Friday 8 July 2016

'A Commoner And Priestess Fell In Love'

A commoner and priestess fell in love,
a love that did oppose laws from above.
A lowly man was he, a white cloth tainted,
and she a blessèd, holy woman, sainted.
One day, he left on voyage to the seas,
which caused his virtuous love to feel unease;
and fair for her to feel so: had he fell
under the charming sea-maids', sirens' spell.
Thus jealous Heaven was not pleased with this,
(this sinner had but stolen Heaven's bliss!)
so from titanic fissures in the sky
descended saints in vessels that could fly.
When he returned, she was no longer there;
she'd left to, with the Angels, God knows where.


16/05/16

Poet's Notes

No particular political context to this piece; I was simply inspired to write this short story during the summer of 2015. I wrote the final couplet but never again touched it until the 16th of May 2016, the same day I finished it. A simple tale it is of a man who falls into temptation and the pull of lust, losing his perfect partner in life. I guess I always felt that men were more susceptible to these sinful deeds than women. 

I had originally intended this to be a sonnet, but I felt that the rhyme scheme of couplets made it sound more akin to an epic poem, making the tone more narrative.  

Tuesday 21 June 2016

'Aphrodite Incarnated'

Aphrodite incarnated,
catalyst of lust elated,
muse of Eros animated,

waked I praise Thee and while dreaming
under bright Diana gleaming.
Let me try Thine heart redeeming,

let me feel Thy soft lips kiss me;
let Thee, Lady, grant Thy bliss me;
pray Thee never, Love, dismiss me.

I am but Thy gracious peasant
serving Thee past, future, present.
Bless me with Thy pleasure pleasant. 

As my body doth expire,
let me write Thy name in fire;
may the world Thee love inspire.

By this prayer may mercy grant me;
never may with passion taunt me;
by my praises, pray Thee want me.


16/05/16

Poet's Notes

The inspiration for the metre used in this prayer-poem is from the Latin Requiem, and I feel it works as the trochaic rhythm gives the poem a sense of sighing, appropriate because of the beseeching tone of the poem.

I personally know how it feels to be drawn by an Aphrodite, seduced and made a slave to her, intentionally or not on her part. This poem is meant show how my heart glorifies such an idol and importunes her for any sense of reciprocated affection. When I wrote this, I was still under such a spell, and I guess this was a way to purge myself of such sorcery. I still love the person who inspired this poem as a friend, but I don't think I want myself to be drawn to her as I used to be.

Tuesday 31 May 2016

'Never Peek Around The Wings On Stage'

Never peek around the wings on stage;
if you are tempted, focus then on lines -
you never can be too assured with lines.

You have to treat your audience with respect;
they are your clients after all, and should
you treat their patronage well, as you should.

You must be acting any time they see you;
always keep your mask on when on stage,
even like the Greeks back in that age.

Your audience should never see you break
your character; but if you ever feel
you must, do it offstage - you must conceal it.

Never peep your head out from the wings;
you never should allow yourself to be
distracted by whomever you may see.

If ever you give in to such an itch
and look around the curtains, if you ever
just step near to the light, though you should never,

the curtains may just flutter by your touch,
reality will shatter, you will break
th'illusion, you will show the world it's fake;

and then, you'll lose the point of the deception,
the audience will not forget that sin,
and you may never win their trust again.

So never peek around the wings on stage.
Instead, stay hidden till you hear your cue,
then go out there and act the best you can.



28/05/16

Poet's Notes

With everything that has been going on, including the finishing of our two-term-long study of the Ancient Greek play Lysistrata and the nearing of our production of Little Shop of Horrors, I felt that writing a poem related to the stage would only have been appropriate. I remember this being a matter that my drama teacher always had to drill into everybody's heads simply because we were too anxious to see what was going on stage without being discreet enough. I guess the actual stimulus was when our director this year yelled at a few students for doing just that.

On the surface, this poem is simply what any drama teacher will tell you, but it can also be a metaphor for any sort of deception you choose to undertake. Close friends should recognise, however, what my stimulus was for writing this poem, especially if they're going through the rehearsal process of this year's production. If the rest of you want to know, you have to find out yourself because I'm not talking. But I hope even without this extra insight, you appreciate this poem.

Saturday 14 May 2016

'Waltz Now My Love' (Waltz no.2 by Dmitri Shostakovich)

Waltz now my love
for I will before morning leave you.
Trust now my love
for I have no intent to deceive you.
All's well that ends in love - 
that's what they say,
so I'll flee to another place late but ere the morning.
Trust in me that this sour displacement I will be mourning.
But we'll see that by Heaven's grace love will be reborn.

Soar 'cross the floor
for the hour of my going's ensuing.
Dance evermore
for that's what the world would have us doing.
Whisper of naught gone ill,
speak not of pain.
There's no time for distress, no second to waste for sorrow;
there's no rhyme for the fates to beckon this woe tomorrow
but my crime. Yet our peace, I reckon, will time restore.

Alas! Remorse is o'er taking.
The glass of clar'ty is breaking.
The passing by of the hours -
those leaving me - is grieving me.
What more can we lovers do now?
Wherefore do we 'gnore what's true?
How before is now a dream
is as clear as Diana's gleam.

Bring me back to the days when life was simple,
love was easy, words were censored,
music was inn'cent, art was legal,
when the gods could lawf'lly live amongst men.

But if that were to happen,
o how meaningless our work would be
without freedom, without truth.
No, we can only forward move and progress.

Please let me go
for I'll only dejection bring you;
please, please for woe
so the world with rejection won't sting you.
Close now your tired eyes,
close them for now.
May you dream evermore of me and of no more pain, and
let the beam of La Luna thee beautifully stain; and
one day we will each other see face to face again. 



24/03/16

Poet's Notes

Have I ever mentioned how much I adore Shostakovich's work? No? Well, from now on, that will be invalid: I love Dmitri Shostakovich and the music he composed. Okay, now that that's out of the way... This is the first piece of his that I have ever heard (not counting his second piano concerto, as I was a teeny wee lad), and I immediately fell in love with it: the melancholy in the melody; the sighing of the saxophone; the sounds of struggle in the singing of the strings (I'm going all alliteration here like I do in my other blog now). While listening to it one day in school, the words "Waltz now my love" popped into my head. I typed them out, and a few days later this poem was written. So sing the words along to the melody of the piece!

The narrative in this poem is based on the idea of art censorship, a similar kind that Shostakovich and many Soviet artists had to suffer - I even remember having to study The Collaborators in drama class for my iGCSEs, a tale of Russain playwright Mikhail Bulgakov being threatened with his life for composing anti-government plays. It deals with the poetic voice having to leave his lover and escape the clutches of Stalin for the sake of his art. Whether the act is selfish or not, you decide.

Update

I've decided that I would include analyses on drama as well, as I'm a drama student who realises how much literature-analysis skills count in the character development process. I think the first post of such would be the next, and on Iago's famous "I hate the Moor" soliloquy at the end of Act I scene i of Shakespeare's Othello. Stay tuned for that!

Tuesday 26 April 2016

'I Cry, And Yet You Do Not Seem To Know'

I seek, and yet you slowly shy aside;
I speak, and yet you seem t'have much to hide;
I reach, and yet you from me do recede;
I try, and yet you let me not succeed;
I wish, and yet you will my wants away;
I hope, and yet you have not heart to pray;
I care, and yet you no affection show;
I cry, and yet you do not seem to know;



?/?/15


Poet's Notes

I remember bringing in this poem into my poetry club one week and pretending I found it on the internet by a poet named Vittoria Prelati (before I openly had this name on a blog/public/etc.), and convinced them to analyse and annotate it as practice for their literature examinations. Incredibly enough, they found a lot of the techniques I had consciously used and many more that I might have subconsciously - they even called me egocentric without being aware that it was mine own poem. Anyway, that was just some trivia about this poem.

Writing this poem was easy as they were completely genuine emotions - I wasn't even creating anything, rather I was translating what I felt into words. At the same time, writing this poem was hard, because to me, it represents the rejection I felt at the time. Although it is general enough to be widely applicable, the reason I wrote it was a huge blow in my life, paralyzing me for weeks on end. Poetry was my only solace, and this is what resulted of that. 

Thursday 14 April 2016

'Sonnet VI: The Begging of the Beast'

With heavy heart I face my greatest foe
to seek from him the grace that he has sworn.
With bended knee and pointed chin down low
I trust I will be greeted with much scorn.
I only ever wished the best: for all
to be enlightened -- was I not the one
so called The Bear'r of Light? Thus did I fall
and was relieved of titles such as "son." 

But as I crouch before Thee, mighty Father,
I ask but one small favour for all time:
to let my tortured neighbour, friend and brother
roam free for just one day. No sin, no crime.
I pray, with heart condemned and judged amiss,
let loose my demons from the deep abyss.



08/04/16

Poet's Notes

I've always found The Devil to be an interesting character (no surprise I'm in love with Shakespeare's Iago) with the huge amount of influence he has over our lives. His motivations, however, can be considered to some extent pro-human, and thus I feel that he is one of the more relatable characters in The Bible (God is perfect, the men are very 2D, either being all bad, all good, or bad turned good: Saul turned Paul) despite being the pure embodiment of evil. Of course, the attitude of being pro-human, or more accurately pro-self, is one of the fundamentals of Satanism as I understand it, and I feel that in one way or another, most of us can relate to that. 

That's why I, although forgetting what ultimately sparked it, was inspired by something to create a sympathetic and more redeemable character for The Devil. I intended it to be slightly misleading at first, with the main conceit being "let loose my demons from the deep abyss," suggesting perhaps a diabolical tone in a ritualistic manner to release chaos upon the world. As you can see, that is not the case, as Lucifer here is acknowledging that the poor souls in Hell had suffered, and, out of pity and compassion for those he intended to enlighten, requests for them to be allowed to roam the Earth for a day, similarly to the legends and lore behind festivals such as All Hallow's Eve and the Hungry Ghost Month.

Update

As you may have realised, this poem took the place of what was supposed to be a poem analysis. I put this out here instead because I felt this blog was established enough for me to be more lenient with posting and I wouldn't forget all about it. If I ever do find myself forgetting about it, you can expect me to resume my weekly posting schedules, but until then, it'll be just like my other blog: completely free! :)

Thursday 7 April 2016

'Window Shopping'

From the other side of the hallway
I catch a glimpse of a radiant clothe
that stands on its own;
the calm and still body of Chinese silk
beckons me over, as the 
colours that flush it glow under its own
celestial light;
it is so soft, so delicate,
so smooth and akin to perfection
that it could only be made
with divine intervention.
        I check its price,
        and I expect numbers telling me
        of what I have to give for it - 
        only letters, spelling out:
        "S-O-L-D."

Then at the corner of my eye,
I see a pair of dancing shoes;
although mute and quiet
in colour, they are a shade
that I would love to wear with me.
The greatest thing about them
is that they don't seem to have been
sold, at least that's how it looks.
        I consider buying them;
        I have in my hand the paper
        that would win them for me
        when I admit they might be
        somebody else's size.

So I continue roaming,
searching for something to bring home,
for something to give my treasure for;
but I can only window shop,
as all that's worth is either
sold or not for me.
        But I can buy my way
        to see them every day,
        and in that lies a window shopper's pleasure.



05/04/16

Poet's Notes

As some of my friends may be aware of, I have recently become an avid shopper especially for clothes, and I can be very picky with the clothes I buy. There are times (like now) when I want to stay away from shopping altogether because swiping a card on checkout is way too easy a way to spend money and I don't feel as heavy-hearted to do it as I would with actual paper cash. However, more times than I'd like to admit I just want to go around buying all the clothes I'd see myself wearing. For sure, any person would, but I never saw myself like this in the past, never thought I'd think this way.

This poem then I guess depicts my trouble as a shopper who has the trouble of perhaps being a bit too picky, but more importantly how the things he wants to buy is either no longer on the market or just doesn't fit him. In a way, it's similar to my struggles in outfitting my LOTRO characters. Truth is, I always want to bring home a new piece of clothing if I can. I love outfitting in LOTRO and always thought I could do it well in real life too. Right before writing this, I was doing just that, and I guess that was what inspired me.

Update

I've decided to screw over the picture idea. It was a good one, but I don't see myself sustaining it. Mainly because I have poems titled things like "Firebird" and "I Have Not Heart." I just can't envision myself ever finding the right subject to be taken picture of. Plus, I'm not going to be able to spend that much time a week for editing. I'll find pictures hopefully to post on Instagram to link here, but other than that I can't promise anything, so I've decided to scrap it. Sorry for getting your hopes up...

Thursday 31 March 2016

'Sonnet IV: Jigsaw'

I once had fixed a jigsaw in my youth:
I had two lovers joined in nuptial bliss;
and naught has had them torn asunder still
for I had glued the pieces to the board.
It was a pretty picture, and I'm proud
the only cracks the lovers had 'pon them,
were from the lines each picture puzzle bore
as is the nature of this very game.
The lovers stood beneath a regal tree
with twigs and sticks atop its nour'shing crown;
both, in their gladness, smiling cheek to cheek,
they swore their vows to a phantom audience.
Then, in the eyes of both the lovers' stare
I saw the blankest eyes two lovers could wear.



19/09/15

Poet's Notes

This was a poem I wrote during my saddened state I was in for a while, and criticises certain virtues of marriage that I've encountered and that have hindered my then dreams of a future life. The extended metaphor of the jigsaw puzzle serve to show how futile it is to change what the end product would be as there can only be one outcome in a jigsaw puzzle.

I chose to post this poem this week because I had recently got in contact with a friend who was involved in this whole ordeal, and the sudden re-presence of that friend in my life reminded me of all the emotions and thoughts that had manifested during that time, flooding my body once more with those repressed demons. I look back at the good times and they were truly good, but unfortunately all good things must come to an end. So I hope by posting this I exorcise some of those demons and help myself sleep better from now on. 


Update

Hi guys! If you haven't yet known, I also run a Lord of the Rings Online (LOTRO) fashion blog, and of course every post is accompanied by pictures of the outfits. What I've noticed is that they give the blog a more interesting look. Furthermore, the CIE Literature website also includes a banner-like picture for each poem they give a detailed analysis on. Therefore, taking inspiration from these two main sources, I've decided to include a banner-like picture for every poem I post, a picture to do with the content or context of the poem. Hopefully, they'll not just bring in more life to this blog, but help you, my good readers, deduce more on the context of the poem I post! Do let me know your thoughts on this new feature, and also I appreciate any advice you might want to share about converting this dull website into a poetry blog that actually looks good. Thanks for reading!

Thursday 24 March 2016

'Seasons In A Heartbeat: III. Autumn'

Alas, the once flourishing leaves
     wither away, along with
          the smile that Summer set
     upon my poor face;
          the birds no longer sing
               for all that's fine is
          fading, just like
               her embrace.
                    I beg to know:
               why must the
                    Winter
                         come?

Behold! the beasts of nature born
     silent sleep they to succumb,
          and just like them, her touch
     falls to sleep as well;
          and as I let her go,
               I humbly implore
          let me bid her
               fond farewell.
                    I've yet to know;
               why must the
                    Winter
                         come?


?/?/14

Poet's Notes

Inspired by a flush of emotions felt in a hug, Seasons In A Heartbeat, a poem sequence, was written as an attempt to record such feelings. The metaphor of the seasons each represent the emotions, each season representing a specific feeling - Autumn representing the fear of letting go, as living things let go of life in Autumn. 

The form of this poem was heavily inspired by Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by an anonymous poet after the death of Queen Elizabeth I. In that poem, the poet uses the words and spacing to create the image of crying eyes (or at least that's what it is supposed to be - I honestly don't see it). Despite my inability to visualise the image intended to be present, I adopted the idea. The lines of this poem show the movement of falling leaves as they sway left to right from high up to the ground. The number of syllables also decrease gradually, representing the movement, as leaves make smaller oscillations as it nears the ground. 

Thursday 17 March 2016

Analysis: 'What Thing Is Love?' by George Peele

The Poem

What thing is love? - for sure love is a thing.
It is a prick, it is a sting,
It is a pretty, pretty thing;
It is a fire, it is a coal,
Whose flame creeps in at every hole;
And, as my wit doth best devise,
Love's dwelling is in ladies' eyes,
From whence do glance love's piercing darts,
That make such holes into our hearts.

Analysis

I just thought it would be nice to share with you one of my favourite poems, ever since the day I read it for the first time, as it introduces the "Bittersweet Oxymoronic Nature of Love." Simple to read, simple to understand, simple to appreciate and enjoy, yet it has a substance as complex as love can be.

"What thing is love?"
- the rhetorical question gets the readers thinking, pondering on the question: what thing is Love? then immediately they're treated to Peele's personal answer:

"For sure love is a thing."
- the use of "for sure" shows us that Peele is firm in his belief that Love is this thing he will describe throughout the poem;
- Peele says that Love is "a thing" tells us that it is singular; however he lists multiple things that love is, adjectives that juxtapose each other, suggesting already that Love is oxymoronic.

"It is a prick, it is a sting"
- saying that Love is a "prick" and a "sting" has negative connotations as those words are associated with pain. The "p," "ck" and "st" sounds are harsh sounds as well that add to the unpleasantness of the words' connotations;
- the repetition of "it is" further emphasises Peele's strong conviction of what he believes Love is.

"It is a pretty, pretty thing"
- almost to make up for the negative words in the previous line, Peele describes Love as "pretty" to show its positive side, thus beginning to show the readers the oxymoronic nature of Love;
- the repetition of "pretty" emphasises the positivity of this line, juxtaposing the previous where Love was presented in a negative manner.

"It is a fire, it is a coal"
- the word "fire" has oxymoronic connotations, as it could imply a strong passion or a painful burn. By describing Love as fire, Peele is almost making an epithet of its pleasurable yet painful nature;
- whatever it implies, a fire is often seen as a powerful force, able to feed or kill (again with the oxymoronic connotations), and this could be Peele suggesting that to him, Love is a powerful force;
- describing Love as a "coal" has negative connotations due to its dirty nature, leaving dark stains everywhere;
- however, it could be viewed as Love always leaving its mark on lovers as well, and being very hard to remove and get rid of;
- by using the metaphor of "coal" after "fire" could suggest that Love feeds itself (similar to how I described Jealousy in my other poem), getting stronger with every moment it is alive.

"Whose flame creeps in at every hole"
- "whose" is the first example of personification of Love in this poem, subtle but effective as it gives Love a personality, possibly a female? and letting readers connect with this character. Perhaps Love in this poem is a metaphor for one of Peele's love interests;
- the word "creeps" is negative as it suggests lack of consent or awareness from the victim, showing the readers Love's ability to attack the unsuspecting;
- I interpret "every hole" as "every pore" as in pore in the skin, which then gives a sense of inevitability, mirroring the point about Love being a powerful force. It suggests that there is no escape from Love if it decides to affect you.

"And, as my wit...
...
...
...into our hearts"
- the message in this quatrain of the poem is relatively positive, creating gentle and gayer images. However, there is a heavy use of sibilance which is directly linked with evil or badness, as snakes hiss as audiences used to at villains on stage. The contradicting message to the sound of words further mimic the presentation of the oxymoronic nature of Love.

"Love's dwelling is in ladies' eyes"
- here, Love is spelled with a capital L, obviously personifying it as Peele further states that its dwelling is "in ladies' eyes." It was said that the eyes were the window into the soul, and if taken into account, this saying would suggest that Peele was stating that Love is the soul of a woman, creating a very positive image of women.

"Love's piercing darts"
- the allusion to Cupid here shows how divine an emotion and a force Peele sees Love to be.

"That make such holes into our hearts"
- the aspirant in "holes" and "hearts" remind me of sighing, possibly the happy sighing of Peele himself when thinking about Love.

Long sentence
- everything save the first line is in one sentence. Saying this sentence in one breath is not only difficult but probably impossible as well as it requires a lot of breath. The breathlessness of any reader who attempts to do so however experiences the breathless feeling of being enchantingly in love;
- the long sentence also emphasises how Love has many 'forms' and names, many meanings and many truths, showing the vast enormity of Love's substance and possible oxymoronic connotations.

Simple rhyme scheme
- the simple rhyme scheme simply mirrors the simple message of the poem;
- how regulated the rhyme scheme is also shows readers how much thought Peele put into this poem, suggesting that he has spent as much amount of time pondering on the subject of Love (the simple syllabic structure of the poem does the same thing here). 

Iambic metre
- the iambic metre used throughout the poem is imitative of the heartbeat, a symbol for a living love, which of course is what the poem is describing.

Thursday 10 March 2016

'Sonnet I'

My love is fair like fields of flow'rs that bloom,
yet blossom not has she; she is still small.
Her voice and song to no one doth appall,
yet th'some she speaks do people dread with gloom.
She smiles with teeth like shining, twinkling pearls,
yet rare it is at thee her smile to see.
Her hair may rage just like the wanton sea,
yet gentler is her hair than many girls'.
Her eyes may sparkle like the stars at night,
yet are her eyes a shade of sombre brown.
Her beauty may not be of great renown,
yet do I love her fair in all its light.
She is not perfect; perfection is she
who is herself, no other self can be.



?/?/13

Poet's Notes

This was a classroom activity when I was learning what a sonnet was the very first time in Year 10 or 11 (I honestly cannot remember). To prove how difficult writing a sonnet could be, my teacher, Ms Henderson, challenged us to write a sonnet in 10 minutes. Sitting in a group of four, I noticed how one of my friends looked, and I remember thinking to myself: "she deserves a sonnet." So I wrote one for her, on her.

The content of the poem is somewhat similar to Shakespeare's Sonnet CXXX, commenting on how the subject of the poem is not the most beautiful or perfect being on the planet, as opposed to the mainstream idea of a love poem, but in the final couplet stating that she is good nonetheless. This sonnet is not necessarily a love poem, but it does deal with my adoration of her.

Thursday 3 March 2016

'The Squid'

Justice has gone unserved against the squid;
  his crime: his will to survive,
or rather what he does in order to.
Ever feeding off the fortunes of others,

killing all he must to survive, he
escapes behind a sacrifice
like a coward unable to finish what he started,
like a man running away from his prosecution.
Escaping behind a camouflage,
  he feels no
remorse until he brings about his own end
  simply to escape his fate.



22/02/16

Poet's Notes

This poem explores the banality of evil, where the most ordinary of men in their simple nature may do selfish things in order to achieve the one goal of all living species: survival. It uses the metaphor of a squid to further elaborate on the animalistic nature of mankind, despite it being the most advance and civilised of communities. 

Inspired by a Wattpad post of a friend's (where she told the tale of how she had no clue why she had written the word "squid" to possibly describe Joe Keller from Arthur Miller's All My Sons), I tried to draw the connections and found it soon after some level of research: the squid feeding off the life of others and Keller's feeding his family at the cost of many lives; the squid squirts a distracting black ink to escape and Keller sacrificing Steve Deever as a scapegoat to the angry mob. Then, I thought it would be a good challenge to write a poem based on this concept of linking both Joe Keller's and the squid's animalistic instinct to survive. 

Thursday 25 February 2016

'Mr. Scarecrow'

~ Dedicated to The Sisters ~


Mr. Scarecrow, how you stand there smiling!
Like a silent sentinel seeing all,
sparing both your watchful eyes,
you gaze, as if in a reverie or into a memory,
at the seedlings playing in the wind.
How they danced, and how your feeble arms
attempted to caress them,
but they being elusive and swift evaded you.

Mr. Scarecrow, how you smile
clad in the tattered clothes of the young
standing forever under the sun.
You've seen too many summers
and stood too many winters;
you've suffered the young crows
mocking at you simply because
you cannot do a thing about it.

Mr. Scarecrow, how do you smile?
Sitting in the backseat
of my parents' Honda City,
preoccupied with my cellphone
and the lack of internet services,
and devoutly moping about the foreverness
I am forced to sit, immobilised,
I manage but a glance at you
and in that moment,
        I thought of grandmother waiting by the front door
        for us to drive up outside the gate,
        silently, patiently,
        clad in tattered clothes,
        a tray of hot perfectly-made tasteless cookies in hand.
Mr. Scarecrow,
I know now how you smile.



16/02/16

Poet's Notes

I remember clearly a poem that never got written when I was still conducting the Poetry Club as an activity in my school: 'Mr. Scarecrow.' The idea had come across one of the members as she was travelling past a large field and spotted a lone scarecrow. She had asked for advice on how to approach the subject of sympathising with a lone scarecrow through poetry, but we never got around to completing what little of the first draft she had. A year later and the subject to me became a metaphor for something a lot more dear than a lone scarecrow, as a tragedy can open one's eyes: you don't know what you have until it's gone.

As this being the first proper free verse poem on this site (and the first actual completely free versed poem I wrote), it was an experience indeed, as it made me consider creating patterns in a non-structural way; a clear example of this would be the repetition of "Mr. Scarecrow" throughout the poem. I have never appreciated free verse poetry as much as I do regulated and structured poetry as "free verse" is often an excuse for people to write without meaning yet call it 'poetry.' Nonetheless, I wanted to try my take on it to see how it would turn out. Result: I'm quite pleased, and I hope you enjoy it too.

Thursday 18 February 2016

Analysis: 'Father Returning Home' by Dilip Chitre

The Poem

My father travels on the late evening train
Standing among silent commuters in the yellow light
Suburbs slide past his unseeing eyes
His shirt and pants are soggy and his black raincoat
Stained with mud and his bag stuffed with books
Is falling apart. His eyes dimmed by age
fade homeward through the humid monsoon night.
Now I can see him getting off the train
Like a word dropped from a long sentence.
He hurries across the length of the grey platform,
Crosses the railway line, enters the lane,
His chappals are sticky with mud, but he hurries onward.

Home again, I see him drinking weak tea, 
Eating a stale chapati, reading a book.
He goes into the toilet to contemplate
Man's estrangement from a man-made world.
Coming out he trembles at the sink, 
The cold water running over his brown hands,
A few droplets cling to the greying hairs on his wrists.
His sullen children have often refused to share
Jokes and secrets with him. He will now go to sleep
Listening to the static on the radio, dreaming
Of his ancestors and grandchildren, thinking
Of nomads entering a subcontinent through a narrow pass.


Analysis

To me, this poem deals with the sacrifices a father makes for his family: the discomfort, the long hours, the material sacrifice, etc. Almost every line is dedicated to creating this atmosphere of discomfort, and vividly presenting the image of an almost broken man's unwavering resolve to slave for his family's benefit. Some ideas in the poem are truly heartbreaking, and I believe it opens the eyes to children who take their fathers for granted.

"Late evening train"
- "late" tells us that the father is tired because of the excessive work hours he suffer for the good of his family;
- it could also show unnecessary waiting for a delayed train, making him suffer the discomfort of not being home for a longer time;
- "train" might imply cheap public transport, and from that we can infer that it isn't well maintained, further displaying the father's discomfort.

"Standing among silent commuters in the yellow light"
- the father is "standing," and not sitting, showing us that he still cannot rest after his already long day at work;
- the "silent commuters" who travel the late train with him feel just as nervous and uncomfortable, hinting at the generisability of this poem, showing that many fathers and husbands suffer this same fate all over;
- the "yellow light" that he stands in shows that the facility is old and run down, further creating an uncomfortable atmosphere.

"Unseeing eyes"
- this may be inferred as his eyes been worn out due to age, becoming bad, but still having to continue the same amount of work, if not more, to maintain his family's comfort.

"His shirt and pants are soggy"
- "soggy" tells us that his raincoat is not doing a good job at keeping him dry, hinting that the raincoat is probably old, or cheap and bad, or all at the same time; whatever it is, it shows the father's sacrifice to keep his family happy;
- "soggy" also shows us that he is feeling very cold and wet, continuing this image of discomfort;
- wet clothes are also slightly heavier to haul around than dry clothes, implying that every little bit of extra effort required to get home is another challenge altogether.

"His bag stuffed with books
Is falling apart"
- the enjambment symbolises the 'overflowing' of books in his bag, just like how the words 'overflow' into the next line;
- "falling apart" further illustrates the poor state of his belongings as it implies that the bag is old and problematic, lacking comfort for the father;
- also, it shows that he doesn't spend money to buy a new one, implying that he saves every extra cent of money for his family.

"His eyes dimmed by age"
- "dimmed" is used for light, and if we speak metaphorically, he is losing his light: losing his youthful energy he once possessed;
- "age" being the main cause of his eyes "[dimming]" makes the cause a lot more tragic, as it is the inevitable act of fate and nothing could have been done to prevent it, almost like the fall of a tragic hero.

"Like a word dropped from a long sentence." 
- this shows how insignificant in the world the father looks when he gets off the train;
- the "long sentence" could be a metaphor for the train and the other "silent commuters," telling us that the father, along with all the other fathers on the train are insignificant.

"He hurries across the length...
Crosses the railway line...
...but he hurries onward."
- the repetition of "hurries" shows the father's unwavering attempts to get home as soon as possible;
- it also may signify the repetition of his daily work routine, as "hurries" is both the second word from the beginning and from the end, showing that almost his entire day is filled with his work;
- the caesura and end-stop juxtaposes the repetition of "hurries" as what it does is pause the movement of the sentence, emphasising the father's attempts to "[hurry]" home;
- the punctuation could also be a symbol for the "sticky...mud" (that makes it harder to walk) that the father treads on his journey home;
- the father's "chappals" show us that he doesn't even wear shoes, further illustrating his discomfort, especially when walking in mud;
- it also shows that the father prefers to save money not spending more on his shoes as could save that for the benefit of his family.

"I see him drinking weak tea"
- there is more water in the tea than anything else, saving money on the other ingredients.

"Eating a stale chapati"
- the "stale" food is old and distasteful, showing again that the father saves money by buying cheap and bad food;
- it may also imply that he lets his family have the good chapati and takes the stale one for himself;
- or it may even hint at the long hours he works, as the chapati gets stale after many hours.

"Reading a book"
- the "book" represents his work as his work bag was full of books, so this shows his commitment and compulsion to his work for his family's benefit.

"The cold water running over his brown hands"
- even at home, the symbol of comfort in his life, the "cold[ness]" still follows him and torments him, implaying that there is no end to this discomfort.

"A few droplets cling to the greying hairs on his wrists"
- this anthropomorphism in the word "cling" imply that the water droplets have a conscious mind to discomfort the father even further, making the instance more unnatural and stressful;
- the word "greying" also shows stress in the father's being, hinting that he is overworking himself.

"His sullen children have often refused to share
Jokes and secrets with him."
- I personally found this absolutely heartbreaking as the father works tirelessly for his family, especially for the future of his children. The children probably do this because he is rarely around, so they don't get the opportunity to bond with him as much as they do their mother, giving them a bias towards their mother over him. Another reason would be that they see themselves as better off than him. This is tragic because it is a vicious cycle, as only by their father's hard work do they have the benefit to feel that way;
- there is also a physical separation between the father and his children in the poem as they are mentioned on separate lines, almost mimicking the "jokes and secrets" his "children have often refused to share;"
- I also felt that "jokes and secrets" are reserved for people you have compassion for (unless you're a comedian); and the fact that they don't share them with their father shows the children's lack of compassion for him.

"Listening to the static on the radio"
- this implies that the radio is broken, again showing the poor state the father lives in for the benefit of his family.

"Dreaming
Of his ancestors and grandchildren"
- I personally think that his children are not old enough to have children, and that the grandchildren mentioned here are his potential grandchildren. But what this shows us is that the father has his family on his mind all the time, if not during work, during his sleep as well.

Thursday 11 February 2016

'Monstrous and Green Eyed'

By mine own womb, I am reborn again;
I am such that no life takes that of mine;
the more I die, the more I do survive;
ancient and deathless, I am omnipresent.

By mine own breasts, I am but fed Jove's juice;
I am such that m'elixirs are mine own;
the more I feed, the more I am but fed;
prey and predator, I am self-sustaining.

In mine own weakness, I am powerful;
I am such that I mock the meat that feeds me;
the more thou dotes, the more I make thee doubt;
monstrous and green eyed,

I am Jealousy.



18/12/15

Poet's Notes

This poem is written in the voice of a personified Jealousy. It is almost riddle-like, listing out the oxymoronic attributes of his character, beckoning the reader to infer and guess who he really is. Towards the end of the poem, however, well-versed literature fans may recognise words of phrases that allude to Shakespeare's Othello, where this poem drew its inspiration from, notably the famous line "the green-eyed monster." 

During the time of its conception, my A2 Literature class had just finished reading Act III, Scene 3 of Othello, where Iago hints to Othello of his wife's infidelity, warning Othello to "beware...of jealousy." I personally felt that this was one of Iago's most cunning tactics, and Kenneth Branagh's portrayal of Iago in this scene, I felt, was absolutely powerful. The oxymoronic nature of jealousy - making a man more jealous the less he knows - was one of the key ideas by my literature teacher that inspired my presentation of Jealousy in this poem. When I got home, I felt compelled to create a character much more malicious than Iago: Jealousy, the Green-eyed Monster itself. 

Thursday 4 February 2016

'The Birthday Poem'

你的笑为什么那么迷人?
  当我的心感到绝望
  你的笑如一股希望。

你声音为什么那么动听?

当我沉默是我旁边
触动我心里那条弦。

你的心为何那么的好爱?

甚至当我闭上眼睛
你还照亮我的生命。
最幸福的日子,
你我相遇之时。


English Translation:


Wherefore is your soft smile so nice to see?
        When be my heart in deep despair,
        your smile's to me a hopeful fair.

Wherefore is your entrancing voice so sweet?
        When in my life nobody sings,
        you pluck alive my heart's stiff strings.

Why do I find your heart simple to love?
        When I alone eyes closèd be,
        'tis you who gives me light to see.
        The best day on this earth
        the day is of your birth.



?/05/15

Poet's Notes

My birthday is coming up soon, and this got me thinking about how terrible I am at getting gifts for people I care about, as I've never been getting gifts for anyone really. I've never been one for birthdays, and hence have never properly got used to how to get people gifts. I tend to avoid birthdays altogether for myself as I always have unease stir in me whenever the weird ritualistic singing (out of pitch a lot of the time, adding to the unease). However, this is a poem written as a birthday gift for a friend special to me.

I don't really have a title for this poem, as it was written as a gift for one of the most charming people I've ever met. Totally soft and sweet, yet bubbly and outspoken - apologies for the confusion due to the oxymoronic description - she really has been a light in some of my darker days; and it is no secret that she has a special place in my heart. This poem was originally written in Mandarin - but used more English poetic structure (as I have heard that Chinese poetry is completely different) - as recipient is from China, and I wanted to make this as unique a gift as I could for her.

If there's one thing I'd like to say to her, 'tis this: 
Thank you for being you and you alone.

Thursday 28 January 2016

'A Letter: To My Blood-forbidden Love'

~ Dedicated to Ms. G ~


Accursèd fate!


    your face, a flow'r,
entrances me with sinful pow'r;
and to with you share ev'ry hour,
O, would I blight our bloods.

I fear not for the Hell we're taught
to fear for fear we'd've laws forgot,
and fear not I, though this 'ffair ought
be pun'sh'd by Heaven's floods.

We cannot bonds of blood adhere,
so beg, consider this, my dear,
as we'll be made to disappear
and our love made to shush:

have we to from this world away,
if possible, ere break of day;
and lest we be discov'r'd, I'll pray
our passage shall be hush.

'Tis not our fault that this romance
rose from our boiling blood by chance,
requiring us to take a stance
to love in pain or pleasure.

My world will be one dark abyss
if never could I your lips kiss;
thus we must each our bloods dismiss,
their judgements of displeasure.

We'll love for long, I have no doubt;
but our bad blood will not allow't,
and at us curses they will shout
to tear us both asunder.

As whom to love us they will teach,
as 'gainst our love to us they'll preach,
we'll wont to wish to other each:
"Godspeed on th'Devil's thunder."



25/01/16

Poet's Notes

I was inspired to write this poem about forbidden love as I was deeply touched by the near-forbidden romance of Aragorn and Arwen in The Lord of the Rings. Another name that comes to mind when thinking of the notion of forbidden love is Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, as he was, at least towards the end of his life, homosexual; back in the day, it would be a great sin (much more than it is now) to be a gay man, making his love life immensely complicated and Pathetique (pun purely intentional). However, the theme of familial bonds in this poem comes from none other than William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. 

The idea of forbidden love through familial bonds can be one of the most heartbreaking instances a person can experience, in my opinion. As the person has no choice in determining what blood runs through his veins, it would be a rather oxymoronic tragedy as love, as much as it could be a choice, is lead by the heart. Looking back at my history of forbidden love, I've experienced, to some degree, a situation similar to this, where family was the determining factor that decided my relationship was a sin. Akin to the poetic persona, I have also gone against my "bonds of blood," and I suppose my actions inspired the rebelliousness I've given the persona. Even in the past, the notion of forbidden love has intrigued me as I've once written a (bad) short lay-like poem entitled The Tragedy of Herrick and Kayla Kruger, if any of you IGCSE Drama classmates out there recall. I suppose this tragic topic simply catches my attention, as love is always a gamble of pain and pleasure, especially within forbidden relationships.

Thursday 21 January 2016

Analysis: 'Love (III)' by George Herbert

The Poem

Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back
        Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
        From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
        If I lacked any thing.

A guest, I answered, worthy to be here:
        Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
        I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
        Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame
        Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
        My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
        So I did sit and eat.


Analysis

As George Herbert was a Christian, and even a priest for the later part of his life, this poem is evidently a religious one, possibly a guess at what the poet's first encounter with God would be once he leaves this Earth. Love here is personified, and is God in the context of this poem, as the persona refers to Love as "Lord" in the final stanza.


"Love bade me welcome."
- the short, easily comprehensible sentence emphasises the simplicity of God's forgiveness of sins and welcome into Heaven - Christians believed that once you leave a confess your sins and proclaim your faith in Christ, you are Heaven-bound.

"Dust and sin"
- sibilance represents the hissing of the serpent in the Garden of Eden, showing readers that this phrase is particularly negative in meaning;
- "dust" is a reference to original sin, as Adam, one of the original sinners, is made from dust;
- also can be a reference to the damnation of mankind in death, as the saying goes "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;"
- "sin" is direct reference to the evils that caused the downfall of man.

"Quick-eyed"
- emphasises God's quickness to forgive His children when they repent.

"Drew nearer to me"
- shows that God takes the initiative to go to the persona, showing His willingness to save him.

"Sweetly questioning"
- to say these words requires the lips to be in a kissing shape;
- kissing is an act of love and compassion;
- this shows, through what God asked, His love for His children.

"If I lacked any thing."
- even as the King of Heaven, He asks the persona about his needs;
- this shows God's ever-benevolent selflessness.

"A guest, I answered, worthy to be here:"
- the caesura in this phrase slows the pace of which it is read;
- it displays the persona's nervousness in the presence of God.

"Love said, You shall be he."
- even God, speaking to a mortal soul, capitalises the "Y" in "You;"
- this is God showing the persona his worthiness in His eyes.

"Unkind and ungrateful"
- the repetition of the "un-" prefix emphasises the negativity in the persona's life.

"Cannot"
- this implies that it is physically impossible to look straight at God;
- it is believed that even the highest ranks of angels, God's divine creations, could not look directly at God for fear of burning in His glory (the reason behind having many wings: to cover their eyes).

"Love took my hand"
- taking one's hand is a gesture of compassion and closeness;
- it also shows that the relationship between God and the persona is a personal relationship, as holding of hands is usually reserved for people whom you share personal relationships with.

"Smiling"
- friendly gesture;
- it shows God's eagerness to save His child.

"Truth Lord, but I have marred them:"
- caesura again slows the pace;
- it shows the persona's shame in his confession, as would be normal for sinners to feel when confessing to a priest.

"Let my shame
go where it doth deserve"
- the enjambment quickens the pace, presenting the persona's eagerness to accept his damnation that he feels he deserves as a result of his sinful life;
- "shame" can be seen as a metaphor for his soul - his life was so full of sin that he feels that his soul is naught but shameful to him;
- "go" implies that his destination is far, and as we are aware, Hell is very much distant from Heaven;
- the alliteration of the "d" in "doth deserve" is a hard sound to signify the hard punishments that the persona expects to befall him.

"Bore the blame"
- the alliteration of "b" is bouncy and lightens the tone of the phrase;
- it is a happy thing that Christ died for our sins.

"You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:"
- the caesura here slows the pace, but it gives the phrase a more gentle and caring tone;
- the change to present tense in "says Love" shows that what is being said here by God will be said forever, as He never forsakes His children;
- "my meat" is a reference to the soul-healing Body of Christ that saves a damned soul from eternal punishment.

"So I did sit and eat."
- the poem ends with another simple sentence, further emphasising the simplicity of God's forgiveness and acceptance of mortal souls into His kingdom;
- the monosyllabic nature of this sentence further adds to the emphasis of its simplicity.

The rhyme scheme: ababcc
- the rhyme scheme, split into a quatrain and a couplet, may be seen as representations of a mortal, imperfect soul and its healing;
- abab would symbolise the sinner, unsettled in his morals, imperfect, and unworthy;
- cc would symbolise the sinner becoming settled and perfect through faith, receiving God's forgiveness, and made worthy to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

"Love" as a personification
- Love here, as mentioned earlier, is a personification of God;
- personification is to give something human qualities, and is often used to allow readers to build a more personal relationship with the subject;
- Christians believed that it is important to have a close, personal relationship with God, therefore the use of personification in this poem would be viewed to present that message.

Thursday 7 January 2016

'Sonnet III'

~ Dedicated to Anička ~


I strode across a field of Summer flow'rs,

where green the leaves and trees flourished the same,
but then arrived the clouds of rainy show'rs,
and withered they away as Autumn came.
I sat before the warmth of burning fire
under the sky glittered with glistening stars,
but then wind blew, and did the flames expire;
now shrouded was the coat of lights bizarre.
I lived in fear that all that's fair must fade,
and that no nectar could love eternise,
but then I saw thy face, beauty displayed,
that Chronos too could not its death devise.
So dare I say thy beauty has no end
in this my verse I writ to thee commend.



06/01/15

Poet's Notes

This time of year, just like every year, my school will be visited by a group of Czech students on a transfer program for an entire term. I'm feeling excited to meet them particularly because I'm directing them in a short extract from the play Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? by Edward Albee. The Czech exchange students have always been an anticipated part of the school year, leaving the students and the teachers with many fond memories. 

I wrote this sonnet on the night after I'd first seen the Czechs last year, being mesmerised by the one of them. I had, at that point, been struggling to write as I had not the inspiration; her arrival was perfectly timed. She instantly was my muse for my next poem. Since I felt that the sonnet was regarded as the form of poetry for the adoration of beauty or love (thanks to the constant iambic pentametre mimicking the heartbeat), it felt only fitting to write a sonnet in dedication to her.