This Poem was Submitted By: Mark Andrew Hislop On Date: 2005-11-24 04:31:26 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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Separate ways
Perched above our two-door universe of bucket seats
First lips and the searching areola-rise into my hand
Of the mother you would soon become, the suburban
Stars that used us for their augury left possible
No other interpretation or outcome. Doom,
Worm-holed here from an ancient dramaturgy
Crammed with curses, took jealous note of our joy.
Such is the wickedness of the old gods, death’s
Sentence is suspended while they bore, and Amnesty, shy
Of her jurisdiction over spider-goddesses, gives ovation
To lethal injections that take fifteen years to kill.
And even then
The death was not clean. Our opened hearts spasmed
Like amputated frog legs under electrodes. Those few
Mortal days we once borrowed from Olympus, shocking
Our mouths with awe, now wrapped our children
With all the tears of Genesis. And you? Some Zephyr
Carried you off, leaving me to the suburbs, a photon
From nowhere, forever lighting nothing, circling
The disturbed singularity where you and I disappeared.
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Copyright © November 2005 Mark Andrew Hislop
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2005-11-30 14:43:40
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.97436
Mark, I will try, and probably only see the tip of the.. well, you know well the analogy. This is a poem of distinctions, where differing yet common fates ate interchanged. Although you make the differing indistinct (a fine metaphor to the poem itself) you make the commonality far more apparent.
In the first scene of the drama (turgy), the couple is coupling, and the power of that urge is so overwhelming, that there will be a child created, wanted or not, and the stars (or the controller- God? Who holds the firmament together) makes no move to assist the two young lovers from a possible great mistake- thereby making the inevitable, inevitable. I also think there is an analogy hidden in ending the “mother” line with “suburban”, meaning the mother will soon carry in style, the child. Maybe not. Either way, the “unwanted child?” may have a deprived life and shall end up the star in the next stanza.
In the second, let us begin with Ms. Amnesty- who couldn’t prevent the black widow from becoming a widow, purposefully, and cannot prevent an ending to the death penalty, society being the black widow who is presumptuous in maintaining a life for many years only to dispose of it in its good time. Like the first stanza, the “doom” is inevitable because Amnesty is really impotent to affect a change. Gods or not, the epics within the detail- “bore” and “injection” aside, like the passions of untimely sex, there is a certain “misplaced” “joy” in knowing death will be imminent.
I wondered if this poem was the last thoughts of a person dying, a la “my life passed before my eyes”, otherwise, is it your proposition that, the death itself has caused the loss of “intelligent design” which diminishes creation in its whole? Indeed, death of any kind, about 27% is premature from some sort of calamity, and particularly the violence of a prescribed death, is particularly “out of the scheme” of creation? Or, is your thought that those who see a significant intellect beyond death, have misjudged creation as a whole?
I like this piece, it causes me to examine- precepts of any sort, presume. Death is something we don’t know, the passing to death, well, there we have some experience. Who knows, maybe your singular photon may one day be reintroduced to the primordial slime somewhere, and by a miracle the required 27 enzyme pairs will all emerge from the same chemical connection, and you will enjoy life once more.
Mark, If I am not even close, let me put on my jester hat, and attempt the queens chastity belt!! You can watch.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2005-11-29 21:08:08
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.95238
Dear Mark:
I just can’t attempt to parse or deconstruct this in my typical way, not that you’ve
asked me to. Many times when beginning to comment on a poem, I will do something like
that, just by way of warm up to get to the part I want to say. Here the part I want to
say is difficult, because your degree of honesty is so razor sharp that I feel cut on it.
It separates out the trivial from momentous, at least for me. Most everything else other
than the sundering of a relationship, whether through separation or death, in my opinion
is trivial. My bleeding therefore is only for me, though struck anew by recognition in
your poem of those common pathways shared. Also, some of the symbolic terms you use,
‘universe/worm-holed/augury/doom/old gods/spider goddesses/Olympus’ are some to which
I am especially drawn. Life as a Greek drama – “crammed with curses” but feeling so
very personal. Most vivid, like the vivisection it depicts:
“Our opened hearts spasmed
Like amputated frog legs under electrodes.”
and a reference to the war term ‘shock and awe’ --
“Those few
Mortal days we once borrowed from Olympus, shocking
Our mouths with awe, now wrapped our children”
and the price paid by those above who have no recourse is recognized by the writer as the
greatest of all. I wasn’t going to analyze and I’m not, but I can’t get away from my unease
at commenting on writing as revealing, as searing as this:
“a photon
From nowhere, forever lighting nothing”
Maybe it will help to realize that your writing, if you are the photon, does give light.
It makes a good reading-lamp for life review. For consideration of the aches of others,
for casually observed partings. You don’t take the easy road here. You have given your
best to the effort and somehow the light from this poem serves as a magnifying glass
for looking back at oneself. Painful, but in a sense refreshing. Now we see…
Excellent, Mark.
My best,
Jo
This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2005-11-26 16:07:42
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.80769
Dear Mark,
I shouldn't even try to interpet this poem because I will once again be wrong and end up with egg on my face. But when did I ever let that stop me? So this is what your words say to me...and beautiful they are. At first I thought I was in for a very sensual piece but then it took a sharp turn and began to speak of how a relationship dies...even after making out in the front seat of a car and having children it seems
that was not enough to hold this union together. You did tell me that your wife is 10 years older than you but I am not sure if she is your first wife, second wife, or only wife. How am I to know these things when you don't give me a clue?? You have written some amazing words and phrases here....'our opened hearts spasmed like amputated frog legs under electrodes'...an odd grouping of words in a poem about love...but very effective.....'our mouths with awe, now wrapped our children with all the tears of Genesis'...love this....'some zephyr carried you off, leaving me to the suburbs, a photon from nowhere, forever lighting nothing, circling the disturbed singularity where you and I disappeared'....these lines are my favorite lines. Okay...I am a hopeless romantic and have no doubt got this all worng...you could be speaking just about the poor legless frog...but I don't think so! Even though I feel a certain sadness in the lines and even some hopelessness I loved this poem anyway. So let me have it...I'm a big girl. And if I am wrong I will just pull up my big girl panties and carry on!
As ever....Mazza
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2005-11-24 22:17:40
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.00000
MAH,
To paraphrase Melville, "that's a party long sarmon for a chap that likes to rip a little now and then." I can't get close to this one. I feel like an observer in the audience of a magician. I feel like . . . Arnie.
MSS
This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2005-11-24 20:37:54
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.25000
Those black-ass black holes. REallY suck.
Were that your world Ptolemaicly turned,
your photon a big fish in a small pond.
But- here we ping, mirror to mirror,
translating gibberish to lemmings.
There oughta be a law.
The best line:
First lips and the searching areola-rise into my hand
You da MAN...
Way too much turkey. Sorry.
tew
This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2005-11-24 16:41:21
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.63636
Okay, I hear you...now get on with life Mark. Harsh words? You bet! It's time to lessen the
self indulgence. At first I thought, wow this is going to be very sexual but it turned out
otherwise. Oh shit I think that I screwed this one up. Anyway I thought I should leave my
first interpretation up so that You can see how my mind works (fuzzy). Now I think this has
something to do with chemo. Am I down for the count?
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