Harrier
as his wings scissor
to neutral - kestrel resting,
golden eyes agog
for avian small-fry.
Myna fledglings
whistle helplessly
at shadows from on high,
stricken at impending doom's
barred breast and crested head,
reminiscent of a coat of mail,
an antique helmet.
Why is it that predators,
the hunters and the harriers,
endowed with grace and speed
and strength, are so often
resplendent?
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the whole image of the poem doesn't arise...
But they are enchanting webs, your poems! They invite me to come back one day, when I will learn all this lively words :-)))
Марианна Шихарбеева 13.05.2006 12:08 Заявить о нарушении
While this poem is not an example of the above, but more in the manner of a subject from nature, observed and reflected on, the forms of metarealism as practised elsewhere in my work can be coherent and at the same time inconclusive, so maybe this corresponds to your image of the web - an artefact continually being spun, capable of generating multiple possibilities.
I think that any viable poem possesses some of the properties of a web - it catches at the reader's consciousness in different ways, according to individual perception and interpretation refracted through the reader's own experience and angle of vision. I personally find the image of the web a very productive one, even though it may seem to have been overworked in recent times, and in various contexts.
So thank you for this comment. You have pin-pointed something quite elusive, but paradoxically essential to the poetic process as I understand it.
Naturally one doesn't always succeed, and there is a big difference between being an illusionist and being a poet. I hope I'm somewhere on the road from the former to the latter. The poems (if I may call them that) and the reader's reception of the texts, are the only means of knowing if that is so.
Jena Woodhouse 18.05.2006 04:22 Заявить о нарушении