I am very entranced by this poem. I don't want to influence any analyses by putting mine here, but if anyone wants to post thoughts after reading, I would love to engage in a discussion.
I don't know if I have any analysis to share, but I will say that the end of this poem really struck me: I dodged a bullet. I really enjoyed the poem though, it's got some pretty amazing imagery and for the reasons stated above, that last bit really resonated with me. I hear in heaven
the angel has a harelip
I once wrote a song called "Hair Lip". I was born with a cleft pallet and according to the doctors, I had a harelip that healed in utero. I was born with a hairline scar that ran from my left nostril down to my lip, where the gap would have been. and she is willing to watch you shake.
Oh, wow, that's incredibly interesting. I love the duality of hare/hair for your hairline scar. I think a lot of the images are related to falling short of expectations: everything is anticlimactic, even hell and heaven. I also found an interview with Metzger about the piece that's on the same site. I wasn't able to listen to it all right now, but the beginning sounded interesting. http://catchandrelease.columbiajournal.org/2014/10/31/writing-a-living-1-elizabeth-metzger/
I suppose I'm assuming that anyone new to this post might read my comments at the top before reading the poem, but will probably not read the comments in the thread.
Fair, and upon reflection, I've done a similar thing before - withheld my opinion on a post because I wanted others'. I usually do this because I want to see if others will reach my same conclusions (or not) without me saying anything. So I can't fault the choice, exactly, but at the same time, I am interested in your opinion. So, allow me to read and comment and then hopefully, you will return the favor? I enjoy the structure and the minimalism of this poem. Some of the imagery is pretty strong and original and I think the last line/ending is well done - that's often a difficult spot (especially for me personally when writing) in poems. I can't say I'm entranced by this poem because in general I think I like poems like this to have a little "more" to them to hang on to. Right now it is a series of disassociated images that imply a shape. I think the poem loses itself a tiny bit (at least for me) both here: and here: With the second, I feel like there could be more force in the second line. I would delete "now" and the quotes and feel already the line is stronger. However, the poet probably finds these essential to the meaning of the poem. (I find I often look at poems and think about how I would change them. Sometimes it's a fun writing exercise.) With the first couplet, the lines are just a little beyond my grasp. I find I am spending too much time trying to make sense of them. "Where death is something you can fuck up" - suicide, a hospital? Am I reading too far into this? But, I am very fond of the ending, which I think ties the poem back together strongly enough that the weakness I feel in these lines can kind of be overlooked because of its force. As for reading posts and reading comments, I can't say I do either in a particular order. Depends on the post. Sometimes the thread comments convince me to read a link. Usually if it's a poem thing I would probably skim them first, but in this case (as you responded to me and in my sort-order my comment was top) I didn't proceed further before checking out the poem. just for, you know, sanctity or whatever.Where death is something you can fuck up
the broken heart rolls three blank dice.
Everything blushes but my ego
now dumbed down for “sleep.”
I actually have a similar feeling, but with regard to the second couplet you posted. I am unsure what "now dumbed down" refers to: everything, or the ego? If it's the ego, then why is it in juxtaposition to the ego being the only thing not blushing? I suppose I read the first line, and I think: "Of course, the ego loves itself--it never would blush." But then the second line comes, and the ego--if it refers to the ego--is impotent, dumbed down for sleep. That said, though, the general impression I get from that couplet in context is this: the speaker is looking inward and finding things to be sardonic about. (That's what I get from the quotes around sleep.) The speaker tells us the psychic says all that negative, broken heart rolling three blank dice shittiness "says a lot"--presumably about the speaker's future. There's outward eyes evaluating, and now the speaker's inward eyes don't see much to sing praises about either. It's a far cry from Whitman's body having sex with his soul in a sunlit meadow. (And the way the psychic line is presented--it's laughing at the psychic, too, who is supposed to be a peddler of predictions but can only give a reading that means nothing.) Regarding the first couplet you posted, I do think the "death is something you can fuck up" may refer to suicide, but in keeping with the heaven/hell conceit, I think it might also have to do with St. Peter's Judgment at the pearly gates. Birth and death are the most profound human experiences. Death: the end of all. But wait: after you die, what, your immortal soul goes to be scrutinized and evaluated? This is in keeping with what I perceive to be the essential anticlimacticity (that's not a word) of the poem. Although, if I try to perceive a causal link between fuck up/ the broken heart, my analysis falls apart a little bit. I can say what the "three blank dice" calls up for me: it's the only impossible result that is worse than the worst possible outcome, as I said below, and I think it also has to do with the murkiness of the future. The first interpretation would fit in with the absolute desolation of the subversion of death's profundity, while the second is supported my the following line about the psychic. Other than that--does it imply that the first line is a necessary condition for the second line? Or is "where death is something you can fuck up" just synonymous with world, here? The couplet that seems more out of place for me is I think this one is important, too, but I don't know if I'm getting enough from it. The analysis I like the most is that it just subverts the target of mocking--or bemoaning? Anyway, all that's before-- hell, a tulip, death, the future, the self--is painted to be flawed and short of expectations. Then this couplet arrives, and the speaker is pointing out how silly it is that these apparently professional outcasts are waiting for a whole planet to arrive to them. I don't know whether the "planet" is supposed to be heaven, or if the "phenom-hermits" are the religious; that doesn't quite fit. But regardless, the essence is there: we who expect the impossible are ridiculous. The poem ends on what I see as a comparatively sweet note. The angel has a harelip--so what? Isn't confronting a face with imperfections better than a face that's perfectly radiant? Then, "and she is willing to watch you shake"; that could mean a number of things, but watching implies a sort of comfort even while shaking implies fear. That's enough for the speaker: everything more profound has turned out to be false or unattainable, anyway. I'm going to post this mind-dump without editing, so if you've read all of it, I'm sorry for the way it reads. I hope I explained my thoughts well enough. Justifiably or not, I certainly found associations between the images, but I can see how one would not. Someone once told me that a poem only exists in an instant in the mind of the reader and disappears: it can never exist in the same way again. So I suppose that for some reason, this poem is a revelation in my mind--and it makes perfect sense that anyone else's reading is dissimilar.With the first couplet, the lines are just a little beyond my grasp. I find I am spending too much time trying to make sense of them.
A crowd of phenom-hermits
expects a planet to arrive.
OTHER POSSIBLE INTERPRETATIONS (not necessarily likely, just possible) I'VE THOUGHT ABOUT As you are probably aware a common French idiom is "le petit mort," literally "the little death," really referring to "orgasm." This is a common idiom and a generally known euphemism, both the French phrase and the English word death = sex/orgasm, from what I understand. So I think there's the potential that "death" may also be referring to or evoking sex, in which case yes - it's easy to sex wrongly, or at least, sub-par-ly. Keeping the context of the poem pretty strictly as a cast-off lover and broken heart, it is worth considering if this is intended by the author and at least invoked by this phrase if not the totality of what it refers to. I would say less that the poem is anticlimactic but that it is anti-idyllic. I do think that goes better with the idea of a disillusioned/spurned lover who is realizing the seemingly best thing(s) (love, relationship, partner, etc) were not/are no longer as they were/seemed. Psychic - not too many syllables away from psychiatrist. Continuing to interpret the poem rather more rigidly I feel like could be referring to an acquiescence or acceptance born of defeat or lack of energy. That is what I get from "now dumbed down," that there is a loss of energy and a general either begrudging acceptance of sleep or even perhaps welcoming sleep as respite from pain/disappointment. I could see myself after a break-up just trying to wear myself down into unconsciousness for a while to cope. But I agree, the blushing remains ambiguous, unless we are talking about a cheating lover perhaps (which could also be how one could fail at death/sex). The hermits I agree are a departure and take the poem from a very close lens to a far one. However, perhaps the idea there is that of anticipating the impossible/ridiculous/never-gonna-happen, which may be how the narrator feels hoping their lover will return. Some more thoughts. I agree, I interpret the angel "willing to watch you shake" as uplifting in a way, not deliberately but absolutely reminiscent of Taylor Swift, and interpret "shake" to mean "dancing" or celebration of some kind. That even in imperfection there can be joy. Even in the diminution of an ideal you can retain some carefree and happiness.Where death is something you can fuck up
the broken heart rolls three blank dice.
Everything blushes but my ego
now dumbed down for "sleep"
Ooh, that's interesting. I didn't think about le petit mort. That would jive with the use of "fuck." Incidentally, the first time I was told about le petit mort I was in tenth grade and I think we were reading Macbeth. I don't remember where it fit in exactly, but I do remember my (female) teacher telling us that the reason it's called that is because when you orgasm, your heart beats incredibly slowly, you become lightheaded, and time seems to almost stop--you really do feel close to death. There began my unreasonable expectations for sex. I like the lover interpretation as well. And I definitely thought about psychiatrist when I read psychic. Your interpretation is more the poet's end--lived experience--while mine is the grandiose bumfuckery of either a wide-eyed reader or a poet who's got a big head. In the tradition of the American classroom, I say each one is the best way to interpret it.
I think that is a very safe assumption. It is certainly how I tend to approach a post. I would have read your commentary, then gone to the poem and then returned and read the comments here.
The sadness of finding out that is the most empty, helpless, and hollow of sadnesses. It's not a place one wants to visit, but writing poetry in that state of pain can deliver some haunting metaphors: you are no longer the beloved.
the broken heart rolls three blank dice
"Three blank dice"--I love that. You roll, you're hoping, and it's the only impossible result that is worse than the worst possible outcome. and are all such dissonant, harsh lines--and I think it's partly because they end on an unstressed syllable, stopping on the "downturn." are no longer the beloved.
I take a machete to a tulip.
Where death is something you can fuck up
the angel has a harelip
For sure. I was talking more about how it scanned/sounded when read aloud. But composition and meaning interact, as always.
I guess I would say I dabble. I have been published once a couple of years ago in a national YA lit mag, and I've taken a class in university, but I feel like I am much better at appreciating than creating most of the time. Are you a poet? :)
I sometimes write things for hubski under the tag #todayswritingprompt. The real poets on this site include _refugee_, humanodon, rezzeJ. thenewgreen has amazing song lyrics and even flagamuffin has impressed me over the months with a verse or two.
Working and quite guzzling
But the state of the economy to come Is dark scary and puzzling
When I'm drunk on kahlua and rum Come on lil - you know me well
Certainly you've got it right Would indeed be a cold day in hell
Ere I was sober on a Saturday night yeesh
A cold day indeed! This reminds me of Ogden Nash. I keep one of his poems in my pocket to use at parties and events to seem clever. Here it is: That's right, I said "booya" after an Ogden Nash poem. There is a first time for everything.
Boooya! There is something about a martini
Ere the dining and dancing begin
And to tell you the truth
It's not the vermouth
I think that perhaps it's the gin
Hey, at least you are a poet, I'm just some lyricist.
check my most recent effort I think I may have to throw in the towel
Yes she is. We have a pretty healthy appreciation for poetry around these parts. I have been fortunate to cultivate some nice friendships with the poets lil mentions in her response. I've actually been very fortunate to have been gifted some of humanodon's writings to use as lyrics. The most recent incarnation is here. -It's a collaborative music project on Hubski. More creatives are MOST WELCOME here. dabble away my friend!Are you a poet? :)