'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.  

'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.

'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.

'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!

'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.