Written in the same flame hand

[nonnymonster]

I wrote this recently and I mostly like it but something's a bit off. So I'm throwing it out for the vultures- any commentary will be gratefully appreciated.

I.
Written in the same flame hand
As the Chosen mitochondria of your daughter:
The harsh alien words
Stampede like metal animals from our mouths,
But she will learn to whisper them to birds.
II.
When we are overgrown
With the filigree ivy of our incomprehension,
Hers will be an asherah-
Or, at least, Better,
Or, at least, she will look God in the eye when she makes her demands,
Unburdened by the incense of cognitive dissonance embraced by our ancestors.
III.
We can’t protect her from Him forever.
We will circumscribe away the worst of her options,
Script the day she sees Him in His harsh hospital light.
Or is it better to let her choose the God that bites her?
At least her chapel will not be obscured by her father’s face.
Loving his God-shaped scar so deep,
Branding her with a more exotic one.

[Violet]

I wrote this recently and I mostly like it but something's a bit off. So I'm throwing it out for the vultures- any commentary will be gratefully appreciated.

I.
Written in the same flame hand
As the Chosen mitochondria of your daughter:
The harsh alien words
Stampede like metal animals from our mouths,
But she will learn to whisper them to birds.
II.
When we are overgrown
With the filigree ivy of our incomprehension,
Hers will be an asherah-
Or, at least, Better,
Or, at least, she will look God in the eye when she makes her demands,
Unburdened by the incense of cognitive dissonance embraced by our ancestors.
III.
We can’t protect her from Him forever.
We will circumscribe away the worst of her options,
Script the day she sees Him in His harsh hospital light.
Or is it better to let her choose the God that bites her?
At least her chapel will not be obscured by her father’s face.
Loving his God-shaped scar so deep,
Branding her with a more exotic one.

.. I put in robin's egg blue the "whispering to birds" line.. which I quite like..

I somehow feel to be the daughter when I read this.. so.. let's see..

I.
Written in the same flame hand
As the Chosen mitochondria of your daughter:
The harsh alien words
Stampede like metal animals from our mouths,
But she will learn to whisper them to birds.

.. the first four lines read as “harsh and alien” as I think they are meant to.. and.. in terms of the child again.. how the harshness of the world.. of one's parents' adult world.. how it might appear to the infant, or young child as this “stampede of metal animals from [their] mouths.” But then all is transformed as through the child’s whispering [such of this harshness] to birds. I find that lovely and moving.

II.
When we are overgrown
With the filigree ivy of our incomprehension,
Hers will be an asherah-
Or, at least, Better,
Or, at least, she will look God in the eye when she makes her demands,
Unburdened by the incense of cognitive dissonance embraced by our ancestors.

.. I quite like this.. "with the filigree ivy of our incomprehension"..

.. and as opposed to that, the daughter may even be like this goddess.. [oh, and sound-wise.. asherah has something of an "opening up" feeling, I find]

I was reading who asherah is.. this mother of the gods.. associated with serpents and sacred trees.. or a stylized tree made of wood used to represent this goddess..

.. something of strength and endurance, then.. something somehow beyond them [her parents].. even untouched by them..

.. [I’ll approach the later lines in a bit]..

III.
We can’t protect her from Him forever.
We will circumscribe away the worst of her options,
Script the day she sees Him in His harsh hospital light.
Or is it better to let her choose the God that bites her?
At least her chapel will not be obscured by her father’s face.
Loving his God-shaped scar so deep,
Branding her with a more exotic one.

[forgive me if I'm all queries here.. it's in some sense rhetorical.. a way of exploring the poem's meanings]

.. how to protect the child from “Him”.. "Him" as God’s harsh world, it seems..
.. that she may see it all too clearly, in all its harshness..
CAN she herself choose the God that bites her?.. is it even up to her?.. and yet I rather see that yes.. in some sense she'll blindly choose..
.. "At least her chapel will not be obscured by her father's face."
Though isn't everything to her to some degree obscured by her father's face? Even God?.. to some degree, maybe..

.. so.. it's her loving deeply her father's God shaped scar that brands her with a more exotic one..

This line itself seems to go in rather deep.. uncomfortably so.. and how is it that her scar is more exotic?.. to whom?

It seems there is hope that the child be spared what the parents became or had to withstand almost.. but it seems inevitably that the child will be scarred.. though she has made some advances... or has she?.. Perhaps it is that she is unaware of this entrenched ancestral cognitive dissonance.. and in being unaware, she is unable to come to new realizations based on "such reality," as it were.. [one interpretation maybe].. or.. perchance such "dissonance" is truly not timely to this new being.. this daughter.. thus, enabling her to speak directly.. directly to God, in this instance, when she makes her demands..

.. actually.. [to change the subject slightly].. I'm afraid I'm tired, rather sleep deprived.. although.. maybe I'm more susceptible to this poem somehow because of that.. [??]

.. in so speaking.. I can picture myself as the child whose inner wounds I once whispered to birds.. [or perhaps I still do].. though it's not just my wounds..

My parents were older than other children's parents who were my age.. and so musically speaking I grew up with old standards, not newer music.. anyway.. I have this memory of myself wearing a white dress dappled with fuchsia-colored flowers and bright green leaves.. and I was under my little umbrella, all alone in the rain.. [in our driveway].. and I remember how I was singing and using the phrasing and musical arrangements of Sarah Vaughan.. [I actually can't believe I taught myself how to do that when I was probably no more than nine, given Sarah is so very difficult in a way to follow].. so.. maybe it's the dreamy aspect of the "whispering" line that draws me in.. the child alone aspect.. although.. I'd add that the child alone with her talents and imagination.. is never really alone... and yes, she's taking inside herself so much that is harsh, and yet.. it’s transformed through her to a child whispering to birds.. or singing like Sarah Vaughan (!)

I seem to have ended with myself somehow, and not really with the poem..

.. okay, so.. as to what might be "off" about it.. I suppose it’s a poem that resists “flowing,” for some reason. It has a difficulty about it, which might be apt.. but let’s see..
.. I just thought the word “alien,” for example, might be omitted, since the “metal animals” line would in some manner encompass such meaning, and it might flow better with just one adjective there.. oh, and I might change it to “Our harsh words”.. since to personalize it here may open it up more. There is this “objective” sense to the poem right now, that might be what’s bugging you.. so it might be to open that up somehow.. and personalizing it is a way to do so.

.. also.. I sometimes feel that “embraced by” is problematic, in that it lacks specificity. It comes in handy, is the thing. [and I don’t mean that in a good way].. but here if you shift the sentence slightly..

.. "the incense of her ancestors' cognitive dissonance."

[as opposed to “cognitive dissonance embraced by our ancestors”]..

I think it might improve both the flow, and its meaning. “Incense” speaks to “embraced by” far more evocatively, concisely, and with far more specificity.

.. okay.. I hope you don't mind if I have a go at this.. [just to see what I might change myself].. then off to beddie byes (!)

I.
Written in the same flame hand
As the Chosen mitochondria of your daughter:
Our harsh words
Stampede like metal animals from our mouths,
But she will learn to whisper them to birds.
II.
When we are hemmed in
As with the filigree ivy of our incomprehension,
Hers will be an asherah-
Or, at least, Better,
Or, at least, she will look God in the eye when she makes her demands,
Oblivious to the incense of her ancestors' cognitive dissonance.
III.
We can’t protect her from Him forever.
We will circumscribe away the worst of her options,
Script the day she sees Him in His harsh hospital light.
Or is it better to let her choose the God that bites her?
At least her chapel will not be obscured by her father’s face.
Loving his God-shaped scar so deep,
Forming in her a more exotic one.


okay.. I can no longer see straight, but.. hopefully something I did here you'll like.. or maybe it gives you some new ideas, at least..
[I'm not sure the "oblivious" line is working either.. if you were to keep "oblivious".. I'm thinking 'incense' should be replaced with something else.. so.. it's something of a domino effect at this point.. and so I'm off to bed!]

.. later note: well, it's morning now.. and maybe the "oblivious" line works.. [who can say?]

[Cate]

I've come back to this a couple of times today Nonny ... It's very interesting in a good way, in a "I wonder' way. I'm going to come back as it needs to tumble in my head a bit more.

Unburdened by the incense of cognitive dissonance embraced by our ancestors

Right now your poem is makes me think of a Margerat Atwood book - Oryx and Crake.
I don't know if you've read it but there are pretty coloured people in the story who are man made and live on after mankind is gone - they were unburdened by the incense of cognitive dissonance.
Bulky line by the way but a captivating thought and again makes me want to explore your poem further ... as does that capital c in the first stanza.

cate who is withholding the x so as not to offend.

[nonnymonster]

Thanks, ladies!
-I'm glad you felt like being the little girl. That was a really sweet story. I guess I'm the adult in this, but it's significant to me because there is a little girl, and we all want to fix the child we once were.
-I guess it's difficult to keep it from being clunky because I was trying to follow the thought pattern of someone who is talking themselves out of something. Hence the numbering, which I'm not sure worked because there isn't a clean break between ideas.
-But I did change some of the awkward sentences as per your suggestions. I still don't think it's done, but I'm pretty sure it's better.
-Withholding the x? Not sure what you meant, but you can x all you want I think!

I.
Written in the same flame hand
As the Chosen mitochondria of your daughter:
Words stampede like metal animals from our mouths,
But she will learn to whisper them to birds.
II.
Our eyes red with the incense of cognitive dissonance,
We are overgrown
With the filigree ivy of our incomprehension,
But hers will be an asherah-
Or, at least, Better,
Or, at least, her gaze will meet God's when she makes her demands.
III.
We can’t protect her from Him forever.
We will circumscribe away the worst of her options,
Script the day she sees Him in His harsh hospital light.
Or is it better to let her choose the God that bites her?
At least her chapel will not be obscured by her father’s face.
Loving his God-shaped scar so deep,
Branding her with a more exotic one.