17·Feb·2006 · "Pillow Book" · clutching_calliope

[The Poets]

Pillow Book

Book One – The Book of the Writer

Take this skin and mark it
with words
of topaz eyes
that light upon amber lizards
dreaming of orchids.

Written here, your novel, fingertip
to each kissed and blessed fingertip.
A prayer to sin, to ecstasy,
of all things blended, delicious,
elegant, obscene
as blue women in brown-cracked leather
and Dali-like men as Palomino ponies.

These arms, my plum-stained flesh,
will bear the weight
of the knowledge you have to give
to me for all

(to their knees fallen, consumption
as communion, their tongues
a myriad of calligraphy).

Each breast is
the perfect place to
curl the bottom of your
Y’s. My navel will punctuate
each thought. Ride your riddled imagination,
rapid steam engine, up each needle-tracked thigh.
I think you can. Rounded statements
belong
behind.

(they are blindfolded,
holding bursting pomegranates like sceptres,
spilling seeds, wasting taste, and still
their bloody tongues unfurl
to rasp her sole).

Paint my eyes, my lips,
my sex

(fraught with consternation
the crowd softens at the sight of her prostrate
body withered upon the headboard, a constellation
of burlap crosses at her wrists. Though it is written
she was not a victim.)

and when your master-
piece is complete
sign your name. Make it yours.​

 

[bogusbrig]

When I first read this poem I immediately thought of Peter Greenaway's film The Pillow Book. I don't know if that is your source of inspiration. I'm not your natural audience for this poem but I do like it and can appreciate it's strengths and subtlety. Too subtle in places for my tastes but that is a purely subjective comment about my particular tastes, this is quite obviously a well crafted poem.


Book One – The Book of the Writer

Take this skin and mark it
with words
of topaz eyes
that light upon amber lizards
dreaming of orchids. <- good imagery but I can't help but feel I'm either missing the symbolism or these are just seductive words put together without any real significance to the overall poem.

Written here, your novel, fingertip
to each kissed and blessed fingertip.
A prayer to sin, to ecstasy,
of all things blended, delicious,
elegant, obscene <- when someone writes about sin or obscene, I always feel the need to ask to who are these things sinful, me as the reader or to the characters in the poem or to some third party that sits in judgement? This is nit picking I admit but it spoils the flow for me.
as blue women in brown-cracked leather
and Dali-like men as Palomino ponies. <- I like the imagery here.
These arms, my plum-stained flesh,
will bear the weight
of the knowledge you have to give
to me for all

(to their knees fallen, consumption
as communion, their tongues
a myriad of calligraphy).

Each breast is
the perfect place to
curl the bottom of your
Y’s. My navel will punctuate
each thought. Ride your riddled imagination,
rapid steam engine, up each needle-tracked thigh.
I think you can. Rounded statements
belong
behind.

(they are blindfolded,
holding bursting pomegranates like sceptres,
spilling seeds, wasting taste, and still
their bloody tongues unfurl
to rasp her sole).

Paint my eyes, my lips,
my sex <- sex here is really a problem for me, I prefer the more clinical pudendum or the more earthy pussy or cunt. I can see the problem of using strong words in such a poetic flow but sex in this situation always seems a cop out to me.
(fraught with consternation
the crowd softens at the sight of her prostrate
body withered upon the headboard, a constellation
of burlap crosses at her wrists. Though it is written
she was not a victim.)

and when your master-
piece is complete
sign your name. Make it yours.


I really enjoyed the poem, very seductive and flows nicely.

 

[Liar]

Paint my eyes, my lips,
my sex <- sex here is really a problem for me, I prefer the more clinical pudendum or the more earthy pussy or cunt. I can see the problem of using strong words in such a poetic flow but sex in this situation always seems a cop out to me.

I'll give you my thoughts on the whole poem later, but I just wanted to say this for now:

I react on the s-word as well, but not because it's a "mildification" of what you want to say, but because it's a metonymie in a line of exact nouns. Sex is not a body part, but an activity. To let the word represent the body part by proxy is a quite common use of it. But right here, it didn't play well with the other words, and threw me off track.

 

[ishtat]

Slightly confused

To me this work is like a kaleidoscope of words, lots of colour, suggestions of meaning and it seems well drafted has an interesting rythmn. It is attractive up to a point but I find it too obscure and am unsure what it is about.

That is probably my fault as I tend to miss subtlety quite frequently but nevertheless it is an accurate response. Hopefully, someone else commenting may open my eyes (or mind) but I suspect others may also struggle.

I liked the "Dali-like men" probably the only Dali I've ever liked.

 

[Tathagata]

Pillow Book

Book One – The Book of the Writer

Take this skin and mark it
with words
of topaz eyes
that light upon amber lizards
dreaming of orchids.

What I love about this opening is that it immediately brings you to the " state" if you will, to see the rest of the poem.
It's dreamy and very " Lucy in the Sky" like ( tangerine trees and marmalade skies") a dream world where anything is possible and linear thought will not be the means of expression. sex and love are not linear...if you open your eyes and see the possibilities





Written here, your novel, fingertip
to each kissed and blessed fingertip.
A prayer to sin, to ecstasy,
of all things blended, delicious,
elegant, obscene
as blue women in brown-cracked leather
and Dali-like men as Palomino ponies.

I might eliminate the " and" between kissed and blessed, the image of women in " cracked" leather and pony men could suggest bdsm games, or something as simple as a man being " ridden" by a woman who needs new shoes. The beauty of the ambiguity is that the images and colors can suggest so many things..and the reader can see what he or she wants to see...but still that dreamy mood remains.



These arms, my plum-stained flesh,
will bear the weight
of the knowledge you have to give
to me for all

Plum stained flesh conjures up bruises,after a few read throughs you realize perhaps thats not what you want to show. If you are deliberately trying to throw the reader off if works. If not a different color might be needed.



(to their knees fallen, consumption
as communion, their tongues
a myriad of calligraphy).

Excellent writing



Each breast is
the perfect place to
curl the bottom of your
Y’s. My navel will punctuate
each thought. Ride your riddled imagination,
rapid steam engine, up each needle-tracked thigh.
I think you can. Rounded statements
belong
behind.

This is almost playful..but the " needle tracked thigh" suggests either drugs or tattoos to me..I'm not sure that's what you were going for. If you meant needle as in " quill pen" it came to me as an after thought
still, the " i think I can' train made me laugh and combined a great sexual image with a children's book. I love that


(they are blindfolded,
holding bursting pomegranates like sceptres,
spilling seeds, wasting taste, and still
their bloody tongues unfurl
to rasp her sole).

Very suggestive sensual writing...and the Dom is back lol

Paint my eyes, my lips,
my sex

I think she meant sex, not pussy . Condense this down to a " paint my world" statement or " color my life", again remember he is " writing" her so, in a way, shes saying make me who you want me to be, give me green eyes, red lips, and make me do all the kinky things you've always wanted. Just my interpretation



(fraught with consternation
the crowd softens at the sight of her prostrate
body withered upon the headboard, a constellation
of burlap crosses at her wrists. Though it is written
she was not a victim.)
constellation of burlap...wont come into focus

and when your master-
piece is complete
sign your name. Make it yours.​

All in all an excellent poem. The ending suggests, again, many things. At first you see a murder, then with another reread it is a woman giving herself to a man, or perhaps many men, as inspiration, as a subject to be written about, and then of course, you see it is a lesson, a sacrifice, an exchange of knowledge and souls and ultimately each one gets different things from it. Some get the pleasure of sacrifice, others the pleasure of doing, having, what they've always dreamed of.
The final taste I get is of a women, giving herself up, supposedly, while, in truth, she controls the situation, unbeknownest to him.
Your writing has always struck so may chords in me, that is why I felt I should comment. I love the journey you always take me on, there is sex, and danger, and underneath it all a soft sadness. Your poems always put me in a certain frame of mind and, as I've said before, most things that consistently alter your consciousness are normally considered holy.
It is a pleasure and a mantra to read your work always


SMM

 

[twelveoone]

Pillow Book

Book One – The Book of the Writer

Take this skin and mark it
with words
of topaz eyes
that light upon amber lizards
dreaming of orchids.

I was lost, hopelessly - in love with these opening lines.

Each breast is
the perfect place to
curl the bottom of your
Y’s. My navel will punctuate
each thought. Ride your riddled imagination,
rapid steam engine, up each needle-tracked thigh.
I think you can. Rounded statements
belong
behind.

and I like the shape of this, more please.

not much of a crit, except to say, worth reading again and again.

 

[clutching_calliope]

Thank you

.....

 

[Sabina_Tolchovsky]

I too had wondered about your inspiration and given your illumination I will check it out. I have been a fan of Ewen since "Shallow Grave".




Book One – The Book of the Writer

Take this skin and mark it
with words
of topaz eyes
that light upon amber lizards
dreaming of orchids. <The imagery is dreamy and romantic here, you do a good job of pervaying the erotic feel to begin with. I like the reference to orchids
Written here, your novel, fingertip
to each kissed and blessed fingertip.
A prayer to sin, to ecstasy,
of all things blended, delicious,
elegant, obscene
as blue women in brown-cracked leather
and Dali-like men as Palomino ponies. <I will get on the bandwagon and say I love the Dali reference as well...I have a poem brewing right now to deal with him.
These arms, my plum-stained flesh,
will bear the weight
of the knowledge you have to give
to me for all

(to their knees fallen, consumption
as communion, their tongues
a myriad of calligraphy).

Each breast is
the perfect place to
curl the bottom of your
Y’s. My navel will punctuate
each thought. Ride your riddled imagination,
rapid steam engine, up each needle-tracked thigh. <this gave it a bit of an edge, I have yet to see the movie but from this point on in the poem your pull is a bit darker.
I think you can. Rounded statements
belong
behind.

(they are blindfolded,
holding bursting pomegranates like sceptres,
spilling seeds, wasting taste, and still
their bloody tongues unfurl
to rasp her sole).

Paint my eyes, my lips,
my sex <maybe orchid would be better here than up above...
(fraught with consternation
the crowd softens at the sight of her prostrate
body withered upon the headboard, a constellation
of burlap crosses at her wrists. Though it is written
she was not a victim.)

and when your master-
piece is complete
sign your name. Make it yours.<gorgeous ending...the Master-piece was clever

 

[BooMerengue]

I can't even begin to critique this, Sabina. I just wanted you to know I love it. I wish I could write like this.