Size Eight Still / revision 4
Revision 4
Between poplars
and a strip of kale
wood sorrel thirsts
through cracks
I come
to see the kestrels
in the gable
of the aircraft hanger,
the boot print
where concrete set
securing your attempt
at immortality -
Rain pools
in the heel.
Leaves linger,
line the tread:
I place my foot in yours
dislodge the crud.
For an instant
I’m rooted
with wings
to fledge.
Revision 3
The track between the poplar row
and strip of kale is gated now;
wood sorrel grows in thinner tufts
through cracks in tyre ruts
that deepen with the seasons.
Spring, I return to see the kestrels
in the gable of the old tithe barn;
then further on, in the hanger yard,
the boot print where concrete set
securing your attempt at immortality.
Today, evening rain pools in the heel
where autumn leaves linger,
reduced to mulch, lining the tread
like threshing on a stable floor.
I place my foot in yours, dislodge the crud.
Revision 2
The track between the poplar row
and strip of kale is gated now;
wood sorrel grows in thinner tufts
through cracks in tyre ruts
that deepen with the seasons.
Spring, I return to see the kestrels
in the gable of the old tithe barn;
then further on, in the hanger yard,
the boot print where concrete set
too late to spoil your attempt
at immortality. It seemed peculiar
to me then, for you to act that way.
Today, evening rain pools in the heel
where autumn leaves linger,
reduced to mulch, lining the tread
like threshing on a stable floor.
I place my foot in yours, dislodge the crud.
Revision
The track between the poplar row
and strip of kale is gated now;
wood sorrel grows in thinner tufts
through cracks in tyre ruts
that deepen with the seasons.
Spring, I return to see the kestrels
in the gable of the old tithe barn;
then further on, in the hanger yard,
the boot print where concrete set
too late to spoil your attempt
at immortality. It seemed defeatist
to me then, for you to act that way.
Today, evening rain pools in the heel
where autumn leaves linger,
reduced to mulch, lining the tread
like threshing on a stable floor.
I place my foot in yours, dislodge
the sludge, and step off into dusk.
Original
The track between the poplar row
and strip of kale is gated now;
wood sorrel grows in thinner tufts
through cracks in tyre ruts
that deepen with the seasons.
Spring, I return to see the kestrels
in the gable of the old tithe barn;
then further on, in the hanger yard,
the boot print where concrete set
too late to scupper your attempt
at immortality. It seemed churlish
to me then, for you to think that way.
Between poplars
and a strip of kale
wood sorrel thirsts
through cracks
I come
to see the kestrels
in the gable
of the aircraft hanger,
the boot print
where concrete set
securing your attempt
at immortality -
Rain pools
in the heel.
Leaves linger,
line the tread:
I place my foot in yours
dislodge the crud.
For an instant
I’m rooted
with wings
to fledge.
Revision 3
The track between the poplar row
and strip of kale is gated now;
wood sorrel grows in thinner tufts
through cracks in tyre ruts
that deepen with the seasons.
Spring, I return to see the kestrels
in the gable of the old tithe barn;
then further on, in the hanger yard,
the boot print where concrete set
securing your attempt at immortality.
Today, evening rain pools in the heel
where autumn leaves linger,
reduced to mulch, lining the tread
like threshing on a stable floor.
I place my foot in yours, dislodge the crud.
Revision 2
The track between the poplar row
and strip of kale is gated now;
wood sorrel grows in thinner tufts
through cracks in tyre ruts
that deepen with the seasons.
Spring, I return to see the kestrels
in the gable of the old tithe barn;
then further on, in the hanger yard,
the boot print where concrete set
too late to spoil your attempt
at immortality. It seemed peculiar
to me then, for you to act that way.
Today, evening rain pools in the heel
where autumn leaves linger,
reduced to mulch, lining the tread
like threshing on a stable floor.
I place my foot in yours, dislodge the crud.
Revision
The track between the poplar row
and strip of kale is gated now;
wood sorrel grows in thinner tufts
through cracks in tyre ruts
that deepen with the seasons.
Spring, I return to see the kestrels
in the gable of the old tithe barn;
then further on, in the hanger yard,
the boot print where concrete set
too late to spoil your attempt
at immortality. It seemed defeatist
to me then, for you to act that way.
Today, evening rain pools in the heel
where autumn leaves linger,
reduced to mulch, lining the tread
like threshing on a stable floor.
I place my foot in yours, dislodge
the sludge, and step off into dusk.
Original
The track between the poplar row
and strip of kale is gated now;
wood sorrel grows in thinner tufts
through cracks in tyre ruts
that deepen with the seasons.
Spring, I return to see the kestrels
in the gable of the old tithe barn;
then further on, in the hanger yard,
the boot print where concrete set
too late to scupper your attempt
at immortality. It seemed churlish
to me then, for you to think that way.
Last edited by 1lankest on Thu Sep 06, 2018 2:50 pm, edited 7 times in total.
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Really good idea, well achieved till the end. Why would it seem churlish to you for them to seek that form of immortality? No sure churlish the right word. Also why would the concrete set too late to scupper? Too early maybe.
Think the concept behind this really good and the language you use taut, but the end needs to be reworked.
Think the concept behind this really good and the language you use taut, but the end needs to be reworked.
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Enjoyed the language, rhythm very much. Like steamboats I'm puzzled by the ending. Do you mean
the boot print where concrete set
too late and scuppered your attempt
at immortality. It seemed churlish
to me then, for you to think that way.
But churlish seems the wrong word to me also.
the boot print where concrete set
too late and scuppered your attempt
at immortality. It seemed churlish
to me then, for you to think that way.
But churlish seems the wrong word to me also.
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
I think 'churlish' fits well, since it was then not now. A very evocative rather memory-laden piece which I thought was very finely done. Kudos, LUKE!!
Cheers, Bren
Cheers, Bren
Last edited by dedalus on Wed Dec 03, 2014 6:01 am, edited 1 time in total.
Thanks guys, I'm really confused now!
The concrete was wet (thus set too late), leaving the subject with a chance to imprint her boot sole there?
If the concrete had set the subject wouldn't have had a chance - hence scuppered.
To me the way I've written it makes sense?
But clearly it's not working.
Help!
Luke
The concrete was wet (thus set too late), leaving the subject with a chance to imprint her boot sole there?
If the concrete had set the subject wouldn't have had a chance - hence scuppered.
To me the way I've written it makes sense?
But clearly it's not working.
Help!
Luke
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Reading carefully, set too late works fine for me.
Not convinced by churlish - also you to think seems wrong, as we're not sure of her motives, just her action. Plus you're saying churlish to you then - which implies you may have revised your opinion now, but you don't follow that idea up.
Ros
Not convinced by churlish - also you to think seems wrong, as we're not sure of her motives, just her action. Plus you're saying churlish to you then - which implies you may have revised your opinion now, but you don't follow that idea up.
Ros
Rosencrantz: What are you playing at? Guildenstern: Words. Words. They're all we have to go on.
___________________________
Antiphon - www.antiphon.org.uk
___________________________
Antiphon - www.antiphon.org.uk
Hi, Luke. I like this piece. Personally I had no trouble with the sense of the concrete setting too late to resist the bootprint. I seem to be on outside of the readings so far: while I too don't know why churlish was how N felt at the time; I just accept that it was the case and am left to ponder on that churlishness - which I don't find problematic.
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I am not sure that either "churlish" or "childish" quite suggest a charge of "defeatism". I wonder: why not say "defeatist" if it is the word that best fits?1lankest wrote:And would 'childish' be better than churlish? I chose churlish to suggest ignoble defeatism in the face of mortality.
Seth
We fray into the future, rarely wrought
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
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The concrete passage is clear to me now, post-explanation. I'm inclined to think it's the concluding sentence that fools the reader into misinterpretation. I can't see what churlish has to do with it. Reading between the lines you seem to want something like faithless?
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
Thanks ros, I see your point. I hoped the action would imply the thought? Would 'for you to act that way' be better?
Do you it needs expanding to fulfil itself?
Thanks Seth, that's a very good idea. Think I'll take defeatist. How strange not to think of it the first time.
Thanks elotrooso. Glad you liked it.
Cheers Ray, do you think defeatist would work?
Do you it needs expanding to fulfil itself?
Thanks Seth, that's a very good idea. Think I'll take defeatist. How strange not to think of it the first time.
Thanks elotrooso. Glad you liked it.
Cheers Ray, do you think defeatist would work?
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Yeah, I think defeatist works and the added verses have enhanced the original, though perhaps tread/bed is too pat a rhyme.
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
Luke, quite like the new ending
"dislode/the sludge, and step off into dusk." The sonics are great; the d, s, d sounds are lovely; there's a sense of motion that is brought up short by the last word being monosyllabic and ending on the hard consonant. It is like "Poof, gone, over, the end." An exclamation mark withot an exclamation mark. Yup.
O
"dislode/the sludge, and step off into dusk." The sonics are great; the d, s, d sounds are lovely; there's a sense of motion that is brought up short by the last word being monosyllabic and ending on the hard consonant. It is like "Poof, gone, over, the end." An exclamation mark withot an exclamation mark. Yup.
O
Oh heck. I don't understand the defeatism. Why would it be defeatist (shocking pun, by the way - de feetest) for her to attempt immortality? Quite bold, on the contrary, surely?
I'm missing something fundamental here, clearly. A simple explanation will suffice to clear my furrowed brow, Luke.
Cheers
David
I'm missing something fundamental here, clearly. A simple explanation will suffice to clear my furrowed brow, Luke.
Cheers
David
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No, I'm not getting defeatist either, Luke.David wrote:Oh heck. I don't understand the defeatism. Why would it be defeatist (shocking pun, by the way - de feetest) for her to attempt immortality? Quite bold, on the contrary, surely?
I'm missing something fundamental here, clearly. A simple explanation will suffice to clear my furrowed brow, Luke.
Cheers
David
Ros
Rosencrantz: What are you playing at? Guildenstern: Words. Words. They're all we have to go on.
___________________________
Antiphon - www.antiphon.org.uk
___________________________
Antiphon - www.antiphon.org.uk
Hi guys, fair question.
I was hoping to suggest that to attempt to transcend one's mortality through any material act (religious worship, imprinting one's boot in concrete) is in a sense an act of surrender, and thus churlish, ignoble or defeatist. It is to deny the wonderfully unlikely accident of our transient existences. I see it could conversely be seen as defiant, but that's not my world view.
Writing this now it seems stupid and over ambitious.....
Hear hear, I hear you echo!
Luke
I was hoping to suggest that to attempt to transcend one's mortality through any material act (religious worship, imprinting one's boot in concrete) is in a sense an act of surrender, and thus churlish, ignoble or defeatist. It is to deny the wonderfully unlikely accident of our transient existences. I see it could conversely be seen as defiant, but that's not my world view.
Writing this now it seems stupid and over ambitious.....
Hear hear, I hear you echo!
Luke
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No, I won't echo it. It seems neither stupid or over/ambitious. However, that the act would be defeatist for specifically the reason you give may be something that is not peeping from the text quite enough as yet?1lankest wrote:Hi guys, fair question.
I was hoping to suggest that to attempt to transcend one's mortality through any material act (religious worship, imprinting one's boot in concrete) is in a sense an act of surrender, and thus churlish, ignoble or defeatist. It is to deny the wonderfully unlikely accident of our transient existences. I see it could conversely be seen as defiant, but that's not my world view.
Writing this now it seems stupid and over ambitious.....
Hear hear, I hear you echo!
Luke
Seth
We fray into the future, rarely wrought
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
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Hi Luke
I’m coming to this rather late, so appreciate you may feel that all has been said and done already.
I’ve read all the comments, so understand the intent of the author and the confusion of the readers.
Reading this for the first (and second and third) times, S4 appears to be where the poem closes ranks and forces the reader along the same track as the author. I suspect S4 may be the most personal part of the poem, but I wonder if you could consider cutting it?
I appreciate that the philosophy is lost without S4, but wonder if the piece is then opened out for readers. While there are lots of gaps in an S4-free version, I suspect readers could bring their own experience to fill them.
best wishes
og
I’m coming to this rather late, so appreciate you may feel that all has been said and done already.
I’ve read all the comments, so understand the intent of the author and the confusion of the readers.
Reading this for the first (and second and third) times, S4 appears to be where the poem closes ranks and forces the reader along the same track as the author. I suspect S4 may be the most personal part of the poem, but I wonder if you could consider cutting it?
I appreciate that the philosophy is lost without S4, but wonder if the piece is then opened out for readers. While there are lots of gaps in an S4-free version, I suspect readers could bring their own experience to fill them.
best wishes
og
Hi og,
Thanks for detailed comments.
I get your point but I don't want to dtch it totally.
How about if I change 'defeatist' to 'peculiar', that way it isn't explicitly philosophical and allows the reader to come to their own conclusion about the view point of N?
Luke
Thanks for detailed comments.
I get your point but I don't want to dtch it totally.
How about if I change 'defeatist' to 'peculiar', that way it isn't explicitly philosophical and allows the reader to come to their own conclusion about the view point of N?
Luke
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It's guid. Might be tempted to finish the last line at sludge? Still don't know why it's defeatist though