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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: FINDELKINDdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: hanuman
    ASL Info:    3 score & 10 & some!
    Elite Ratio:    5.99 - 804/1015/239
    Words: 314
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 774
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2153



    Description:
       Oh dear! I promised to write a poem called Findelkind, but I wasn't truly inspired and writing this was sheer hard work and at the moment I am most dissatisfied with it. Regard this as a rough draft. It is full of flaws, which I don't mind at all you illuminating.


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

    dotsFINDELKINDdots
    -------------------------------------------


    Topped and tailed in the one bed
    the other sturdy children clasped their ears
    against their mother's labour screams.
    No midwife came through the dark night.
    no knock at the door, no-one witness bore.

    Imago, nymph, changeling child,
    red-faced uakari monkey cub,
    more incubus than cherub.
    With his wizened face and wise eyes
    he saw how best to parasitize.

    Some say he was a doorstep brat
    left by a whore in a launderette
    or wrapped in a shawl of Brussels lace.
    Some say he was born in a lacy caul
    with a shock of white lanugo fur.

    He grew a shy, introverted soul,
    not like his sturdy, jovial kin.
    But they still suckled and sustained him.
    loved, fed and clad their cuckoo chick,
    the fosterling with ever open beak.

    Until he shamed them with things unsaid:
    the poverty of their language,
    his interest in philosophy,
    his musical virtuosity,
    their profound inadequacy.

    And yet his warbler parents gave no hint
    they had raised in vain a findelkind.
    He would one day hunch his shoulders
    and tip all memory of their love
    over the guano gunwale of his nest.

    As a teenager he was already convinced,
    As he was cauled so was he called
    by such an auspicious omen
    to some remarkable career,
    some life of true significance.

    Perhaps he was Goethe personified,
    reliving the sorrows of young Werther;
    perhaps he was destined to be
    a transsexual reincarnation
    of a noble German poetess.

    As the years progressed, nothing came,
    no conflagration from that first bright flame.
    The humdrum mundane wore him down
    to a shade of grey obscurity.
    As candle guttered, at last he uttered:

    I have served now my time on earth;
    I have deserved; I am truly worth.
    I have endured my mortal stint.
    Now worn, transparent, frail,
    Come and reclaim your findelkind.




    Submitted on 2011-02-13 18:48:07     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

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




    ||| Comments |||
      
    Hi Arthur,

    Hope you've been well.

    I agree -- your poems tell stories and it's a breath of fresh air on this site. I appreciate those kinds of poems. Storytelling as a whole has degraded into . . . can we even call it storytelling anymore?

    I'm going to jump right in and offer some opinions:

    Topped and tailed in the one bed
    the other sturdy children clasped their ears
    against their mother's labour screams.


    ". . . in the one bed / the other sturdy" isn't smoothed out; I think it's because of the repetition of "the" so close together. Right off the bat it feels like it stumbles for a fraction of a second too long, making the rhythm not as precise as I've known your work to be.

    No midwife came through the dark night.
    no knock at the door, no-one witness bore.


    Capitalization needed with the second "No" -- or a change in punctuation.

    But they still suckled and sustained him.
    loved, fed and clad their cuckoo chick,


    Same issue as stated above with either capitalization or punctuation.

    As a teenager he was already convinced,
    As he was cauled so was he called


    Here, after the comma, no capitalization needed for "as."

    Now worn, transparent, frail,
    Come and reclaim your findelkind.


    Here, also, with "come."

    I'd also like to mention that compared to your other poems, the rhythm of this poem is not as refined. Maybe do a general looking over, play around with syllables?


    It's been a long time, I hope I have not overstepped in any way. You wanted suggestions based on your description and it's not often I can offer them to you. As already stated, the storytelling is very much appreciated.

    Alia
    | Posted on 2011-03-26 00:00:00 | by O | [ Reply to This ]
      i like the awkwardness in spots..it fits with themes...he didn't fit in...thought he was destined for greatness...felt superior...and then when it didn't work out and he found he was one of them...he still didn't fit in, because he would never be one of them..he wasn't good enough to be average...
    reminded me a bit of Dee in "Everyday Use"

    looking for something to grab onto..never finding it...and acting superior toward everyone...vanity conceals a lot...

    this piece took me for a deep ride and reminded me of several people i have known...and more than disliked...i felt sorry for them...

    i also thought of those who have achieved fame but feel empty because they can't find connection with their roots...and can't feel connection with other people.

    nice work
    | Posted on 2011-02-14 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]
      You are one of the only people on this site, perhaps the only person, who writes poems which are stories.

    The melodic rhythm of this recalls a nursery rhyme-- but a Grimm's type tale, with this undercurrent of darkness.

    The obsolete words you use add to this effect: incubus, parasitize, caul, kin. It feels like a fairy tale for grown-ups.

    I like where you've taken the word Findelkind. It's so very different to what I would have come up with. And so much more interesting. You say you weren't inspired-- I'd say this story is great. Compelling. It feels inspired in and of itself.

    I can see where the rhythm needs work in some places- though I get the impression that where you list this changeling's qualities which differ from those of his 'parents' this is quite deliberate, and to good effect. It makes the differences stand out all the more acutely.

    The sonics in this are great, by the way-- I'm especially liking humdrum mundane. That's a good phrase to read aloud.

    The appeal at the end was poingnant, and settled well with the idea that he had not come to his hoped glory. He was, after all, a little like the family who raised him. It surprised me, too-- I know you do not mention religion explicitly, there, but there is that undertone. It is apt, though, fits the old-fashioned quality to this.

    I think it's good stuff so far. I'm looking forward to seeing how it progresses.

    Take care,

    Aly
    | Posted on 2011-02-14 00:00:00 | by AlyRose | [ Reply to This ]
      Arthur, this is so good and easy, I mean it's got your usual flair for detail (perhaps even less detail, which adds to that easy, adds to that flair) but holy cow, you've got some wonderful sonics in here. The pleasure would be to reread and reread it.

    I understand that metrics and pacing are devices that can and should be used to lend meaning to form, to help tell a story.

    I assume what you've done is intentional, but in the places where you clunked it up, whyever did you clunk it up?
    | Posted on 2011-02-13 00:00:00 | by theludus | [ Reply to This ]


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    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.


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