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Promise
Posted: 30 September 2006
Word Count: 121
Summary: This is formed from my contributions to the Renga in Poetry Seminar.
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Final version
Until circles merge
until waves form music
the draw of the moon
will speak verses to the calm breeze.
The air hangs with promise,
droplets dissipate in
autumnal crispness.
While Summer fades
memories bind us close.
Restored by winter’s repose,
with magic in the tongue,
morning rays assure new birth.
The future cuts the chord.
We fly free.
From the exercise
The draw of the moon
spoke verses to the calm breeze;
air hung with promise.
magic on the tongue;
droplets dissipate until
the waves form music.
Summer fades until
its circles merge to make
autumnal crispness
while memories bind us close
the future cuts the chord; we fly free
Restored by winter’s repose
morning rays assure new birth
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Comments by other Members
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 Elsie at 18:13 on 01 October 2006
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Until circles merge
until waves form music
the draw of the moon
will speak verses to the calm breeze. |
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Hi Joanie, in this verse I'm not quite sure what is going on. 'Until waves form music' suggests before the beginning of time - until circles merge - an eclipse, perhaps?
I lke the internal rhyme of dissipate and crispness. The last verse, I think is clearer to me, winter has passed, morning rays warm the soil for new growth, re=birth, hence the cord. I'm not sure who the 'we' is, in the last line. Can you throw me a clue? (Sorry if I'm being thick!)
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 NinaLara at 08:45 on 03 October 2006
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Although I like all the words Joanie, I'm not sure of what is happening in this poem. Perhaps I am just a sucker for a plot! I do think we need to know something abou the 'us' and what our place is in the poem.
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 joanie at 18:32 on 03 October 2006
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Elsie and Nina, thanks very much. All I did, really, was take my contributions to the Renga in PS and keep them pretty much the same, so I totally agree that this probably doesn't make much sense!
I shall treat the second version as a stepping stone to another poem, which I shall post separately, I think.
Thanks for reading and commenting. Much appreciated!
Joan
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 Nell at 07:09 on 04 October 2006
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Hi Joan,
I'm coming a bit late to this, and you're already thinking about revisions, so I'm not sure that my comments will be useful, but here goes anyway.
I think this is one of those poems that speaks to the reader on an almost subconscious level - one that resists probing analysis. You're putting across a very definite feeling, one I recognise. It's to do with deep connections to the mystical side of nature and the turning of the wheel of the year and the changing seasons.
I didn't have a problem with the 'we' or the lack of a story - for me that 'we' could either be the speaker's lover, family, or mankind in general - whatever one feels when reading.
There are quite a few abstractions here; these are contributing to that mystical feeling, yet I wonder if we notice them because as modern poets we're always being told not to use them. Nevertheless I've seen them used with success fairly recently by someone pretty well-known - can't remember who.
The first stanza reminds me of that Noel Harrison hit (showing my age now!) Windmills of your Mind.
It would be an interesting exercise to try a totally modern approach and see what happens - cutting out all abstractions and using concrete imagery - but you'll have a completely different poem, and I do like this one - it definitely speaks to me. It's the exact feeling I have when walking along the cliff path in Dorset. Off on Friday!
Nell.
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joanie at 19:35 on 04 October 2006
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Hi Nell. Thank you very much; I'm glad it spoke to you. That is all the more reason for me to leave this one as it is and also to use it as the basis for a totally different poem, I think.
Enjoy Dorset!
Joan
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paul53 [for I am he] at 08:16 on 07 October 2006
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Final Version.
This comes without knowing anything about the challenge I missed, or studying the earlier draft.
Like Elsie, the opening is akin to coming into a conversation that has already started, but that is the hook, that is the allure. The reader has to be intelligent enough - and avid enough - to fill in the missing pieces. Good poetry has to be a collaboration with its readers. Its like wandering alone and maybe a bit downcast, then turning a corner and coming across a procession filled with determined people. Whether they're happy, determined, blandly resolute, loud or silent, the hook is to want to learn more about them, maybe follow them to see where they are going, or backtrack to see where they originated.
This Final Version has been pared back masterfully to the bare bones, yet leaving enough of the shadow of bare rock from which it was carved.
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