Two Poems and an Analysis ['Witness,' & 'An Old Love']
Two Poems and an Analysis ['Witness,' & 'An Old Love']
Witness
My face belongs to whoever sees it
Everything has a meaning but life
Even the bugs strive for existence
God saved man, from God
Ghosts have lonely sins
Her bones are stones
Up and down the hill
Gardens blossom
Spotless skies
Dramatists
August
I can not
rest!...
#708 6/3/05
An Old Love
Around the world from me
are the many lands I've seen-
I, who have longed all his life,
that never shut his eyes
but to look up for his next flight
?for things I've yet to see-
wait, wait, wait, wait where
echoes from poets write,
wait, for far off destinies.
And where my thoughts are
I must go, for there too is my
. soul; thus, best to poke the
fire again!...
6/3/05 #707
Analysis: I was asked the other day to do a verbal and quick analysis for a poem. It can be a terrifying experienced, especially if the person is a friend. What do you say? Like it or not, it is a worthwhile thing to do, and have done. And I've had a few hundred of my poems analyzed, poked at, chewed up; thus, when asked to analyze a poem, I do it with great care. But I do realize I am not going to contribute to anything other than my own attentive response. Well this poem baffled me and that was not good, but I studied the poem well after he left, I could only give him a few pieces of my thoughts prior to his leaving. I did afterwards mark phrases that caught my attention, good and bad, things that were striking or difficult, and where the focus was lost. I do trust my intuition, so that is one good thing.
There are three things I try to look at 1) the purpose of the poem, as I understand it to be 2) the central emphasis (problems and concerns, etc), and 3) imagery, tone, meter and so forth, while at the same time trying not to diminish the poetic effect the poem is trying to give. But then, I do not do analysis but on a few special occasions other persons poetry, for I have a hard enough time doing my poetry. But I thought a few comments might be worth mentioning. I guess, if I like the poem, I just like it, period. The Author
Here are two more poems, both different in their focus, poetic emphasis; both short poems, but enough to give a distinctive effect. The tone is of special importance. An analysis comes along with the two poems, not on Mr. Siluk's poems, for that is for someone else to do, but on how he looks at times on other poems, recognizing the combination of different elements.--Rosa Penaloza
Poet/Author Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
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The Art of Receiving Poetic Critique
You can show your poem to your mom, your spouse, your co-workers, or your friends, but you might not get the responses that you can suck up into your little writing fingers to use in an effort to refine your craft. What does it really mean when someone who cares about you, but not for poetry says, "Wow, this is great.
Stone Beds [A Poem and an Advance]
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Kafka Re-Trial
Kafka lands resurrected in Crewedeposited by a silvery alien craft,And whilst he is wondering what to doHe is asked to show his passOr pay an instant one off fineAt a cash dispenser of his choiceAnd they are checking all the timeOn his irises face and voice.And of course they find that he is not,They discover he just cannot be there,Although he seems as if he is visible,And has hands and toes and hair,If he is not on the Great Data Bank,He plainly and simply cannot be,He is not listed and he is not rankedHe is surely not like you and me.
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There once lived an old man and his goodwifeOn the edge of the thick of the woods;They lived in an old run-down shackFor forty-years and some.The old man hunted for his living,And his wife sewed on her lap.
Cruel World
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Ode To Quetzalcoatal [Now in Spanish and English]
Ode to QuetzalcatlQuetzalcatl the GreatNo one knew his true name, so theyCalled him Quetzalcatl-feather SerpentHe and his crew of nineteen: facesStrange faces, images of a prince, a lord:King of the Yucatan in the year 986 ADHe was a tall man; long cloths, sandals;White as day, with a long beard, black hair.Some say red: some don't say?But they called him priest, Lord, kingAmongst many things: god!.
Our Home
Our home was warm in the shade of the trees or when the sun was not upon it.It was built on the side of a hill, near a lake where spirits could be free.
The Cat
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A Ship to Remember
Hammers. Timbers.
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Mechanical Poetry; Part Two
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Commuting Hell!
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