The art of passing by -------------------------------------------
The life of a wind
Is vivid this Friday morning
The stairs do not seem so hostile
This fresh cute hour
In the streets of habits
A liquid element flows unnoticed
Next to furious cars
And flying newspapers.
Then , trivial moments follow
Signs that forbid things
People with hats
Careless eye movements.
Hollow glimpses fleeing
rejoicing their ability to soar.
An aura of contact
Is reaching through the air
The face is more clear
Certainty is overflown with satisfaction
That which approaches
cannot be changed,
Cannot be inhumed
The pavements are made of faith
That marks the higher footsteps.
Pauses and lithe gestures
Exploring alternative directions.
Women recognizing sisters
Lovers of a common sky
And dragon flies swaying between its spaces.
Of this strange feeble fusion
Of passing by.
What's your policy on accepting marriage proposels from total strangers who are enamored with your poetry?
This is stunning. I love everything about it, and it's making it quite hard to generate any articulate statements or words to attach to this. I think stunning is as close as I'm going to get, and I don't think anything else would be more than gushing remarks.
But this reminds me a lot of Joshua Beckman, my favorite poet, though I do suppose your linebreaks are a bit shorter than his typically are. But the imagery, diction, and composition are very similiar. It's a pleasure to read, to move through and up and down and around the words and places and pictures it paints, weaving the seperate pieces together into... well, into a poem that I'm not saying a whole lot about, but like very much.
My pathetic attempt at a nitpick would be the extra space after "Then" before the comma in L9.
Andddd... meh. I'm done. I love this, hence the favorite. Sorry this comment is so vague and wishy-washy.
I noticed your asl as saying you were from Cyprus-- your syntax suggests you weren't born a natural English speaker... I could be wrong, so correct me if I am. But I was just going to say that this is what makes your voice different and special.
A reviewer suggested cutting it down to the lines you love. I do see what they mean, but I think it would kill the effortlessness if you did so. Some things are meant to be left as they are...
The title is absolutely marvelous, as is the entire concept of the poem. I think you may have become too enamoured with the idea of short, choppy lines, however, and the poem is a lot longer than it should be. Some of it is unnecessary, and some of it is pure brilliance. Try revising it, and keeping only the lines you *love*. It's just a suggestion. You may end up with a shorter, snappier poem far more likely to a) make its point better and b) glean more reviews.
the art of passing by... its a simply beautiful idea... one i wish i had come up with... one i might be interested in playing with if you had no objections...
anyways... i like this it feels awkward to me with the lack of punctuation... some of the lines want to run into eachother and then some of them stop and stagger for no apparent reason... it kinda threw me... kinda made me unconfortable but i have no idea how to suggest any changes coz a) i suck with punctuationy like things and b) it ruins the parts that run on when i try...
anyways... this really is beautifully suggested... your streets of habbits interest me... i know them all too well... the way mornings are choreographed... you know when mr smith will leave for work and mrs jones will stand at the gate watching her children walk off for another day of school... everything is structured and rehearsed... habbits... but habbits are not necessarily restricted to the people of the streets... you know the cat is gonna climb up the roof and lie in that one patch of sun that seems to be there regardless of what the rest of the weather is doing... you know the dog is gonna bark at the postman and flirt with the birds at 10:07am... its like clockwork...
pavements made of faith such a beautiful idea right there...
you have some brilliant ideas right throughout this piece... the art of passing by...