Women Like Me

[WickedEve]

Women Like Me
Women Like Us
or maybe just: Women
Still working on a title.

The first part about Amina Lawal was written in 2002. Recently, I wrote about the bride burnings in India and honor killings in the middle east. I combined all these into this poem about women. I've been editing it but not sure it's working. Any suggestions?


Slender neck down,
pressed by native soil,
Amina--gentle crimes
of touch and baby's birth.

Who will hold her child
when hands release stones?

Stones crumble
like dreams.

Betrayed in a dream
and ballads of love, Samia
in broad daylight.

Hsehu no longer breathes
for father. Rape the petals
from flirtatious stems.

Restore family honor
through the weeping rose.

wood rose
sun spear
shola flowers

Mamta and daughters,
the well's deep.
Douse the burning bride.

Hush, Sudha and child inside.
We know your dying words, Meena.
Farewell, Vimala.

Flames in India
all ashes now.

 

[jd4george]

I don't blame you for wanting this to be right. It really is quite exquisite, for all the brutality. I've read this a number of times, and will most assuredly do so again...

Just some musings from this old guy in Maine...

...the first verse doesn't seem to be "as easy on the eyes" as the rest of the poem. Not sure where where I'd break it differently, or which word(s) might be moved.

...perhaps it is the description of Amina being fuller than the flowers of India.

...when I read it, "shola flowers" jumped out at me. Perhaps a title? Eve, I don't think any of your suggested titles is worthy of this poem. Please don't let the title be a cast off.

..."Betrayed in a dream" stopped me. It felt inaccurate. Wasn't she betrayed in "ballards of love"...a very real betrayal? I realize the tie in to the preceding line... perhaps "in sleep"?

...I also found my mind joining the lines "Flames in India all ashes now". Perhaps if the two lines were tied by the use of italics, (while not italicizing the "Hush" verse)?

Like I said, just some musings. Of one thing I'm sure: THIS IS EXTRAORDINARY WORK!

 

[sandspike]

powerful

I would say you are about finished. Thanks to your
explanation it was an easy poem to read and understand.
I thought the part about the well and burnig bride was
really strong. You do good deep stuff, I appreciate that.
I don't think it needs to be longer when it is powerful
at this lenght. It remains we of imagery in a poem I read
years ago where a hungry child dieing was compared
to a candle wick going out.

 

[The Mutt]

Men like you too. This one does, anyway.

 

[Angeline]

My comments are in brackets

Slender neck down,
pressed by native soil,
Amina--gentle crimes
of touch and baby's birth.

[here I'd lose the "of" in the last line--doesn't seem necessary]

Who will hold her child
when hands release stones?

[maybe just my preference, but I'd make that second line more metaphoric-- "when hands rain stones" or "when stones rain"]

Stones crumble
like dreams.

[wanna use "Stones" again here--it comes pretty close after last usage--I do that as a sort of rhytmic device, like chanting--but maybe you want something like "Rock" instead?]

Betrayed in a dream
and ballads of love, Samia
in broad daylight.
{"Bereved in dreams"? to parallell last usage? And Samia is an interesting word and clearly key, but it seems lost at the end of that line--set it off alone? "broad daylight" is cliche, maybe--something more metaphoric would work here]

Hsehu no longer breathes for father.
Rape the petals from flirtatious stems.

[I don't know why I reformatted these, lol. They're such strong statements--I wondered how they'd look as more natural sentences...]

Restore family honor
through the weeping rose.

wood rose
sun spear
shola flowers

Mamta and daughters,
the well's deep.
Douse the burning bride.

[I'd change line 2--maybe just "deep wells" seems to fit better grammatically, but maybe changes meaning. still, thought I'd suggest it]

Hush, Sudha and child inside.
We know your dying words, Meena.
Farewell, Vimala.

Flames in India
all ashes now.


*************

Overall it's excellent, and of course I know the story (because you once told me). My only real beef is that I'd like to see it a little more metaphoric in a few places as I mentioned. It's such a hard, sad topic, and it feels to me like more metaphor would soften it a bit.

But what do I know, lol. If anything works for you use if with love from me. If not, I'll steal the ideas back and try to make em work in one of mine.

 

[WickedEve]

Thanks everyone.
Ange, sometimes I have a poem like this that I agonize over and it could takes weeks or months before it's finished. I'll edit some more then put it away for awhile. That always seems to work. I really haven't put enough effort into this one yet.

 

[Angeline]

Thanks everyone.
Ange, sometimes I have a poem like this that I agonize over and it could takes weeks or months before it's finished. I'll edit some more then put it away for awhile. That always seems to work. I really haven't put enough effort into this one yet.

I do the same. I don't really agonize so much but I keep getting this feeling like "it's not baked yet," yknow? I keep rewriting. Poor old Lester Leaps In has been baking for two years. lol.

(Maybe I'm really the one who's baked.)

 

[jd4george]

quote:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted by WickedEve
Thanks everyone.
Ange, sometimes I have a poem like this that I agonize over and it could takes weeks or months before it's finished. I'll edit some more then put it away for awhile. That always seems to work. I really haven't put enough effort into this one yet.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Weeks? Months? My Lord, is must be wonderful to craft a poem that quickly!

Now don't get me wrong, I've banged out little things as gifts, or inscriptions in minutes. I've even written some stuff that has never had a word changed since I hit "save". Of course, nobody has read them, and nobody ever will. I know that no matter how long they bake, they're gonna taste like shit.

But pieces that I care for, and am willing to claim fatherhood of, seem to take far, far longer. I find myself beginning to believe that some (alot?... most?) poems might never be done. We age... we change... our sight fails... our voice wavers.

What was once clever cutting edge becomes cliche. Politics skew things. People die. Some flowers begin to look ugly.

Of the stuff I've posted recently, some were veritable infants. Others have been suffering my constant tinkering and revision for years. And I mean years... like 20, or 30, or 40! Okay, maybe not forty... (yet).

The poet in me suspects that it is more about the journey, than the destination.

So, dear ladies, I have another reason to envy you. Not only do I envy your talent, craftsmanship, and artistry... now I envy the ease with which your ink obviously flows. (I'm still cutting quills by hand, and can't find my goddamn knife).

On bended knee...

 

[WickedEve]

20-40 years? My god...

Weeks or even a couple of months is unusual for me. It's usually minutes, hours, a day or two. But some poems I need to put aside for a few weeks and ignore, and then I can edit them properly. I'm afraid I've never spent years. Though I've only been writing poetry seriously since 2002.

 

[WickedEve]

REVISIONS & NOTES

Slender neck down,
pressed by native soil,
Amina--gentle crimes,
touch and baby's birth.

Who will hold her child
when hands rain stones?

Ange, I like rain, though I may try to find another word.


Stones crumble
like dreams.

I use stones again, with dreams, because I use dream in the next stanza. I'm trying to link it all together as I move from the stoning in Africa to the honor killings in the middle east.

Betrayed in a dream
and ballads of love, Samia
in broad daylight.

above stanza needs work

Hsehu no longer breathes for father.
Rape the petals from flirtatious stems.

Restore family honor
through the weeping rose.

may combine the two above stanzas and drop "the" before weeping

wood rose
sun spear
shola flowers

I use flowers here to lead into the next part about bride burnings in India. I go from weeping rose to wood rose. The 3 flowers are Indian.


Mamta and daughters,
the well's deep.
Douse the burning bride.

Hush, Sudha and child inside.
We know your dying words, Meena.
Farewell, Vimala.

Flames in India
all ashes now.

 

[jd4george]

Just months!!!!!????

My god, dear lady! Do you have any idea of the magnitude of the gift that has been bestowed upon you?

Then, I need to add one more item to my list of envies... you're just starting the journey! Oh... to be in your shoes!

 

[WickedEve]

you're just starting the journey! Oh... to be in your shoes!

Yes! That's how I feel. I love the journey and I want it to last for a very long time. I know that I have a long ways to go and so much to learn, but that thrills me! I've written "poetry" since I was a child, but I never knew poetry until I came here and met some real poets. The comparison between what I write now and what I was writing in just 2001 is amazing. Many poets come here already writing incredible poems. I think only those who have known me since I got here, know how much my writing has changed. That's why I encourage so many new poets, even ones not writing very good poetry. I know they can. They need what I was fortunate enough to receive: encouragement and knowledge. Unfortunately, we no longer have Daughter and U.P. here. They were incredible. They created the poet Wicked Eve, then let her grow into the poet she is today. That may sound corny but it's true.

 

[Tathagata]

Just months!!!!!????

My god, dear lady! Do you have any idea of the magnitude of the gift that has been bestowed upon you?

Then, I need to add one more item to my list of envies... you're just starting the journey! Oh... to be in your shoes!

I think you're trying to get in more than her shoes...


it's always good to suck up to Eve
maybe she'll call you a butt pickin' monkey too


ok
the poem:

i think it should be stark not overly metaphoric
i don't know the Whole story but I do know about the bride burnings in india and the sacrificing of yourself when the mate does etc etc.
I look at it a little differently...too much time spent in eastern thought but i can understand the horror and revulsion:
Thus:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slender neck down,
pressed by native soil,
Amina--gentle crimes
of touch and baby's birth.

Who will hold her child
when hands release stones?
{ there's a part of me that wants to change " hold" to rock..but it's corny" what about comfort?)

Stones crumble
like dreams.
[ stones crumble..broken dreams? and if you are going to use dreams in the next verse maybe replace it here...stones crumble like walls of wishes, walls of hope..etc etc]

Betrayed in a dream
and ballads of love, Samia
in broad daylight.

( using dream again seems redundant)

Hsehu no longer breathes
for father. Rape the petals
from flirtatious stems.

Restore family honor
through the weeping rose.

wood rose
sun spear
shola flowers

Mamta and daughters,
the well's deep.
Douse the burning bride.

Hush, Sudha and child inside.
We know your dying words, Meena.
Farewell, Vimala.

Flames in India
all ashes now.

( all ashes again maybe??)


just a few quick thoughts
I have a hard time getting into your mindset
so to speak
but just wantd to toss out a few ideas
feel Totally free to tell me to butt out

 

[WickedEve]

I think you're trying to get in more than her shoes...


it's always good to suck up to Eve
maybe she'll call you a butt pickin' monkey too

I have not read your suggestions yet. It may have to wait until later. But I must comment on the monkey name. You know I only call people I adore butt pickin' monkey. Now, if I ever call you squished possum love then you need to run for the hills. That means I'm getting frisky and lookin' for some ornery, hillbilly lovin'. I bet you got purdy cheeks. (Do I need to say which ones?)

I'll return later to see what you said about my poem. Please remember that the poem is in its raw and ugly state. I shouldn't even have it out in public yet, but I'm crazy that way.

 

[jd4george]

They created the poet Wicked Eve, then let her grow into the poet she is today.

Mentors, in all their incarnations, would disagree. They might teach you to speak, but you discover the wonder of singing on your own. You may claim that you only hum... but we hear a beautiful and powerful voice...

...and that voice makes those around you want to sing as well.

 

[Tathagata]

I have not read your suggestions yet. It may have to wait until later. But I must comment on the monkey name. You know I only call people I adore butt pickin' monkey.

I always took it as a great honor...
I was even going to get a t shirt made up...
but walking around this town with " I'm a butt pickin' monkey" t shirt would probably get you locked up or atleast a 30 day observation....I hate this town

Now, if I ever call you squished possum love then you need to run for the hills. That means I'm getting frisky and lookin' for some ornery, hillbilly lovin'. I bet you got purdy cheeks. (Do I need to say which ones?)

...as the strains of " Dueling Banjo's " begins in my head...

I'll return later to see what you said about my poem. Please remember that the poem is in its raw and ugly state. I shouldn't even have it out in public yet, but I'm crazy that way.

I kinda like when you put it out in public....

 

[The_Fool]

Go Tath Go!!!

Go Tath Go!!!

Go Tath Go!!!

 

[WickedEve]

Go Tath Go!!!

Go Tath Go!!!

Go Tath Go!!!

Don't encourage him, you delicious stud.

(tath, notice that he gets the name delicious stud.)

 

[WickedEve]

Mentors, in all their incarnations, would disagree. They might teach you to speak, but you discover the wonder of singing on your own. You may claim that you only hum... but we hear a beautiful and powerful voice...

...and that voice makes those around you want to sing as well.

Well, sweet george, then let's just say that they aimed me in the right direction and gave me a gentle push, occasionally, a kick.
By the way, how many years have you been writing?

 

[Tathagata]

Don't encourage him, you delicious stud.

(tath, notice that he gets the name delicious stud.)

it's funny...my mother used to tell people not to " egg me on" which is the same as encourage.


yeah yeah...in 20 years he'll be a wrinkled stud, while I'll STILL be a butt pickin' monkey.

 

[WickedEve]

Slender neck down,
pressed by native soil,
Amina--gentle crimes
of touch and baby's birth.

Who will hold her child
when hands release stones?
{ there's a part of me that wants to change " hold" to rock..but it's corny" what about comfort?)

Comfort is good. I think I went with hold because of the haunting image of this beautiful woman holding her child. I was picturing someone else having to hold her baby for her, if and when she's stoned. I think the last time I read about this, she was no longer sentenced to death. I'm not sure.

Stones crumble
like dreams.
[ stones crumble..broken dreams? and if you are going to use dreams in the next verse maybe replace it here...stones crumble like walls of wishes, walls of hope..etc etc]

if you look a few posts up, you'll see why I'm using dreams and stones twice. But I may rethink that now.

Betrayed in a dream
and ballads of love, Samia
in broad daylight.

( using dream again seems redundant)

there's a reason, monkey. obviously, not a good enough one though. lol

Hsehu no longer breathes
for father. Rape the petals
from flirtatious stems.

Restore family honor
through the weeping rose.

wood rose
sun spear
shola flowers

Mamta and daughters,
the well's deep.
Douse the burning bride.

Hush, Sudha and child inside.
We know your dying words, Meena.
Farewell, Vimala.

Flames in India
all ashes now.

( all ashes again maybe??)

 

[WickedEve]

yeah yeah...in 20 years he'll be a wrinkled stud, while I'll STILL be a butt pickin' monkey.

You're proud of that, aren't you? lol

 

[Tathagata]

Slender neck down,
pressed by native soil,
Amina--gentle crimes
of touch and baby's birth.

Who will hold her child
when hands release stones?
{ there's a part of me that wants to change " hold" to rock..but it's corny" what about comfort?)

Comfort is good. I think I went with hold because of the haunting image of this beautiful woman holding her child. I was picturing someone else having to hold her baby for her, if and when she's stoned. I think the last time I read about this, she was no longer sentenced to death. I'm not sure.

Stones crumble
like dreams.
[ stones crumble..broken dreams? and if you are going to use dreams in the next verse maybe replace it here...stones crumble like walls of wishes, walls of hope..etc etc]

if you look a few posts up, you'll see why I'm using dreams and stones twice. But I may rethink that now.

Betrayed in a dream
and ballads of love, Samia
in broad daylight.

( using dream again seems redundant)

there's a reason, monkey. obviously, not a good enough one though. lol

making a note to self

don't comment on eve's poems....the bitch gets all uppity

 

[Tathagata]

You're proud of that, aren't you? lol

Who wouldn't be??

 

[WickedEve]

making a note to self

don't comment on eve's poems....the bitch gets all uppity

I use that word all the time to describe myself. "I'm sorry, was I being an uppity ____" I won't fill in the blank. It's crude. You can just put whatever you want in the blank... if you dare.