Fabula Mirrabilis- edit

[Patrick92]

Fabula Mirabilis

Now that there are grey hairs upon my head,
And my life has been stretched out before me.
I can only look to the west
And the setting of the sun.

My friends were the lost leaders.
Where had they gone?
I was stranded in the middle of a lake
Of tears and jealousy.
I could not recognise myself in my
Reflection,illuminated by the moonlight.

I was never looked upon with admiration
All forty years back.
I was never one to be out fucking about
With pills and sexual intercourse
I just stayed in listening to Bob Dylan LPs,
Reading Dickens' books
Or the odd Auden poem.
(That speaks volumes of me).

Just pack it up!
Pack it all away.
The sun, the moon and the stars.
Give it up and runaway.
For I allowed for the plucking of sin
And for myself to be proven a coward.
My mind was no fortress
It was a dead branch,
Snapped underfoot by some obese
Jogger.

Now I may as well just fade away.
For I am choking from a want of air.
(This is no longer a place for an old man).
I ask you to come away with me,
To take my hand and lead me
Through deserted city squares,
For, I know that this pavement must surely end.
I must fall into some wilde abyss,
Like a clod being washed away by the sea.

(I can hear the call of drowning human voices,
Calling me away through the night through
The complex twists of deserted passageways.)

I will stumble on the way through to the
Other side. But I will finish this journey
With you at my side.

(For I am ancient, I am old sheets
Of paper, creased and musty.And
My shirt is tucked into my pants.)

A siren will pierce the darkness,
That will surely wake us and shake us through
As we are blown away by a soft, summers breeze.
Leaving us as a heap of dust.


1st draft

Now there are grey hairs upon my head,
And my life had been stretched out before me.
I can only look back and ponder.
Although my head had been brought out
Upon a platter, I was no prophet.
My Ku Klux Klan babushka was never
Brought into sight,
And no one thought me a moster.
(Not even I).
OK, my parents did fuck me up
And I was for a while a stolen child.
But they were always there with a staff
To potect me.
I could have, I would have, set it all alight
But I had not the bottle.

I hear the call of drowning human voices.
And the moaning of aeroplanes overhead.
I have seen it all,
From the dark depths of your night,
To the temperence of all the valleys.
I could never allow for the plucking of sin
Or for myself to be proven a villain.

I was never looked upon with admiration
All forty years back.
I was never one to be out fucking about
With pills and sexual intercourse (that came
Much later for me).
I just stayed in listening to Bob Dylan LPs.
For now I know,
This I now know.
Heaven and hell cannot coexsist.
They aren't the same like I
Always thought they were.

Pack it up!
Pack it all away.
The sun, the moon and the stars
Give it up and runaway,
For I thought my cowardice would
Die evenutally, I was wrong.

I no longer think of hours for I am
Choking from a want of air.
(This is no longer a place for an old man)
And that now I may as well just fade away.
I ask you to come away with me,
Through half-empty streets,
For I know the pavement must surely end.
I must fall into some wilde abyss,
Like a clod being washed away by the sea.

For I am ancient, I wear my trousers high
And the bottoms are rolled.

A siren through the dark,
That will surely wake us and shake us through
As we start to drown too.

[David]

I think I need to be shown a way into this poem. Are you quoting our great predecessors again, Patrick?

Cheers

David

[Patrick92]

ermm in places i certainly am but as u advised I tried not to use as famous lines as in the other one (except the larkin ones). But I couldn't think of a better way to put it
But there are lots of references in here. I'd rather not point them out but if people want an explanation then I shall give it.

[Basnik]

Hi,

I liked the honesty of a lot of this but it's quite rough in terms of form (for me) and needs a lot of shaping. To be honest I think you are overreaching with the scope of the poem and thus don't have as much control as you need to keep it sustained and intense. The autobiographical elements are interesting but the cut and pasting of the other lines doesn't work at all for me - it all seems too easily allusive and the force is theirs not yours. S.1 is not a good start imho, screams look at my allusions and little else. S.5 is the best for me (still too much Prufrock though!)

Anyway, I like your ambition but I feel it needs more control.

Cheers

Rich Basnik

[Patrick92]

there are hardly any allusions to prufrock in this and i think ur entirely wrong because you dont actually know me so these allusions in s1 are obviously not being Ku Klux Klan but refer to other aspects of myself which arent proud of. There are far more illusions to Auden and Larkin in here then Prufrock. and i agree the force isn't as much mine but then its still not finish and still I want to revise it a lot more. And i agree the opening is weak. Then again being quite as blunt as you were doesnt exactly encourage me.

[David]

What would actually be useful would be if you were to list all the allusions (a la Eliot), because I'm sure there are a few (or more than a few) that I'm missing.

Numerically there may be few allusions to Prufrock, but the Prufrockiness of the whole thing seems undeniable. In S5, to which Rich refers, the "half-empty streets" are clearly Eliot's "certain half-deserted streets". I need to read Prufrock again to remind myself of any others, although the way you wear your trousers must be an allusion to Prufrock too. (And didn't you use that actual line in a previous draft? I wish people would leave earlier drafts up when they revise, so that we can compare and contrast.)

The poem is interesting, and - as you can see - productive of discussion. That can't be bad.

Cheers

David

[Patrick92]

I've changed most of this poem and only left two untouched. I hope this is an improvment.

[Basnik]

Hi,

Firstly, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come across as overly blunt. If it's any consolation I wouldn't have commentated on the poem unless I felt it was interesting in the first place. The Prufrock allusion in the first stanza was the 'stretched out before me' cf. 'like a patient...' but this, it seems, was unintentional, so sorry about that. I teach Eliot a lot so perhaps am preconditioned to look for his influence (one of his own great subjects), and certainly saw him as well in the 'half empty streets.'

I do believe that we develop as poets through dialogue and through honest criticism. I've been on the receiving end of some bruisings in my time and some I felt were a bit unwarranted, some were justified and ultimately really helpful. In each case they did make me think and reappraise my motivations and technique. Sorry again if I misjudged the tone.

Rich

[Patrick92]

no you were right I was just being awkward. Anyway I kind of adore eliot but decided to change the the poem to make it much more my own the illusions are now more subtle I think and far more personal. I know it is like prufrock in its feel but for me that isn't bad but it is very personal to me

[Basnik]

Hi again,

I've just read the edit and I really think it works better for me - the tone feels right, and it brings me into the poem. I like a lot of the word play you have going on throughout, and it works more subtly than the first draft. Thanks for replying.

Rich

[Petronius]

I know that I am entering this discussion late but I was intrigued by the Prufrockness. I agree. There are so many echoes from this and other poems. It is very difficult to avoid such echoes when they often occur unknowingly. Perhaps the "Four Quartets " might be better reading. I could wish that you followed Eliot in another way. His poems may look like verse free from structure but they are not. They follow a definite rhythmical pattern although at times the basic meter seems to disappear. Before you attempt verse like Eliot try writing in a strict rhythm. Iambic is the easiest. I know criticism of your work is sometimes hard to accept it is meant kindly. Do you really understand how the stresses in words can build a pattern? There is much in the poem that I like and it appeals to me because I too am ancient. Sorry for one last nit. If the title is wonderful story then there is only one "r" in mirabilis. I had a classical education so I can't help it. Keep writing it is good for the soul.

[Patrick92]

no im fully aware that eliot did write in meter and was a highly disciplined poet.
I have attempted the waste land or the four quartets yet except for a few bits which are magnificent.
I would like to write in meter but I'm only 16 and I don't actually know how I would go about it really something I'll try to learn over the holidays
Also I wasn't really trying to write like eliot at all because I know I can't in the slightest.
And all the allusions in this poem were put in intentionally.

[Petronius]

If you are only sixteen you write better poetry than I did at that age. Well done. If you find the expanations of meter etc. too complex, look in the dictionary of poetic terms on this site. I will help if you have questions.

[Patrick92]

Thank you very much.
I understand the principles of iambic meters and so on however, I'm not sure if I could manage it quite the same. Probably just a question of practice.

[Petronius]

Back again. I have been thinking about the quotations that Eliot uses in the Waste Land and it seems to me that every time he uses a quotation from the past to contrast with the present. eg. Goodnight ladies.... with the Hamlet...Goodnight sweet,sweet ladies etc. or When lovely lady stoops to folly with....she puts arecord on the gramophone.

[Patrick92]

Thanks for that petronius...It is certainly interesting how eliot went about his illusions. However, I'm not so well read in more dated texts. I only know a bit of Donne and Milton. And know some Shakespeare but not loads I made allusions to them in this poem. Apart from that I only know Marvell and Johnson. However, I prefer modernist work which is why I made far more allusions to them.