28·Aug·2006 · "Song of Everending" · cherries on snow

[WickedEve]

Song of Everending
by cherries on snow

Simple songs paint bright the lips of children
and the colors are pure of subtlety,
undulled by angst. It takes time
to brew that kind of revisionism.
Only scar tissue can twist that sound
twirl it in the throat
so that it singes the air.

When I sing of you, there is no green, no blue
no bright red ripe and staining. This song doesn't
dye, don't worry; it washes off
unless you steep in it. Then you may find
when you strip naked that there is a mark
under the masking, the way a mark is left
under the ring on your finger. With time,
however all marks fade
as do we
into the song too deep for ears
into the song of the universe
hymned by angels
harmonized by whales.​

If I can please get some feedback on this that would be great, whenever there is time (not in any hurry). Thanks to Rybka for his feedback elsewhere. Cheers.

 

[annaswirls]

oh, overall I like it! This line struck me:

"It takes time
to brew that kind of revisionism."

I will try to come back to this, but while I was here, I just wanted to say, nice writing

 

[Rybka]

I like most of the changes you have made very much! ~ After everyone else has given you their thoughts, then let it infuse and steep for awhile (perhaps with comments attached), and then come back and drain the chai from the chaff!

 

[cherries_on_snow]

Thank you Anna and Rybka for responding. I appreciate your taking the time to read it and give a response. I'm already thinking of what to strip from it.

 

[wildsweetone]

Song of Everending
by cherries on snow

Simple songs paint bright the lips of children
and the colors are pure of subtlety,
undulled by angst. It takes time
to brew that kind of revisionism.
Only scar tissue can twist that sound
twirl it in the throat
so that it singes the air.

When I sing of you, there is no green, no blue
no bright red ripe and staining. This song doesn't
dye, don't worry; it washes off
unless you steep in it. Then you may find
when you strip naked that there is a mark
under the masking, the way a mark is left
under the ring on your finger. With time,
however all marks fade
as do we
into the song too deep for ears
into the song of the universe
hymned by angels
harmonized by whales.​

If I can please get some feedback on this that would be great, whenever there is time (not in any hurry). Thanks to Rybka for his feedback elsewhere. Cheers.

Hi CoS, nice to see one of your poems up here for discussion.

I have two thoughts...

what is another metaphor that relates to painting or music that could replace the word 'brew'?

and

stanza 2, line 8, is the word 'however' necessary?

Answers to me aren't necessary, just giving you food for thought.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

TYVM, WSO. You are a fine cook.

 

[wildsweetone]

TYVM, WSO. You are a fine cook.

you use delightful ingredients, thank you.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

Thanks to MET for a valuable suggestion in PM. I appreciate all the feedback I get.

 

[WickedEve]

I like this poem. I did the first time I read it. I don't think there is much to edit. I guess the only thing that I'm not sure about is "harmonized by whales." The line is fine, but it seemed a little odd to me. I read whales and went back and read the poem again, thinking I was missing something. I'm sure it's just me. lol I know the lines makes sense, but I just wasn't expecting whales to pop up in the poem.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

Thank you, Eve. I guess I think of whales as having special universal connections. Must be that Star Trek movie sticking in my head. Thanks for reading it and for the feedback.

 

[Tzara]

As others have said, I quite like this poem. It's full of vivid images and makes nice use of synaesthesia. Here are my comments. Feel free to ignore any or all of them, as they are probably mostly taking your voice and trying to twist it into mine.

I don't like the title much. That's a personal reaction, of course, but it sounds too much like the title of a fantasy novel to me—the kind with cute little elves on the cover. I think it's the neologism "everending" in particular that bugs me.

I really like the phrase "pure of subtlety".

I like "undulled by angst" but the use of "undulled" seems to restate the "paint bright" of the first line. This doesn't seem quite right somehow.

As WSO said, "brew" seems wrong, or at least doesn't fit with the prevailing metaphors. "[R]evisionism" doesn't seem right either. "Cynicism", perhaps?

"Only scar tissue can twist that sound / twirl it in the throat / so that it singes the air." Good lines. I'd take out the last "the".

The punctuation on "This song doesn't / dye, don't worry; it washes off. . ." doesn't seem right. I want to put a period or semicolon after "dye" and change the semicolon that is there to a comma.

Your use of color imagery fades away after the start of the second strophe. It might be nice for continuity to try and continue it in the latter part of the poem as well as the beginning.

The ending seems a bit New Agey for me, but that's probably because I'm one of those with a throat full of scar tissue, spitting flames into the air.

Very nice poem, CoS.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

Thank you, Tzara for your considered response. I really appreciate you taking the time to give such thorough feedback and will certainly take it to heart.

The everending is a reference to the idea that an ex spouse is always an ex spouse with the ending ever pronounced. Perhaps I should draw that out in the poem, though.

Thanks again for the comments.

Sincerely

C.o.S.

Also, thanks to HKS for her suggestions in PM.

 

[flyguy69]

Let me see if I understand it, Cherry:

Childhood experiences, recalled much later, are often misrepresented, falsely recalling only the pleasant aspects. But some traumas are deep-rooted and force us to acknowledge them. As the N recalls the second person of the poem she/he remembers such a trauma, but assures that person that she/he will not reveal the existence of it. Then comes a warning that if the second person dwells upon the trauma, it will become obvious to all. But redemption is offered: even if the trauma is revealed time will diminish its importance.

Is that the message you intend?

If so, I think the poem could benefit from some concrete imagery. I do not know what sort of scarring took place, and so am not convinced about the attributes assigned later. Was the N raped as a child? Had her bike stolen? Forced to eat peas? I think you need to invite me a little deeper inside.

In the second S the logic suffers a bit-- the N's story won't injure the second person (life? reputation?) unless the second person allows it to. But then it won't hurt either, because of time. This undermines the warning significantly.

The conclusion is the weakest part of an otherwise interesting poem, simply because it invokes some rather meaningless images. Does "fading into the song of the universe" mean dying? So the person guilty of trauma escapes her/his responsibility through death? That seems like sort of a cop out, not just for the perpetrator but also for the author. I would prefer that the issues raised in the poem get addressed, since they obviously cause the N some angst.

You have some beautiful images and a story to tell here, Miss Snow. I encourage you to let it out.

Song of Everending
by cherries on snow

Simple songs paint bright the lips of children
and the colors are pure of subtlety,
undulled by angst. It takes time
to brew that kind of revisionism.
Only scar tissue can twist that sound
twirl it in the throat
so that it singes the air.

When I sing of you, there is no green, no blue
no bright red ripe and staining. This song doesn't
dye, don't worry; it washes off
unless you steep in it. Then you may find
when you strip naked that there is a mark
under the masking, the way a mark is left
under the ring on your finger. With time,
however all marks fade
as do we
into the song too deep for ears
into the song of the universe
hymned by angels
harmonized by whales.​

If I can please get some feedback on this that would be great, whenever there is time (not in any hurry). Thanks to Rybka for his feedback elsewhere. Cheers.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

Gah! Do you read palms too? Thank you, Fly for your AMAZING insight as always. I was about to rework this but I'm glad I waited. You rule. I'll try Draft 3 over the weekend.

Let me see if I understand it, Cherry:

Childhood experiences, recalled much later, are often misrepresented, falsely recalling only the pleasant aspects. But some traumas are deep-rooted and force us to acknowledge them. As the N recalls the second person of the poem she/he remembers such a trauma, but assures that person that she/he will not reveal the existence of it. Then comes a warning that if the second person dwells upon the trauma, it will become obvious to all. But redemption is offered: even if the trauma is revealed time will diminish its importance.

Is that the message you intend?

If so, I think the poem could benefit from some concrete imagery. I do not know what sort of scarring took place, and so am not convinced about the attributes assigned later. Was the N raped as a child? Had her bike stolen? Forced to eat peas? I think you need to invite me a little deeper inside.

In the second S the logic suffers a bit-- the N's story won't injure the second person (life? reputation?) unless the second person allows it to. But then it won't hurt either, because of time. This undermines the warning significantly.

The conclusion is the weakest part of an otherwise interesting poem, simply because it invokes some rather meaningless images. Does "fading into the song of the universe" mean dying? So the person guilty of trauma escapes her/his responsibility through death? That seems like sort of a cop out, not just for the perpetrator but also for the author. I would prefer that the issues raised in the poem get addressed, since they obviously cause the N some angst.

You have some beautiful images and a story to tell here, Miss Snow. I encourage you to let it out.

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

I pretty much agree with the criticism given.
It takes time
to brew that kind of revisionism.

Take some time, revise this line, avoid "ism" is this kind of poem.

these lines are clever
This song doesn't
dye, don't worry; it washes off
unless you steep in it.
but ask yourself, do you wish to introduce cleverness, in this type of poem?


I would drop these lines,

into the song of the universe
hymned by angels
harmonized by whales.

they weaken the stengh of this one:
into the song too deep for ears

Although, I am not sure of it as an ending, a possibilty would be to return to the color theme.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

Thank you very much for your feedback, Mr. Snail. It is always valued. I think you are right about many things, particularly the dye.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

(Revision) Song of the Stigmatic

How is this?



Simple songs paint bright the lips of children
and the colors are pure of subtlety,
undulled by angst. It takes time
to stipple vibrato.
Only scar tissue can twist that sound,
twirl it in the throat
so that it singes air.

When I sing of you, there is no green, no blue
no bright red ripe and staining. This song doesn't
seep; don't worry. It washes off
unless you steep in it. Then you may find
when you strip naked that there is a mark
under the masking, the way a mark is left
under the ring on your finger.
The way a mark is left in your hard
drive, in your guilty moments when hollow cheeks
are swept by conscience, memories of those attempted
harmonies with songs too primary
for your greyed notes.

The only mark that brands you is the one you took
in front of god and government, guilty. This too
may go unnoticed, though not in your own
country. And though sentences vary, with time
all marks fade, as do we
into the song too deep for ears
washed into the universal palate, blending
to rich spectrumed black.

 

[sohosoul]

Agreements

I found the poem a good start to the process of writing, sharing what you have with others. I most agree with tzara in his criticisms. Most of what I saw was a lack of continuity from one line to the other but the strophe as well. We as writers oft times are given to over exageration and descriptive wording. I found it particularly difficult to reconcile the use of different metaphors, brewing, steeping are indicative of tea making, not stigmata.
I do like the adjectives you appropriate in describing your experiences and would welcome further examples of your imagination. Please feel free to ignore my comments, I know that as a creator, I too have suffered the slings and arrows of others ideas.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

I appreciate your comments, Soho.

I used steep because the most ancient paints were naturally sourced (teas) and this works well for the song of the N who is older than the children. Or so I think now. Who knows what it will look like in a week.

I appreciate you taking the time to read and comment, and value all honest criticism. Slings and arrows are a different thing entirely, but I've not experienced any of those up here.

 

[twelveoone]

I have heard about you, it was worth the trip, the effort. You have a tremendous sense of wordplay (I love it). A contrarian view
Here is the first and the second:

Simple songs paint bright the lips of children
and the colors are pure of subtlety,
undulled by angst. It takes time
to brew that kind of revisionism.
Only scar tissue can twist that sound
twirl it in the throat
so that it singes the air.

When I sing of you, there is no green, no blue
no bright red ripe and staining. This song doesn't
dye, don't worry; it washes off
unless you steep in it. Then you may find
when you strip naked that there is a mark
under the masking, the way a mark is left
under the ring on your finger. With time,
however all marks fade
as do we
into the song too deep for ears
into the song of the universe
hymned by angels
harmonized by whales.



How is this?



Simple songs paint bright the lips of children
and the colors are pure of subtlety,
undulled by angst. It takes time
to stipple vibrato.
Only scar tissue can twist that sound,
twirl it in the throat
so that it singes air.

When I sing of you, there is no green, no blue
no bright red ripe and staining. This song doesn't
seep; don't worry. It washes off
unless you steep in it. Then you may find
when you strip naked that there is a mark
under the masking, the way a mark is left
under the ring on your finger.
The way a mark is left in your hard
drive, in your guilty moments when hollow cheeks
are swept by conscience, memories of those attempted
harmonies with songs too primary
for your greyed notes.

The only mark that brands you is the one you took
in front of god and government, guilty. This too
may go unnoticed, though not in your own
country. And though sentences vary, with time
all marks fade, as do we
into the song too deep for ears
washed into the universal palate, blending
to rich spectrumed black.

OK I don't think we are talking cleft sentences here...
Despite "spectrumed" black this is a simple fade from grey to black. Ho-hum. Too stock for your talent. Palate is a common misspelling of the color-related term palette. Nice play here, but the colours are muddied to brown, and it begins to look like a pallet of baggage.

Both are nice interplays of sound and colour. The revised begs the question guilty of what? Do we need to know?
I would get rid of:
angst
hollow cheeks
universal
fading marks
and the central image of dye

and be careful of masking

The central image is the way a mark is left under the ring on your finger. Let's change this a bit, transfer a full spectrum, and end it with what appears to be a horrible cliche:

into a song of whales (wails)



Simple songs light the lips of children
with colors pure of subtlety, undull,
only scar tissue can twist that sound
twirl it in the throat
so that it grasps for air.

When I sing of you there is, no green, no blue
a ripe red straining. (Changing direction from the peacefull colours)
You may find

when you strip naked that there is a mark
under the masking, the way a mark is left
under the ring on your finger. With time,

here I would find a way to use "resonate" and "weight" and try to set up a unheard resonance of something felt but not heard, unsaid, as the worst familial terrors are diffucult to talk about, I would leave this ambiguous as to who the narrator is, wife, other woman, or child survivour of divorce.

however all marks wane (I'm not happy with either fade or wane, changed to suggest possibilites)
as do we
into a song too deep for ears

into a song of whales (wails)

becomes a line of extreme ambiguity, encompassing a whole range of sound very low, to high pitched. Great wieght to no wieght, and can be percieved as either an remaining in or an escape from emotional damage. (see Empson's "7 types of ambiguity")

I think if you keep the interplay going between the colour and the sound and interweave them around the mark, you will have a haunting poem. It doesn't get any better than something that haunts.
Again, it will be something most will not see, but should be able to feel, most good writers will go back to it. (I think there are still a few left)

 

[cherries_on_snow]

Thanks so much for responding to my request for feedback for Song of Everending. I think you may be right about the last words. I've had a tough time with this one, but it feels like it's worth working on.

I will keep your insights in mind when I redraft.

 

[Cub4ucme]

Song of Everending
by cherries on snow

Simple songs paint bright the lips of children
and the colors are pure of subtlety,
undulled by angst. It takes time
to brew that kind of revisionism.
Only scar tissue can twist that sound
twirl it in the throat
so that it singes the air.

When I sing of you, there is no green, no blue
no bright red ripe and staining. This song doesn't
dye, don't worry; it washes off
unless you steep in it. Then you may find
when you strip naked that there is a mark
under the masking, the way a mark is left
under the ring on your finger. With time,
however all marks fade
as do we
into the song too deep for ears
into the song of the universe
hymned by angels
harmonized by whales.​

If I can please get some feedback on this that would be great, whenever there is time (not in any hurry). Thanks to Rybka for his feedback elsewhere. Cheers.

First take is the poem has some valuable substance.
Truthfully, I wouldn't change much. I haven't really
dug into it enough to go any further because
the line breaks didn't seem right.

What I have done is to offer you a second look
at formating the poem.

Take it, or leave it.
I think changing the line-breaks
and doing away with a few words
will drastically improve the read:


_________________________________________

Simple songs paint bright
the lips of children
the colors pure of subtlety,
undulled by angst: It takes time
to brew revisionism.

Only scar tissue
can twist that sound
twirl it in the throat
so that it singes the air...........................very good lines!

When I sing of you,
there is no green,
no blue, no bright red
ripe and staining.

This song doesn't
dye, it washes off
unless you steep in it.

Then you may find
when you strip naked
there is a mark under the masking,
the way a mark is left
under the ring on your finger.

With time all marks fade
as do we into the song
too deep for ears
into the song of the universe
hymned by angels
harmonized by whales.

__________________________________________
best,
andy

 

[FifthFlower]

One thing I do with what I write, as a kind of test of it, is to take the poem and put it into a word processor with spell and grammar checking turned on and portray it on the page as if it were prose. This is useful even if the poem has metrical form.

Here is what I get, when I do that to your most recent version:

Simple songs paint bright the lips of children and the colors are pure of subtlety, undulled by angst. It takes time to stipple vibrato. Only scar tissue can twist that sound, twirl it in the throat so that it singes air.

When I sing of you, there is no green, no blue no bright red ripe and staining. This song doesn't seep; don't worry. It washes off unless you steep in it. Then you may find when you strip naked that there is a mark under the masking, the way a mark is left under the ring on your finger. The way a mark is left in your hard drive, in your guilty moments when hollow cheeks are swept by conscience, memories of those attempted harmonies with songs too primary for your greyed notes.

The only mark that brands you is the one you took in front of god and government, guilty. This too may go unnoticed, though not in your own country. And though sentences vary, with time all marks fade, as do we into the song too deep for ears washed into the universal palate, blending to rich spectrumed black.​

Then I ask: what has been communicated?

The first paragraph talks about the innocence of children, but notice how the style of writing is not something you would expect from someone sending you an email message. I don't know what "stipple vibrato" means, nor what it means to "singe" the air.

The second paragraph talks about a song the "I" will sing about the "you" which will not leave a mark unless you steep in it. I don't know what it means for a song to "seep", nor "songs too primary for your greyed notes".

The third paragraph mentions the marks that god and government do leave on "you", but all this fades into black, (death, I assume). I don't understand "spectrumed black".

Suppose you got the above as an email from someone close to you, would you have any questions to ask to help you clarify the message? If so, those answers are what is missing here.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

fifth, thank you for your interest in my poem. I appreciate your taking time to read and respond.

Cheers.

C.o.S.

One thing I do with what I write, as a kind of test of it, is to take the poem and put it into a word processor with spell and grammar checking turned on and portray it on the page as if it were prose. This is useful even if the poem has metrical form.

Here is what I get, when I do that to your most recent version:

Simple songs paint bright the lips of children and the colors are pure of subtlety, undulled by angst. It takes time to stipple vibrato. Only scar tissue can twist that sound, twirl it in the throat so that it singes air.

When I sing of you, there is no green, no blue no bright red ripe and staining. This song doesn't seep; don't worry. It washes off unless you steep in it. Then you may find when you strip naked that there is a mark under the masking, the way a mark is left under the ring on your finger. The way a mark is left in your hard drive, in your guilty moments when hollow cheeks are swept by conscience, memories of those attempted harmonies with songs too primary for your greyed notes.

The only mark that brands you is the one you took in front of god and government, guilty. This too may go unnoticed, though not in your own country. And though sentences vary, with time all marks fade, as do we into the song too deep for ears washed into the universal palate, blending to rich spectrumed black.​

Then I ask: what has been communicated?

The first paragraph talks about the innocence of children, but notice how the style of writing is not something you would expect from someone sending you an email message. I don't know what "stipple vibrato" means, nor what it means to "singe" the air.

The second paragraph talks about a song the "I" will sing about the "you" which will not leave a mark unless you steep in it. I don't know what it means for a song to "seep", nor "songs too primary for your greyed notes".

The third paragraph mentions the marks that god and government do leave on "you", but all this fades into black, (death, I assume). I don't understand "spectrumed black".

Suppose you got the above as an email from someone close to you, would you have any questions to ask to help you clarify the message? If so, those answers are what is missing here.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

Thank you, Andy, for taking time to read and respond. I will keep your suggestions in mind when I revise.

Cheers,
C.o.S.

First take is the poem has some valuable substance.
Truthfully, I wouldn't change much. I haven't really
dug into it enough to go any further because
the line breaks didn't seem right.

What I have done is to offer you a second look
at formating the poem.

Take it, or leave it.
I think changing the line-breaks
and doing away with a few words
will drastically improve the read:


_________________________________________

Simple songs paint bright
the lips of children
the colors pure of subtlety,
undulled by angst: It takes time
to brew revisionism.

Only scar tissue
can twist that sound
twirl it in the throat
so that it singes the air...........................very good lines!

When I sing of you,
there is no green,
no blue, no bright red
ripe and staining.

This song doesn't
dye, it washes off
unless you steep in it.

Then you may find
when you strip naked
there is a mark under the masking,
the way a mark is left
under the ring on your finger.

With time all marks fade
as do we into the song
too deep for ears
into the song of the universe
hymned by angels
harmonized by whales.

__________________________________________
best,
andy