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    dots Submission Name: Saving Daffodilsdots

    Author: cuddledumplin
    ASL Info:    36/ f/UK
    Elite Ratio:    4.08 - 6269/5927/526
    Words: 269
    Class/Type: Poetry/Serious
    Total Views: 1442
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1691

       See, I can write something longer. I'm not sure it's successful, but I've never written anything like it. I realize that this is a difficult subject, but I'd like some feedback, thanks.

    A guglag is a Russian labor camp. Balanda is a salty soup made from fish bones. Stalin (ironically) means "man of steel."

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

    dotsSaving Daffodilsdots

    On cold days his body grew tense,
    for his mind was back in the gulag.
    He ached liked he'd been beaten
    and had swung a hammer all day.
    He remembered pissing on his hands
    in order to feel them, to warm them,
    feeling the stinging of urine
    on the cuts and calluses,
    sometimes feeling ice crystals form.
    He recalled how all day he thought
    of two stale, dry, and often green pieces of bread
    and a ladle of balanda,
    hopefully with an ounce of flesh stuck to the bones,
    hHis mouth stinging from the salt
    and parched with painful thirst.
    He could still see his cell,
    could smell the unemptied bucket,
    see his breath in the gray darkness,
    could feel the floor
    where he laid his pounding head
    and dreamed of blankets.
    There was a crack in the windowless wall
    through which he saw a solitary daffodil
    that had bloomed too early
    but managed to live through the frost and snow.
    Inspired, he resolved to outlive the "Man of Steel,"
    who sent him there.
    His young body grew older and weaker,
    but his spirit was stone.
    The others told him that if you survived the first year,
    you would live to be free:
    he'd even eat the roaches that crawled across the floor,
    for he knew he had to be strong,
    and when he saw the outside world,
    he learned that his dream had come true.
    He laughed a laugh of victory
    when he heard Stalin was dead.
    Every year he saves the first daffodil,
    and he smiles like he is seventeen again

    Submitted on 2004-09-27 03:17:47     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

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

    ||| Comments |||
      Ah, now I remember! I read this piece awhile back and I was about to comment when something dragged me away and I said to myself I'd return later and obviously I never did.

    Shame on me.

    This is a wonderful piece, and the very fact that I remembered it <I must have read it over a month ago> almost line for line, says something about it. I could take this one as a fave too, but I already feel greedy grabbing two, and so I will forbear. It will, however, remain etched in my memory in the weeks to come, which is really where I keep all my faves anyway.

    Your work is fresh and wonderfully realized and I'm so happy to have stumbled upon it I'd dance a jig if I knew how it was done properly. As it stands, I'll have to reduce it to the Ruskie shuffle . . . and imagine I hear the music of the pipes . . .
    | Posted on 2005-04-27 00:00:00 | by Vancrown | [ Reply to This ]
      omg wut an amazing peice...I can't think of a word to give this poem justice..but it was great! I loved the imaginary, Im sorry to make this short...but i have to go now...Your a great writer!
    | Posted on 2005-04-12 00:00:00 | by Thinkingofyou | [ Reply to This ]
      This was so good it made me shiver from the cold ( too weak a word) imagery that rose from its frozen depths and grasped onto the reader.
    When I first heard "man of steel" I knew right away what you were talking about, but it is still much more clear when you add Stalin's name to the end. You really capture the sense of surival many on the Siberian Plains must have felt, I believe that is what you were talking about right? The calluses on the hands helped clear it up for me beacause some of the prisoners were forced to work. I've read many accounts of war time attrocitites and you capture their pain wonderfully. The single daffodil makes it beautiful for it draws a parallel between the mans solo pain in the cold and the flowers. I read it three times and each time I liked it even more. Thank you so much for the read and I hope I read fututre works.
    | Posted on 2005-04-07 00:00:00 | by ConScribe | [ Reply to This ]
      Oh what an amazing piece! I loved the vivd imagery *pissing on his hands* sticks in my mind. I loved the determination and strength of this man. It was truly an inspring piece and forever more I will use the daffodil as anchor to bring more strength in when i need it. Thankyou for the gift :)

    | Posted on 2005-04-06 00:00:00 | by elephantasia | [ Reply to This ]
      This was a very moving piece. I could imagine myself there with him. It's amazing what humans can endure and still manage with their mind still in tact.
    | Posted on 2005-03-10 00:00:00 | by Pogirl | [ Reply to This ]
      Hi Amy, that is a gut wrenching piece. But the effect is this, that the trials he lived through bore straight down into me and them we find, he's free. And the daffodil is a beautiful symbol and It comes to fill the void his life became. But he kept his mind, your poem shows and he survived, to pick daffodils of his own. The existentialist Victor Frankl was in a prison camp during World War II and he writes of longing for his wife, and knowing how much he loved her. I think his book is called The Meaning of Life, and it's very similar.
    Congratulations, cuddle dear, this is a wonderful piece
    and I'm proud for you.
    | Posted on 2005-02-07 00:00:00 | by nansofast | [ Reply to This ]
      i wanted to be one of the first to congratulate you on the golden ribbon for this. i don't know if the ribbon is up yet, but it says so in the forum under Site Feedback and Feather Awards. you so deserve it! this is such a poignant piece, brutal but with hope. you go girl! you rock to the tenth power!!!

    | Posted on 2005-02-06 00:00:00 | by magnicat | [ Reply to This ]
      I have said it before and I will say it again. You use the word 'for' a bit much, and in the same way:

    "I cannot breathe
    For you no longer fill
    My lungs
    With lust, hate
    Or love
    For you have left me
    And with you
    My oxygen"

    See how I used the word? You use it like that A LOT! Not to say that you write like what I wrote, just that you use 'for' the same way.
    | Posted on 2004-09-29 00:00:00 | by Black Rock Tractor | [ Reply to This ]
      "There was a crack in the windowless wall
    Through which he saw a solitary daffodil" I love this part! A windowless wall with a crack symbolizes an old wall, one where many other prisioners might possibly peaked through. Or even created that crack as an attempt to escape. I'm about to turn 17 so I liked the last two lines as well. This is something different but still very good. I wish I had something to help make it better but I can't criticize talent. Great job!
    | Posted on 2004-09-27 00:00:00 | by borderlinetears | [ Reply to This ]
      very well done, Amy. two things: "parched with painful thirst," not "parced," and i'd suggest changing "That sent him there" to "Who sent him there," because you're speaking of a person. Stalin was a heartless bas.tard. ever seen the movie "Stalin?" brutal. i love the way you use the daffodil as a symbol of hope and how the guy saves the first daffodil of the season in remembrance. very very nicely done.
    | Posted on 2004-09-27 00:00:00 | by magnicat | [ Reply to This ]
      The title is woven in very intricately, and the mention again at the end was a nice surprise twist in the story. I liked this, and am no speller, but I think you need to look at parched and add the "h" in there. That's ironic because usually I'm hearing get the "h" outta here!
    | Posted on 2004-09-27 00:00:00 | by Sandburg | [ Reply to This ]
      this one is great (but that has nothing to do with the lenght of it). it has to do with the great images and how vividly, almost graphic (but that's how it must have been) you portrayed his situation. I like the positive ending. the world's cruel enough so why not let this poor guy be free finally. and it's always the little things that people hold onto in desperate situations like that. only one thing: proofread it. I found some little typos. but they're forgiven cause you must have posted this very early.
    anyway this is a great poem. I liked it very much.
    | Posted on 2004-09-27 00:00:00 | by eve1684 | [ Reply to This ]
      I must again again say how impressed I am with your work. The small typos did nothing to distract from the overall beauty of the piece. The suggested retitle was a good idea. It this pure imagination or do you know someone who has had these experiences? No matter it was a great read.
    | Posted on 2004-09-27 00:00:00 | by dmm | [ Reply to This ]
      Amy, this is great. I was going to suggest to you that if you feel in something of a rut, why not focus on a different style of writing, but I see that you pre-empted me.

    When I was reading this it really brought me back to being a little girl, reading a book called "I Am David". I can't remember exactly who wrote it but it's a famous story of a little boy who escapes from a concentration camp.

    However, because I read the description, when I began reading I thought that this may have been about Stalin himself (my Russian history is pretty non-existent).

    I don't like the title and if it were my own piece I would have called it "Saving Daffodils" or something, While "Cold Victory" is fine, it just... doesn't do it for me.

    You have a couple of typos, as I'm sure you'll see when you re-read this, but seeing as it's 4am over there, I reckon you're probably knackered and so I forgive your transgressions :P

    I really liked the lines about weeing on his hands. I've actually had to do that myself, so it was... a bit like a thunderbolt, and it really injects that cold, honest horror aspect to it, you know how some books/poems/pictures have things... shreads of humanityin its basest form that entrall the reader, and capture us and make them memorable. Well, your poem has this throughout. It's the same kind of literary rubbernecking as reading about the exploits of prostitutes and morticians.

    My favourite lines were the last two. I'd prefer it if it were "seventeen", and some more punctuation, but I guess I can't have everything!
    Great work Amy, feel proud... AND GET SOME SLEEP!
    | Posted on 2004-09-27 00:00:00 | by Learah | [ Reply to This ]
      Thank for commenting on my stop light piece. no there isn't really much point to it. i like this piece i think that you were very sucessful at conveying the images without spoonfeeding it. I agree that you do use for a bit much for my liking. Thanks again
    | Posted on 2004-10-19 00:00:00 | by shaman | [ Reply to This ]

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