I smoked jazz from the hollowed femurs of vagabond senoras
I bellowed the vapors like a steam engine
Run, Rabbit, run
I listened to Metal Machine Music, day after incomprehensible day
I spoke in sonorous tones about Lou Reed and snowy New York
How death made us dance like cracked limbs under moonlight
I remember hearing that living in fear makes us slaves to midnight chemicals
I swallowed them as I wished to swallow the entirety of the world
The horror, the horror
I witnessed as I beat to death my one eyed angel, whose loose lips cost me love and life
I felt no guilt on that fiery pier where I was confronted by ten thousand unyielding poplars
You held me in your arms while the last vestiges of lust left my body in shrieks and whimpers
I left my spirit in Carolina, hoping God would be satisfied
I was wrong about most things, and told you not to listen to my quaking teeth
Do not watch the shaking of my hands, nor the erratic spasms of my diaphragm
I took a walk between rows of bodies, swinging on meathooks, and was reminded of my birth
I was born beneath the icon of Saint Anthony, whose halo was placed around my neck
The dogs who licked Jezebel's blood beneath the city walls saved me from asphyxiation
I reached lucid equilibrium for seven seconds one day while I was writing a suicide note
I laughed at the fundamental crisis of my existential spirit, and put the pen down
Then I danced in birth water, and didn't even notice the blood.
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Canary word: Present
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125,005 Literary Works • 672,804 Reviews
Hey Quentin!
I really like this a lot. The imagery is wild and powerful and seeps emotion from beginning to end. I felt like I had stepped into your character's shoes and gone on the journey with him, which certainly isn't easy to do in a poem, and another thing that I really like about it is that I definitely feel like there are more layers to it than what I picked up on with the first read through (which is really what a good poem should do).
If I had to offer my commentary on anything in particular, it would be that it's too wordy and trying to fit too much. In each line of this poem we're loaded with imagery and emotion without much space to process what we're reading. I do think, to some extent, that the messiness of this fits in with the narrator's conflict, but Is still feel like you could hone in on a few of the ideas presented and not lose too much.
Best of luck!
Wow. think suggesting the person whose perspective this poem comes from is feeling great ain is a huge understatement.
It's angry, bitter, veangeful and violent. A really accurate way to depict someone who hates themselves and wants to take their life.
What was so superb about this peace though, was how profound the phrases were. I mean, whether this is explorative or not, in many ways you actually maneuvered a rather simple idea; pain and suffering. I mean yes, those feelings are complex but writing about it can be quite easy. However, there was a rare quality in your piece that was really professional. I mean, this is something I would only expect to read from a classic poet like Sylvia Plath or someone like that.
There was an incredible sense of maturity and symbolism that came from this poem. You actually astounded me.
Well done.
Hello, Quentin.
Oh boy. This one is really loaded with stuff, isn't it?
Through all the images and references in this poem, what I'm getting is that the narrator is trying to make sense of his life through all the crap, and then finally does at the end by saying, it doesn't matter anyway, or I'm going to ignore all the things. I mean, it's called unambiguity, but it seems pretty ambiguous to me.
This actually forced me to do a bit of research as I read this, and I'll try to go through it and glean what meaning I can.
The first six lines have to do with music and sound. It's interesting that you start with jazz, as the rest of the music you mention isn't exactly jazz...
You know what? I have no idea what to say about this, but I liked it. I don't know quite what you're getting at, but I liked the images you used, and I liked that I kind of got something out of it, even though I don't know if it's what you were aiming for. Good job. You've got me stumped.
Though I would like to say that the Saint Anthony line is my favorite. And I found this totally creepy picture called "the one eyed angel of your rising moon" while I was looking around on the internet:
Good job, guy. Happy YWSing!