Description: perhaps of late i have been too much in the way of reading. you might say i have read far too much of Robert Graves, Margaret Atwood, Alice Walker and so on for it to have been healthy.
at any rate, this is the result.
Emergance c. by ruejacobs 6/4/08 6:45 pm -------------------------------------------
I. Duty
When born I was by pilgrim’s seed
To the puritan-souled and grim lipped smile
No teeth bared i no welcoming heart
Only the slow measured metronome
a heavy stepped footfall
an otherwise barren womb
I stared down in astonishment to my own white hands
Opening already and blossoming into greed
I will not be comforted, I tell you
I will not
II. Obesience
Where I should have been accustomed
To gentle nurturance
I felt only the invisible leash of tyranny
And the lash of my guardian’s discipline
I was not to speak I was not to question
-unthinkable-
What was mine was only obedience…
Blind as a mole and burrowing deep into the flesh of my tongue
I will not be comforted
I will not
III. Honor
A fine regiment of those before me
Those crippled into silence and silent need
Whipped as a waif for the sin of simple want
And smiling still
Still as the gates of the damned
And standing like a soldier
in the face of certain annihilation
I knew only to be still and survive
Soon enough I would learn flight
That flesh that bound me in this role
An accident and joke of the gods
I performed my role until I could no more
And smiling still, I fled
IV. Patience
That clench-jawed smile had broken my teeth
Along about the molars towards the back
I filed them down to nothing
And still I smile
My hands are as open as the hands of fate
As the hands of the parents that slapped my infant face
I will not be comforted, I tell you
I will not.
duty; responsibility; obligation
obeisance - to bob; bend or curtsy
honour - principle; nobility; pride
patience - endurance; tolerance; persistence
your principle refutes all of the above throughout in the way that slaves would. or do...
but the narrative smolders away throughout this, like the tar-dipped match that sets cannons to fire and i like that. i like that in a number of ways you have stepped away from the ethereal, which you know into the substrate that you guess at.
visions of new found land-ers knowing hardship and passing it down the leash to those with black teeth and a mind to work harder still.
visions of puritan milk maids with council-sanctioned piercings that pre-dispose a shuffling gait
visions of honour being more than a word or a hand-crafted badge
and patience: yes it can split teeth but with patience comes the ability to stow away what is salient and have it committed to memory.
whether that memory is second; third or fourth hand - or knot.
and this is what i would do with your project:
I. Duty
When born I was by pilgrims' seed
To the puritan-souled and grim lipped smile
No teeth bared i;
no welcoming heart.
Only the slow, measured metronome
of a heavy stepped footfall;
an otherwise barren womb.
I stared down in astonishment to my own white hands
Opening already and blossoming into greed
I will not be comforted I tell you:
I will not.
II. Obesience
Where I should have been accustomed
To gentle nurturance,
I felt only the invisible leash of tyranny
And the lash of my guardian’s discipline
I was not to speak
I was not to question
-unthinkable-
What was mine was only obedience…
Blind as a mole and burrowing deep into the flesh of my tongue.
I will not be comforted
I will not
III. Honor
A fine regiment of those before me:
Those crippled into silence and silent need;
Whipped as waifs for the sin of simple want
And smiling still.
Still as the gates of the damned
And standing like soldiers,
in the face of certain annihilation.
I knew only to be still and survive;
Soon enough I would learn flight.
That flesh that bound me in this role,
An accident and joke of the gods
I performed my role until I could no more
And smiling still,
I fled.
IV. Patience
That clench-jawed smile had broken my teeth,
Along about the molars towards the back
so I filed them down to nothing
And still I smile.
My hands are as open as the hands of fate;
As the hands of the parents that slapped my infant face.
I will not be comforted, I tell you
I will not.
we can all be comforted doll; it's who and how that's the exam question...
since I have not read Robert Graves I think I will, This is a good write. I like it, good imagery
I don't think I'll be long winded with my comment this time This is very good.
As the hands of the parents that slapped my infant face
I will not be comforted, I tell you
I will not.
This is a powerful image, too
Blind as a mole and burrowing deep into the flesh of my tongue
There is so much here that is compelling and full of lamentation.
My only true point of confusion was with the line:
"My hands are as open as the hands of fate."
The word "fate" is one of those words that has so many interpretations and is so abstract on so many levels. A word that takes on a life of it's own, like "love", or "beautiful" or "amazing". I would like a more concrete image here that would clarify what you are showing us here--like you do with the teeth and the slap etc.
Still, I really felt the weight and the sorrow of this piece.
Submission Name: Emergance c. by ruejacobs 6/4/08 6:45 pm
