Bulls of Art Bear Heavy Hearts
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the subtitle is Hemingway, as it is for the great Ernest. i wrote this one sometime early this year, for a poetry contest at college...i want to say early/mid April this one was, so not too long ago...im trying to find some things to post, because my writing has taken a vacation and didn't tell me where the hell it was going...anyhow. enjoi~
Bulls of Art Bear Heavy Hearts
your canyon grassed over and the bulls became lonely they had to find cliffs to roam, and the only place for them was lamplight and sugar-dusted plains you had yourself believing, for at least this night, that you’d made an Eden in Spain… Your face was shadowed as a matador and was given to haunting, hanging over fireplaces and heavy wooden doors, and I’m sure your gaze could have killed a bull before… High over you carved into verandas and across the sand, on the beachfronts people stand, faces down faces lit, but toasted and bland like Madrid morning cafes’ windows Milky as when the sun first hits, and nearby old men pick raspberries off hedges because they know sanguine juice is the day’s first gem While you sat there frosted and farthest over to the vines, propped against boney clavicle of pearlish fence--as the heat boils the fruit to wine sipping in amaretto air and lightly creamed incense the bulls snort as they stare they too are killed by the morning shiver stone in a warm bath of lanterns, papery orange and crimped by the sun’s humid warning coming up around the bend almost languid over cocoa-colored hills and soft brown whispers where the petals of orchids had all dried and split—those men mumble prayers to their gods of lit windows, gods of purple berries that drop from winding stairways of sinews Your eyes watched them like heavy shades opening small and simple hemispheres their bodies would melt into sunburns, with hands that grip the equator and use it to twist your view from quiet afternoons to evening fiestas, where you’d be when the crowd goes by, in an arc of violet that mixes azure in the sky you’ve made a palace of gold tassels and butterflies tablecloths that rip with your fingers, think thoughts that will slip down the side of the coffee cup and flutter with the breeze And under a canopy of muttered-like lullabies the sleep of the bulls, someday, will give you great ease |
Submitted on 2005-08-16 20:45:38 Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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| This felt like a dream to me-I dont know if it was the refrences to spain (a place I have never been) or the somewhat eccentric but beautiful descriptions flowing about this piece (which I enjoyed imensly by the way), perhaps also it was the continualness of this piece. You talk about the reast to come and this piece was restless and in a way relentless (no periods or line breaks), which fit I think. It kind of gave an insomniac quality to it. I also felt like the writter had an affinity or love for the subject. It felt reminiscent and happy in a way, though I cant tell you why right now. Your eyes watched them like heavy shades opening small and simple hemispheres their bodies would melt into sunburns, with hands that grip the equator and use it to twist your view from quiet afternoons to evening I liked this description peticularly. The idea of time passing by a hand gripping the equator and turning afternoon to evening was very creative. A very good piece. I will have to check out some more of your stuff- Lefty... fiestas, where you’d be when the crowd goes by, in an arc of violet that mixes azure in the sky | Posted on 2005-08-17 00:00:00 | by leftof_red | [ Reply to This ] | Yo you write the most spaced out [censored] man...Actually I'm drunk. But yo its all love. I'm goin to cleveland! Ahhhhhhhh! | shard | Posted on 2005-08-17 00:00:00 | by particularshard | [ Reply to This ] | I need to digest this, but my first instinct is to say that it is marvellous, and I'm as stingy as hell with praise at the best of times. You've certainly established yourself on my horizion as a poet well worth visiting. So Hemingway isn't just a man's man, despite that big game hunting image. Might have guessed that from all the prurple prose in the Old Man and the Sea. The mention of bulls as the victims of bullfighting, makes me a little touchy. Personally I'm all for the bull. | Your poem is rich and evocative with words of colour, smell and taste, conjuring up bright images. This poem has the occasional perhaps accidental rhyme, but good use of alliteration and assonance and vocabulary which is a galaxy away from clichés. Although it is to some extent a prose poem, it nonetheless reads with a controlled, relaxed rhythm. Good stuff. Give me more. | Posted on 2005-08-17 00:00:00 | by hanuman | [ Reply to This ] | Well, April, this is absolutely wonderful. and made especially more delightful for me since I have just finished listening to a superb radio programme all about Hemingway. I hope you won the poetry competition with this superb piece of writing. I can feel the warmth of Spain a in this with all the noises the smell of fresh coffee and the dust. there is such a depth to your descriptions that the vibrant colours of the Bougainvillea and hibiscus are there but also the subtle muted shades of the dry hills and faraway mountains. and I can almost breathe in the scented air. lavender, thyme, marjoram.. and into this beautiful tapestry you have woven this haunted spirit. I could almost weep, for he sounds so lost. and this is made all the more poignant by your beautiful images that he interacts with from beginning to end. I can see that you may have been influenced a little by Jake Barne's lonely sojourns in the tapas bars, but this is most definitely your very original work and something very special indeed. I have read it through several times now and it sounds wonderful. I see that you have received high praise below from Hanuman and if that does not convince you of your worth as an extremely talented poet then I too am lost for any more evidence to state my case! Take the greatest of care... you are treasure. J | | Posted on 2005-08-18 00:00:00 | by Alter idem | [ Reply to This ] | This is yet another truly beautiful thing you ahve shared with us here... I honestley have no words for it April... Having lived in spain for four months myself... I had flashbacks.. You speak of the country as if you had lived not one but many lifetimes there. I only wish I could find it in my to speak of it with half of the grace you have done so here... I wish I could say more, but I honestley am at a loss my friend. | | Posted on 2005-08-21 00:00:00 | by Mithrandir | [ Reply to This ] | Truly, what else can I say that hasn't been said by other commenters? Your use of language is breathtaking and astounding. It just floored me and made me gape. I really have nothing constructive to say, only praise I'm afraid. | And this is why it promptly went onto my fav's list. It's pieces of poetry like this that make me glad that I'm a part of this wonderful worldwide community of Elite Skills. This is so so rich in imagery and contained emotion bursting free like a grape to my lips. And I love grapes. This was the most pointless critique ever. Love your stuff April.  Jase | Posted on 2005-08-24 00:00:00 | by alteredlife | [ Reply to This ] | they know sanguine juice is the day’s first gem | While you sat there frosted .. i really love this line. some sort of biased personal affection that made me taste it several times and i'm probably gonna be chewing on these lines on the way home until it forms some sort of individual image .. and i can't do anything other than be greatful to you for it .. I don't really want to say anything about your images and words as i don't really have any critical things to say about it...well i guess i could say that i found it very natural and personal, not to forced or tied up in structure and external schemes. .. It did seem a little dense, with the no stanzas .. I was almost feeling a bit otu of breath and wanting some sort of hanging point where i did not risk getting lost. However this sort of rantishen feeling about it gives it a quite intense flow.. so even though the style is a bit demanding this could be a good thing ... if you want to be demanding .. and there is nothing wrong with being demanding sometimes .. ..Another thing that i sort of noticed was that sometimes i found myself reading the end of a line with little weight on the word itself .. sort of forced to weigh it and then loose that attention that it seemed was intended for the first word of the next sentence. and example of what i mean is : your canyon grassed over and the bulls became lonely they had to find cliffs to roam, and the only place for them was lamplight and sugar-dusted plains the line that ends in 'and ' and the line that ends in 'only' and starts with place. .. Normally in a sentence structure the last word in the sentence is the one that is the most weighted. The time to leave a non weighted word at the end of a line is sort of when you want a rantishen effect to come out. This is all fine and dandy if it is what you intended. I get a feeling that you might have intended the focus to be on the bulls .. and 'the place for them .. rather than 'and' .. and 'only .. which ..when i read them is the focus .. a wrapping that indicates a leading to something.. ..what i am suggesting is a change along the lines of : your canyon grassed over and the bulls became lonely they had to find cliffs to roam, and the only place for them was lamplight and sugar-dusted plains .. .. now with the restructuring i actually think that 'only' works good at the end of line , because it doesnt fade out or dull the focus of the bulls and the place for them .. .. if that makes sense .. much enjoyed reading your poem. thank you and hope my criticism is somewhat useful gnome-ishen greetings, Christian | Posted on 2005-08-25 00:00:00 | by x-ianhoyskolt | [ Reply to This ] | |
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