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    dots Submission Name: Weightdots

    Author: saartha
    ASL Info:    27/F/US
    Elite Ratio:    4.05 - 230/385/134
    Words: 202
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 964
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1299


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


    Even now itís a long sickness,
    deep swamps, the filling
    of empty space with mud.

    Day after day, this. The bodyís
    welling gravity.

    How strange to dig
    fingers into the sand and feel
    the oceanís rough pulse.
    Into the flesh as well,
    the ocean there.

    Little more than the buzz of nerves.
    I know this. I know this. It seems
    too much to know.

    Nothing eases it. You canít say
    here is the end, here
    the beginning, touch it. Pull it to you.

    Listen, it sounds
    like a hurt animal.

    You can only bend at the waist,
    Feel the heavy cringe
    in each cell.

    My heart wants to
    be shot of itself but

    simple things upset me

    so instead I go where the earth
    runs thin and gasping and
    cleave to it.

    then forsake.

    So it is that I compress, fold inward,
    densify. The millstone
    around my neck is

    the way the body is not
    a burden or a freedom but
    the only thing we know.

    Submitted on 2012-02-23 17:44:55     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      This reminds me of something I had written, though I don't think did much justice by and probably won't (and that's not meant to be a vying for anything), and it has a love-poem spin to it, whereas yours does not but that's simply because I cannot write a poem that isn't a love poem in some way. I went back to read it and only found one really salvageable segment: "There is a shape and heaviness an animal feels / when it is human." Anyway, this introduction isn't necessary, but then only so many things are right? I guess I just found it to resonate too strongly to pass by without mention.

    "Even now it's a long sickness" -- What I like most about this opening is the "it" because "it" could be anything, and that's a truth. While you are probably speaking of a specific "it" any of us can fill in with the noun, our own personal sickness to attribute. Poetry, as any art, is obviously a personal medium, but it is also a social one. Which makes it a wonder I even bother with words at all (well, most days, I guess I don't).

    The human condition is a natural condition. I struggle with this, though there is a greater part of me that believes it to be true. It scares me. But rather than "what nourishes us destroys us" we destroy what nourishes us too. And with the human condition there isn't any good or bad, right or wrong, only what is. Not that that means forgoing any kind of betterment. There is always room enough. Humans have always been in this predicament; and also the pointless task of trying to name things, as though that might define them, make them maleable, bearable, understood. It amounts to frustration. "Cleave, / then forsake" yes.

    We are nature, and that can be a strange and unsettling thing sometimes. It can be surprising and wonderful. And yet there is a disconnect involved that makes it strange, unsettling, surprising, wonderful. The nature that we are isn't nearly as aware of us as we are of it.

    Getting it down to a science, that "buzz of nerves" doesn't seem to provide much comfort. I guess what it comes down to is being human is a precarious state at best. Some days I just stare at my hands, wonder what to do with that. Some days I'd really give anything to have been born a different animal altogether; given to simpler sicknesses.

    | Posted on 2012-04-03 00:00:00 | by Lady of Shalott | [ Reply to This ]
      I don't know, it's quite dense and because of that I love that it is little sections. You think it can be read quite quickly, but it can't. And, as with all things word associated, there is the choice:

    when I go through and read the little bits you have I think maybe I would word this differently - or that differently. But then, you encounter a lengthening or a loss of confluence and-all possible meaning - and so, I see. I like the what you did.

    My heart wants to
    be shot of itself but

    simple things upset me
    | Posted on 2012-03-10 00:00:00 | by Daniel Barlow | [ Reply to This ]
      I think this piece is beautifully composed. I love the way you can read it all the way through or read it while following the numbers. Each section helps to illuminate something new.

    So many great lines . . . I love that you repeat "know" in the second stanza of 2. I love ALL of 1b, but especially the beginning, and I really like the bit in 2b and the use of "cleave".

    I'm sorry that I can come up with nothing "constructive" here, I just really like this a lot.


    | Posted on 2012-02-26 00:00:00 | by JanePlane | [ Reply to This ]
      wow, so intensely sad..

    the spirit is fighting but the body sinking in the swamp of sickness...being overtaken..losing its will...

    the body...a burden..ah yes...

    and the heart is in the fight...the physical heart and the emotional heart...flailing at one another.

    i like this piece

    | Posted on 2012-02-24 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]

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