The Fallen Star

[Aslak]

Here's a sonnet I wrote last October 16 in memory of my hero Michael Collins. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Co ... _leader%29

Once, when all seemed darkest and forlorn,
when lonely Erin wept in streams of blood;
in the darkness a shining star was born,
and radiant light burst forth just like a flood.

O blessed sanguine Star of Erin’s Isle,
with ardour and intensity divine,
you lit Her Night with your florescent smile
and warmed Her with that fiery heart of Thine.

But nothing in this world is without scars,
not even the candescent shining stars:
they also will fall into the abyss,

swallowed by a frigid Mouth of Flowers,
where darkness greedily the light devours;
and leave us naught but memories of bliss.

[bee]

you lit Her Night with your

florescent smile

and warmed Her with that fiery heart of Thine.

What? Say it again, please?

But nothing in this world is without scars,
not even the candescent shining stars:
they also will fall into the abyss,

You must be kidding

[Aslak]

Since you are obviously an idiot and an even bigger asshole than Young dr. Freud (which I suppose explains why you live in San Fran) I'm going to walk you through this poem. Granted it's far from a masterpiece, but being a sonnet written in English by a 19-year old Swede in honour of his greatest idol on his idol's birthday, I think it is sufficient.

Once, when all seemed darkest and forlorn,

Ireland had ben occupied by the British for 700 years so I'd say things were pretty glum back then.

when lonely Erin wept in streams of blood;

Erin is another name for Ireland. Weeping in streams of blood refers to all the Irishmen who were murdered by the British occupants. The line is also inspired by a sentence from Shakespeare's Richard III, act V, scene V:

Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,
That would reduce these bloody days again,
And make poor England weep in streams of blood!

in the darkness a shining star was born,

Michael Patrick Collins was born on October 16th, 1890, during quite a dark period of Irish history (Parnell just having failed in his campaign for Home Rule).

and radiant light burst forth just like a flood.

This partly refer to Michael's personality, him being an extremely charismatic man, able to charm pretty much anyone (at the negotiations for the Anglo-Irish treaty Collins managed to charm sir Frederick Edwin Smith, earl of Birkenhead, a staunch supporter of the Irish protestants who had been screaming for Collins' blood for two years). It also refers to the change he brought to Ireland (liberating it from the British and all).

O blessed sanguine Star of Erin’s Isle,
with ardour and intensity divine,

The adjectives refer to Collins' personality traits.

you lit Her Night with your florescent smile

I can actually understand if you find this line silly. It's a nod to a another tribute poem to Collins, which was written by his friend sir Shane Leslie after seing sir John Lavery's painting of the the dead Michael Collins. In his poem Leslie likens Collins to a flower (and yes, Leslie's poem is far better than mine so don't bother pointing that out):

What is that curling flower of wonder
as white as snow, as red as blood?
When death goes by in flame and thunder
and rips the beauty from the bud.

They left his blossom, white and slender
beneath Glasnevin's shaking sod;
his spirit passed like sunset splendour
unto the dead Fiannas' God.

Good luck be with you, Michael Collins,
or stay or go you far away;
or stay you with the folk of fairy,
or come with ghosts another day.

But nothing in this world is without scars,
not even the candescent shining stars:
they also will fall into the abyss,

This refers to the fact that Michael, the months before his death, had been quite depressed, due to the death of several friends and because of the eruption of the Irish Civil War, and he was drinking quite heavily, two facts which very much contributed to his fall.

swallowed by a frigid Mouth of Flowers,

Micahel Collins was shot to death in an ambush on the 22nd August, 1922, at a place called Béal na Bláth, which is Irish and means Mouth of Flowers. He was 31 years old.

where darkness greedily the light devours;
and leave us naught but memories of bliss.

These lines really don't need any further explantion.


Hopefully I've cleared up a few things. Now, will you please stop being an asshole? You really don't have the flair for it.

And I thank you, I thank you for doing your duty,
you keeper of truth, you guardian of beauty.
Your vision is right, my vision is wrong,
I'm sorry for smudging the air with my song.

[bee]

Since you are obviously an idiot and an even bigger asshole than Young dr. Freud (which I suppose explains why you live in San Fran)

How very true- a touch of genius to figure that out- congrats little Karl XII!
When you'll finish your potty training, when you'll get your first job and earn your first krona's, when they'll teach you some manners, how to talk to people mucho more older and mucho more respectable than you-you little schmuck- karlo de XII, then please send us some sweet poem written on one lonely, full of wolfs and shame nightes~ and I promise-I'll read it. Otherwise, I could not force myself reading anything you've written- exept your shmuck's majesty's poor attempt to write down my name-bee

[Aslak]

more respectable

And what on God's green earth makes you think you qualify as that? I mean: you insult people like a child for crying out loud! Maybe that's respectable in USA (or maybe just in San Fran ) but it sure isn't where I come from.

[lizzytysh]

Hi Aslak ~

I enjoyed very much reading your explanation of your poem/sonnet. For your age or not, I feel you did an admirable job of honouring someone, whom you held in high respect. The lines you've written seem fitting with your descriptions of how they came into being. It sounds like the loss of Michael Collins was a great one, indeed. It sounds as though he was accomplishing a lot for people. Keep writing, with the same kind of thought-invested lines, Aslak.

~ Lizzy

[linda_lakeside]

I agree. Aslak, I enjoyed the poem from the first words and your explanation just added more clarity.

BEE! Good Gawd! As a painter, I thought you would have more sensitivity to another's work! A constructive crticism is one thing, a targeted joke at someones' hard-spun words is something different.

Linda.