This Poem was Submitted By: Lynda G Smith On Date: 2004-07-17 19:48:49 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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Wakers
The rooks are breaking bread within the mist
On the table of the valley
Their celebration slaps the ale of their bawdy song
Upon the wooded air
To cant upon the morning their boastful feasting
Old as time, blackened breasts rosy in the rising sun
And songs as brackish as the rasping marsh
They sprang from.
Black to the root but hearts not so
What fledgling mother’s love fed and thrust upon the world
This rookery of roughness, toughness in the wood
To stand upon a branch, swollen limbed and thrusting from
The brine of creation, an elation of sound
Upon the day.
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Copyright © July 2004 Lynda G Smith
This Poem was Critiqued By: Lennard J. McIntosh On Date: 2004-08-06 15:37:46
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.22727
Re: "Wakers"
It is a poem about the "rook," who is employed in rousing raders from sleep. It evokes an
interest, and curiosity. How can a title and entrance the piece be better used ? This writer's
use of the language has to rank as splendid diction: "bawdy song, brackish as the rasping marsh, rookery of
roughness, swollen limbed and thrusting from the brine of creation," must be what Robertson
Davies meant to descibed "pure poetry!"
The work exits with, "The brine of creation, an elation of sound upon the day." The writer
possesses a skill of word that this reader is still strives to learn. It is excellent work!
Len McIntosh
This Poem was Critiqued By: Jana Buck Hanks On Date: 2004-07-30 12:00:42
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Lynda,
I am not the greatest critic, but I will tell you how I feel about this poem.
You have wonderful alliteration, the sounds blend so well and the tone of the poem is carried throughout.
I love the darkness of the poem, the etherial quality of the subject, the picture painted by words. The first line of the poem is captivating, holds the attention and begs to be followed by the reader. Thank you for sharing this with us. I think it is excellent, love the line placement and the end-stopped lines do not take away from the movement of the piece. Can you tell I really like this poem?
Bright Blessings
Jana
The rooks are breaking bread within the mist
On the table of the valley
Their celebration slaps the ale of their bawdy song
Upon the wooded air
To cant upon the morning their boastful feasting
Old as time, blackened breasts rosy in the rising sun
And songs as brackish as the rasping marsh
They sprang from.
Black to the root but hearts not so
What fledgling mother’s love fed and thrust upon the world
This rookery of roughness, toughness in the wood
To stand upon a branch, swollen limbed and thrusting from
The brine of creation, an elation of sound
Upon the day.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Patricia Gibson-Williams On Date: 2004-07-24 03:00:24
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.66667
This was an interesting poem. I am assuming that this is a bird that you are describing, but I’m not familiar with which one. I don’t think I’ve ever heard this song, but your words make me want to. I’m not sure I got all the implications of this, but I read it several times; trying to figure out the nuances. I hope you will tell me a little about what you were describing so that I can feel your poem a little better. My favorite line was “And songs as brackish as the rasping marsh” I just loved the way it sounded and felt on my tongue. Thank you for sharing. ~ Patti ~
This Poem was Critiqued By: Wayne R. Leach On Date: 2004-07-18 09:38:27
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
The birds' awakenings are beautifully expressed in this piece, Lynda. You have astounded me with the amount of sound and visuals you have used here. The assonance and alliteration are extensively used throughout, but I especially liked:
Their celebration slaps the ale of their bawdy song - [the l's are very effective here]
Upon the wooded air
- and -
Old as time, blackened breasts rosy in the rising sun - [and these b's burst these lines wide open]
And songs as brackish as the rasping marsh - [and the short a's of these lines echo the bird calls]
They sprang from.
A wonderful and talented piece of writing. I will not attempt to [read cannot] improve it. Regards. wrl
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-07-17 22:09:44
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Oh, Lynda!
I know you couldn't have written this poem for me today, but I am as grateful
and jubilant as if you had! On a personal note, I love all birds, even the
most raucous of them. You've written a sublime paean to this bird who is worthy
of our note. You give cause in the joyousness of "celebration" which "slaps" with
life here, in each creature with which we share this planet. It all works
together brilliantly - from first syllable to last - makes my heart race
with gladness for *someone* wrote what has soared within me, that for which
I could not find the words. It is not surprising that it is you, for in your
poems I sense a kindred spirit. But to the poem!
The rooks are breaking bread within the mist
On the table of the valley
Their celebration "slaps the ale" of their bawdy song --I love this!
Upon the wooded air
To cant upon the morning their boastful feasting
Old as time, blackened breasts rosy in the rising sun
And songs as brackish as the rasping marsh
They sprang from.
The very strong iambic pentameter of the first line is solid and ably sets the scene.
'B' plosives in "breaking bread/table/bawdy/boastful/blackened/brackish" are solid
and emphatic as the rooks, crows, jackdaws and ravens, the crow family Corvidae.
They are a royal bunch of birds with their "boastful feasting." I think that rooks
may be slightly variant to the North American crow, but still, closely related
enough to share "bawdy song." You've made something incredibly beautiful, though
not at all the typically 'pretty' bird poem. You use onomatopoeia with skill, in
words that sound like the very sounds they emit, as with "brackish/rasping." How
gloriously they break bread "on the table of the valley" inviting the reader to
feast upon the celebratory words you've created in their honor.
Black to the root but hearts not so
What fledgling mother’s love fed and thrust upon the world
This rookery of roughness, toughness in the wood
To stand upon a branch, swollen limbed and thrusting from --WONDERFUL!
The brine of creation, an elation of sound
Upon the day.
How can I possibly respond without using as many words as you've used and more
in my excitement about this poem? The sounds, for example, in "fledgling mother's love fed"
and "rookery of roughness, toughness in the wood" are enough to make me glad simply to be
alive and have read them. This evening, as I sat on the deck and listened to crows and
Stellar's jays, I heard what I had not yet read in this sublime poem - "an elation of
sound." Crows, "Black to the root but hearts not so" says everything I'd want to say
about a crow, though they are tough fellows who aren't in the least intimidated by
our two-legged presence. And why should they be? They have as much right to the land
and trees and celebration of life, as they, too, originate from "the brine of creation"
as much as we. I simply cannot find enough superlatives to tell you of the jubilant
feelings this poem stirs for me.
Congratulations on an exquisitely rendered poem, one which I accept as another gracious
gift from your pen. It will find a home in my permanent collection.
Brava!!
All my very best wishes,
Joanne
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