Adrift on sad sultry morning beams, only
recently released from sulphurous slumber,
I made my weary, hunched and crooked way
dodging sundry other dull-eyed denizens
of this, the jaded metropolis. Of a sudden
what should instantly rise before me,
if not a vision of transcendent loveliness
and exquisite grace beyond compare?
Supressing all signs of astonishment,
I raised my hat in soul-benumbed salute
and refrained, in an excess of difficulty,
from casting myself down upon my knees
in homage to Aphrodite, Astarte, Athena,
Isis, Hecuba, Demeter, Eriu, Persephone,
and said, “My word, seems like a lovely day.”
“Yes,” they replied, “the rain is holding off.”
I staggered away, transfixed, dumbfounded,
my heart all tangled in turbid turmoil,
marking in a moment a clear and solemn resolve
that I would shortly, indubitably, involve my future
and fortune … with the Vision of Venus on the left.
Version 2:
I was walking down the street
when I met two birds and
politely said Hello; I later
married the one with the big ...
well, turns out they were fake,
but she's a jolly young thing and we knock along.
Sitting Down to Write a Poem
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dillingworth
- Prolific Poster
- Posts: 455
- Joined: Wed Aug 17, 2005 2:53 pm
- Location: Oxford, UK
i see what you're getting at here, but not sure it quite works in the execution. for me the contrast between the two "versions" is just too great - too much wordiness and cliche in the first version and too much earthiness in the second. if there was a way of weaving in this contrast without explicitly laying out a re-write in this way the effect would be more subtle and maybe more effective.
Yes, but no. The whole point is to make the contrast as distant and (with a bit of luck) as extreme as possible in a possibly fruitless attempt to show that poetry in its addiction to the beauties of language is losing the plot in terms of reality and what's actually going on. I'm no great fan of Brutal Realism and certainly no enemy of sophistication and elegance whenever it can make its fleeting and sad but appreciated appearances outside the enclosed purlieus of the Super-Rich. This poem is a parody, plain and simple. It's riddled with clichés and heightened language but it's not quite bad enough to be instantly pegged as a parody, OK? It's just enough to make readers feel uneasy. Version 2 is the kicker. I'd just as soon pull it out but if I did that a lot of readers might take the opening version seriously. They would, you know, because it's not actually all that bad in terms of language. In terms of reality, of what actually happened, it's total crap. THAT contrast is what this poem is about or trying to be about or whatever the hell we're doing here ... 
This actually made me think of another age, and version 2 horrible in its comparison - and if this was the point of the poem then you have succeeded. The high-flown language of the first - think Shelly, Byron, etc although I don't think they would be quite so OTT and then the unpoetic language of the times we live. Interesting idea.
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ray miller
- Perspicacious Poster
- Posts: 7482
- Joined: Wed Apr 23, 2008 10:23 am
I think if you tale away the odd sulphurous slumber and turbid turmoil and several goddesses the first poem would be recognisably yours, Bren. I'm not trying to be funny, either. If it were too over the top the point would be lost, I guess.
I don't think anyone refers to women as birds these days, though.
I don't think anyone refers to women as birds these days, though.
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
I contemplate such bitter stuff.