels chugging towards the shore. Our footprints threaded through watery pastures have all gone, leaving no trace, no sound. What an incredible metaphor for the journey deep into books, and the lingering effects they have on the couple in sleep. These very light 'dream bodies' seem not so much figurative as actual. I think that this must be the premise given in the title. Alone in the field, our sycamore resolutely stands—a sentinel guarding moments still sacred, altared before us, silences of unspoken words when I knelt before you, made the scream rise gurgling from the back of your throat’s delicious and silky darkness; an offering, a receiving. There is something so sacred here that I am reluctant to offer comment other than I felt I was present. The wind is hoarse from wailing all night, wheat threshed upon the ground. From here we see each marker, every dog-eared page, words risen prayers before these life altars. One sleep passes into another sleep, days tumbling end over end. Under the torpid darkness of trees the body slowly heals. "our sleep passes into another sleep" is mesmerizing. I spent much time reflecting on what this may mean in my several readings. I am reminded of Shakespeare's "To sleep, perchance to dream." What is life and what is dream, and which is reality? What is the healing of the body in the final line? We have forgotten all words, silence except the rustling of browned stalks, the winter wheat extends its hairy bristled arms to hold us longer in the field. How often we go back to the sycamore, guarding the field’s edge. Our words are all gone—spilt out over our lips spread wide open to take, but what to give? It seems there has been a death, or a loss of some immense kind. What has the couple lost which has resulted in their forgetting all words? What has injured one or both of them, but led them to approach the sycamore, which guards the "field's edge." What is it that stands at the edge of life, that is strong enough to hold them together in the face of this enormity? The hope of trees, new leaves. Hope is that which gives confidence, faith, reliance in that which is to come. Trees, "new leaves" could be many things. Trees are one of the most significant symbols throughout the world. The Tree of Life, the Tree of Knowledge. The roots of the tree (the roots of the title) go deep into the earth and can be likened to earthly life. The leaves can be likened to children, or to higher forms of consciousness. We can be grounded in the earth yet soar to great spiritual heights with the safety of that grounding. The poem is so much more than what I have listed here. I will return to it to seek its meaning, again and again. Bravo for a fine work, once more. All my best, Joanne

This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2004-04-20 22:35:02
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.45238
This will gather great and significant moss. Lichen

This Poem was Critiqued By: Paul R Lindenmeyer On Date: 2004-04-16 22:44:47
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Donald, delightful piece about you and your wife's love affair surrounded by natures wonderous creations. The piece flows easily with soft verbiage, then explodes with screaming and wailing and threshing, only to return to sleeping, silence, guarding, hope.. I enjoyed the entire picture! Bravo on this fine vignette.... Piece, Paul

This Poem was Critiqued By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2004-04-16 15:52:24
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.93333
Donald: I have not seen your poetry before; if you are new, welcome. If I've missed you before, it's a pleasure to review a new poem. My printer had a mind of its own in copying out your poem; the over-long lines couldn't be handled so the machine placed them wherever. I've not had that occur before. I am taken with your title which seems the theme of your poem. I favor free-verse constructs but your piece appears a bit over-long in length of lines at first glance. The form relates a great deal about the poem and might put some people off. I don't cut and paste but often rewrite portions of a poem to get the best taste possible. "Tonight we closed the bookstore, a warm privacy of illumination clustered around and around us. Our hunger poured over pages of words, gobbled down with sips of coffee. This pleasant frolicking lightens steps taken to the field, and the heavied ones afterward." Nice first stanza depicts two people in a cozy bookstore scene. I like "a warm privacy of illumination clustered, etc". Crisp descriptors to convey the notion of people united in feelings and ideas. Words were ingested, coffee sipped...a rolicking good time before going to the field. To work is the implication since steps returning are heavy. As reader, I think of what the relationship might be between moments of togetherness in a bookstore to going to fields...then I recalled your title. The bookstore scene, the fields and then Stanza 2 in the boats are parts of dream sequences. What is rooted for you apparently include the sycamore with its significance, the wheat fields, the sea, forms in nature. In S2, I find "rippled currents edged in deep night" a lovely choice of words. I also like the originality of your footprints leaving "no sound." Your imagery is deftly limned and stimulates the reader's senses. An indication of an experienced poet with knowledge of poetic device and technique. Your piece is not over-laden with allieteration or rhymes and were it not as verbose, there would be a spareness about it which would be outstanding. You dub your sycamore "a sentinel" which is a bit overused but it guards sacred moments which you explicate in your notes. "Altared before us" is exquisite as is the delineation of wife's throat of "delicious and silky darkness." I think Stanza 4 is the framework upon which the significance/import of your poem rests: "The wind is hoarse from wailing all night, wheat threshed upon the ground. From here we see each marker, every dog-eared page, words risen prayers before these life altars. One sleep passes into another (sleep), days tumbling end over end. Under the torpid darkness of trees, the body slowly heals." Ah, lovely. A hoarse wind, words risen prayers before life altars, torpid darkness of trees where the body heals. Your continued metaphor of life comprised of books (some dog-eared) and words is affective. Words are prayers in your analogy which says the poet finds words holy with which I agree. Your final stanza reveals the importance of the sycamore to both of you, now wordless. With no words or prayers available, you say your mouths are open to receive and the poet ponders what to give: "The hope of trees, new leaves." Nice ending for your rooted things revisited. You achieve quite a bit here with a singular tree. I am reminded of an oak tree in a small town which is very old and extends across a graveled road like a bower. The locals call it the "wedding tree" because so many people have been married neath its sheltering branches. Sorry for the divagation but your poem, as most good poems do, brings warm feelings and memories. You as poet know that when readers share their own experiences when reviewing your poetry, your poem is an evocative one. Healing and new life or regeneration of old life, all of which rests in the shelter of your tree, is a splendid notion for your poem which I enjoyed. I think it could be tightened a bit, extraneous words deleted except for the essentials. You demonstrate a talent with composition, visuals and vocables. I hope you will continue to share your lovely poetry with us at TPL. My best wishes, Mell Morris

This Poem was Critiqued By: Wayne R. Leach On Date: 2004-04-16 15:39:51
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.87805
Ver-r-r-y nice piece of work. An enjoyable and thought-provoking read, making us realize the reality of life, love and the sharing of both. The symbolic [to you] sycamore is excellently accomplished. You have used many tools, especially imagery, assonance, and personification, of the poetic world with outstanding adeptness. May I note a couple things? Tonight we closed the bookstore, a warm privacy of illumination clustered around and around us. Our hunger poured over pages of words, gobbled down with sips of coffee. This pleasant frolicking lightens steps taken to the field, and the heavied ones afterward. - [Maybe "...lightened steps" for proper tense?] Alone in the field, our sycamore resolutely stands—a sentinel guarding moments still sacred, altared before us, silences of unspoken words - [Would singular "silence" work here?] when I knelt before you, made the scream rise gurgling from the back of your throat’s delicious and silky darkness; an offering, a receiving. - [These 2 lines are superb! possibly a hyphen instead of the semi-colon? Just a thought.] From here we see each marker, every dog-eared page, words risen prayers* before these life altars. [*Does this need a comma after "risen"? It seems that "words risen" should be separate, then "prayers/before these life altars." would be another thought.][Or maybe you meant "words risen as prayers..."?] That final line is great, a powerful closing. Thanks for posting this beauty. Write on in peace, poet. Wayne

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