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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: When all the rivers ran southdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: rws
    ASL Info:    57/m/ohio
    Elite Ratio:    8 - 2777/1297/258
    Words: 106
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 694
    Average Vote:    5.0000
    Bytes: 719



    Description:
       ~once again, the fault of izzy~


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsWhen all the rivers ran southdots
    -------------------------------------------


    When all the rivers ran south

    I rarely sing now
    merely hum the words
    and allow myself to caress the space
    between syllables I thought I'd heard

    And yet I strive to tame the letters
    Some say should be erased
    Or left to high stakes bettors
    Who’ve a better skill at twisting fate

    North borne, tossed
    Toward a half-formed sky
    As a cynic’s choir
    Butchers Brahms Lullaby
    Does the world wish
    It had another mouth
    To form soft promises
    Or fire devils out?

    amen said the critic
    amen said the shill
    amen said a voice
    from the corner of hell...




    Submitted on 2009-05-04 15:58:13     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!




    ||| Comments |||
      Bill,

    Nice sonics, nice word music. Amens in hell? Interesting. Way to go.

    annie
    | Posted on 2009-11-28 00:00:00 | by annie0888 | [ Reply to This ]
      As I said yesterday, I love to hear your voice. Somehow we manage to rattle of cages of those not listening in ways that matter.

    Your work reminds me of a faint image at first of seemingly unrelated ideas. The longer I see it, the more I understand.

    Forgive me, I'm so simple but I liked this very much Bill.
    And please keep speaking.

    Nan
    | Posted on 2009-06-09 00:00:00 | by nansofast | [ Reply to This ]
      Ah Bill. As an old friend used to say, "Rise, Poet. Rise." And if I may add to that, after stealing shamelessly a sister's son, let's keep this mutant language alive for we are the only ones who can say "ouch" in more than a thousand ways.

    The first stanza is beautiful by the way. The rest of it is as well (especially that delicious bit about "taming letters") but the first one bore deeper into me than they did. As it should, I believe. Since this moves like an extended echo - beautifully softening the hard impact of the reality you initially stabbed me with.
    | Posted on 2009-05-13 00:00:00 | by ANGELO | [ Reply to This ]
      sorry, me again. One really minor nit picky thing. I dont like the ... at the end. I think no punctuation would be best. Thats just me though.
    | Posted on 2009-05-06 00:00:00 | by leftof_red | [ Reply to This ]
      wow, absolutly superlative. Top to bottom, really exquisitly written. So many lines I found myself repeating for the simple asthetic of it, "north borne, tossed" and "bucher brahm's lullaby" especially. I am really quite blown away by this. Loved it.
    | Posted on 2009-05-06 00:00:00 | by leftof_red | [ Reply to This ]
      I like this. And I like what this izzy person does for you. Gets gears whirring somehow, I think.

    On my first reading, the 4th stanza caught my attention.
    "North borne, tossed
    Toward a half-formed sky"
    It's like flying into a storm.
    On further readings, the impression of flying in a storm solidified for me; then became more like being the storm flying above the world.
    There is a sh!tstorm of opinion in the world.
    Sometimes it can bend us, and make us quiet. Or make us wrestle with silent words instead of singing out loud.
    Sometimes we can find a way to ride the storm as if it were a high-spirited thoroughbred.
    Sometimes we become the storm ourselves.
    After all, if storms are a part of nature, why not give in to the inevitable and enjoy the ride?

    Hm.
    You seem to be a bit of a gear-turner yourself, Mr. Bill.
    Thanks for a great read, and a mental kick in the slats.


    | Posted on 2009-05-06 00:00:00 | by latentlylyrical | [ Reply to This ]
      i read this yesterday, and funny enough Dylan's simple twist of fate played on the radio on my way into work.

    and maybe it is, that i hope too much for something i can't explain, yet can't stamp out, and hope for still.

    i suppose it is time to just settle into believing again in the things that are in front of me.

    yet i have these moments, though sometimes small, they seem enormous and all encompassing. like being on my stoop, thinking about the things i can't change and coming to terms, yet a bit of something good to think about sneaks in, and i find grace in the process. it is humbling and sweet and satisfying.

    not sure where i am going with all of this...
    but i thank you Bill, for being just as you are. happy to be somewhat of an inspiration for another poem by you.

    you are a peach.
    | Posted on 2009-05-05 00:00:00 | by isabella | [ Reply to This ]
      Things I Didn't Know I Loved
    Nazim Hikmet

    it's 1962 March 28th
    I'm sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
    night is falling
    I never knew I liked
    night descending like a tired bird on a smoky wet plain
    I don't like
    comparing nightfall to a tired bird

    I didn't know I loved the earth
    can someone who hasn't worked the earth love it
    I've never worked the earth
    it must be my only Platonic love

    and here I've loved rivers all this time
    whether motionless like this they curl skirting the hills
    European hills crowned with chateaus
    or whether stretched out flat as far as the eye can see
    I know you can't wash in the same river even once
    I know the river will bring new lights you'll never see
    I know we live slightly longer than a horse but not nearly as long as a crow
    I know this has troubled people before
    and will trouble those after me
    I know all this has been said a thousand times before
    and will be said after me

    I didn't know I loved the sky
    cloudy or clear
    the blue vault Andrei studied on his back at Borodino
    in prison I translated both volumes of War and Peace into Turkish
    I hear voices
    not from the blue vault but from the yard
    the guards are beating someone again
    I didn't know I loved trees
    bare beeches near Moscow in Peredelkino
    they come upon me in winter noble and modest
    beeches are Russian the way poplars are Turkish
    "the poplars of Izmir
    losing their leaves. . .
    they call me The Knife. . .
    lover like a young tree. . .
    I blow stately mansions sky-high"
    in the Ilgaz woods in 1920 I tied an embroidered linen handkerchief
    to a pine bough for luck

    I never knew I loved roads
    even the asphalt kind
    Vera's behind the wheel we're driving from Moscow to the Crimea
    Koktebele
    formerly "Goktepé ili" in Turkish
    the two of us inside a closed box
    the world flows past on both sides distant and mute
    I was never so close to anyone in my life
    bandits stopped me on the red road between Bolu and Geredé
    when I was eighteen
    apart from my life I didn't have anything in the wagon they could take
    and at eighteen our lives are what we value least
    I've written this somewhere before
    wading through a dark muddy street I'm going to the shadow play
    Ramazan night
    a paper lantern leading the way
    maybe nothing like this ever happened
    maybe I read it somewhere an eight-year-old boy
    going to the shadow play
    Ramazan night in Istanbul holding his grandfather's hand
    his grandfather has on a fez and is wearing the fur coat
    with a sable collar over his robe
    and there's a lantern in the servant's hand
    and I can't contain myself for joy
    flowers come to mind for some reason
    poppies cactuses jonquils
    in the jonquil garden in Kadikoy Istanbul I kissed Marika
    fresh almonds on her breath
    I was seventeen
    my heart on a swing touched the sky
    I didn't know I loved flowers
    friends sent me three red carnations in prison

    I just remembered the stars
    I love them too
    whether I'm floored watching them from below
    or whether I'm flying at their side

    I have some questions for the cosmonauts
    were the stars much bigger
    did they look like huge jewels on black velvet
    or apricots on orange
    did you feel proud to get closer to the stars
    I saw color photos of the cosmos in Ogonek magazine now don't
    be upset comrades but nonfigurative shall we say or abstract
    well some of them looked just like such paintings which is to
    say they were terribly figurative and concrete
    my heart was in my mouth looking at them
    they are our endless desire to grasp things
    seeing them I could even think of death and not feel at all sad
    I never knew I loved the cosmos

    snow flashes in front of my eyes
    both heavy wet steady snow and the dry whirling kind
    I didn't know I liked snow

    I never knew I loved the sun
    even when setting cherry-red as now
    in Istanbul too it sometimes sets in postcard colors
    but you aren't about to paint it that way
    I didn't know I loved the sea
    except the Sea of Azov
    or how much

    I didn't know I loved clouds
    whether I'm under or up above them
    whether they look like giants or shaggy white beasts

    moonlight the falsest the most languid the most petit-bourgeois
    strikes me
    I like it

    I didn't know I liked rain
    whether it falls like a fine net or splatters against the glass my
    heart leaves me tangled up in a net or trapped inside a drop
    and takes off for uncharted countries I didn't know I loved
    rain but why did I suddenly discover all these passions sitting
    by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
    is it because I lit my sixth cigarette
    one alone could kill me
    is it because I'm half dead from thinking about someone back in Moscow
    her hair straw-blond eyelashes blue

    the train plunges on through the pitch-black night
    I never knew I liked the night pitch-black
    sparks fly from the engine
    I didn't know I loved sparks
    I didn't know I loved so many things and I had to wait until sixty
    to find it out sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
    watching the world disappear as if on a journey of no return

    19 April 1962
    Moscow


    Trans. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk (1993)


    sorry, was just reading this and wanted to share.
    great tribute to g, quiet one.
    | Posted on 2009-05-05 00:00:00 | by meoww | [ Reply to This ]
      You know what I think Bill. I voted WOW 5. Ted.
    | Posted on 2009-05-04 00:00:00 | by edcherry | [ Reply to This ]
      izzy huh?

    yeah i can definately see it. i don't know her much beyond her poetry here, but i can definately see this working well...almost in response, or further poetecisms.(if that's a word)

    well, the word plays are nice, and theres something so right on. something in your anomalies, and her form.

    it's a little tricky following the adress, for me at least.

    Does the world wish
    It had another mouth
    To form soft promises
    Or fire devils out?

    that stanza is like....un-wickedly wicked.

    | Posted on 2009-05-04 00:00:00 | by cornonthekob | [ Reply to This ]


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