The earth’s surface
spans five hundred and ten square kilometres;
its Imperial reach
is one hundred and ninety-six point nine miles;
if every human stood still for one minute
and studied the scene
we might see hunger, iniquity, pain;
we might witness
every kind of suffering
~ this world is too complex to be forever kind ~
yet if we could gaze
with a cleanly aesthetic eye
devoid of empathy
for the frog crushed beneath the boot,
we might find beauty in every millimetre;
we’d envisage beauty
in every razor blade, in every frightened face,
in every tainted pool
that seeps through limp uniform
to sink into the rusting battle field;
it’s easy to appreciate a sunset
or the wavering boughs of a willow tree,
but tucked in a desert
in the arid waste where death exalts,
as, throwing back his cape
he rides the rays of an allegiant sun
that roasts flesh from hollowing bones, leaving skulls to fade
in shifting hills and sandy vales
there is enchantment, whether scanned
from the height of an aeroplane, or gleaned
through a microscope
as we peek at the secrets of a single grain.
and on a motorway
on a wide tarmac trail
which breaks meadows in its wake,
snaking city limits, displaying the detritus of terminal mishap;
twisted metal, stains left by fractured death
and splattered brains
we find banks piled with riotous harmony
where flowers despised by tidy garden rules
are gems that shine on nature’s winsome breast.
In an iniquitous hidden room
in a bolted cell of jailor’s shame,
dank with acrid stench of psychopaths
intent on tearing sacred, private silk,
raping, molesting, shredding flesh in a hell
where madmen claim the purity of sin
where sadists taste their sour disgrace,
and relishing it, declare it sweet
the stolen one shudders,
her hair matted with filth and tears,
an innocent born with the essence of perfection,
a woman
who grew from woman’s womb.
.
This poem has veered a long way from its original intention, but I went with the flow – which suggests that I might be getting back on form 🙂
Note to self; it would require two people for it to work as an orated poem. Stanzas written in black would be best spoken in a gentle tone; those on the right, by an increasingly threatening one. The purple line in the middle would be spoken in duet.
©Jane Paterson Basil
Jane, this made me cry. Well done. ❤️
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A cleverly structured poem, your contrasting imagery from one side to the other was superb, and set-up your dramatic finale… I’d be more than pleased to read it with you one day….. (Have you tried webcam, with Messenger or Skype)
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I’d have a go at it, except that I have an aversion to being seen on a movie screen. As far as I know, I’ve only been videoed once in my life. I know this sounds silly, but it scarred me.
But I’ll bear it in mind, in case I ever feel brave xxx
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Maybe you could wear a disguise ….. xx
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Haha xxx
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Disguise yourself as me, Jane. I do!
Wait….that didn’t make sense.
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I also like the idea of you and Jane reading it, Ivor. Maybe make an audio recording of the reading.
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Sounds like a good idea 😉
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Could be interesting, with the contrasting accents, but how will a sweet guy like you manage to to sound threatening?. You’ll have to imagine yourself as Vlad the Impaler, or Atilla the Hun 🙂
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Ivor the horrible… I’m listening to Leonard Cohen’s, Tower of Song – memorial concert 2017, held in Montreal. I’m loving it, (tears and tissues) it’s on YouTube, have a look. 😊. If you can’t find it, I’ll email to you 😆 xxx
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I know it well:
I was born like this, I had no choice
I was born like this, with a golden voice
I love that man xxx
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Oh the concert goes for one and a half hours, … He got a big mention in this one I wrote yesterday. https://ivors20.wordpress.com/2018/09/22/cloudy-visions/
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But… but that would mean I’d have to talk… sound recordings of myself scare me almost as much as videos.
It’s hard to believe I used to be an Amazon.
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You could perform it in silhouette, as sideway shadows, or filmed from the back. Or, just do it as an MP3. Lots of solutions. Very mood and thought-provoking. Well done, Jane.
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I like the idea of silhouette…
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I’ve gotta read this again. I’m not sure if I absorbed it all…
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It took me ages to get this right! It can be read as two separate poems – one in black and one in red, or you can read it from top to bottom.
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Great post.
Cleverly proving Einstein’s theory that “everything is happening all at once.”
It is how we perceive it that creates our reality.
The post script invites a reread or perhaps a re-hear in the voices described. That itself enhances the “voices” spoken.
Plus I appreciate the reveal of “This poem has veered a long way from its original intention, but I went with the flow”
I’ve a post brewing that has a connected non sequitur, whilst flipping a coin if it should be two posts.
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Thank you, Angelo.
On the subject of your coin-flipping quandary: would it work if you wrote them as separate posts, entitling them ‘part one’ and ‘part two’?
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The coin landed on the edge, so edited it to a longer one and hopefully connected the non sequiturs. Thanks.
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Fantastic!!! OMG I LOVE this!!!!!!
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Thank you!
BTW I’ve been a bit distracted the past week or so. Did we decide to post our versions of each other’s poems?
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This poem fascinates me. I’ve read it a few times now, and I feel there’s still much more to be gotten out of it. This is so well done.
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Thank you, Paul. I spent a while editing to make it work either as a single poem, or as two separate ones. I’m wondering if I’ve invented a new poetry form.
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You have not invented a new form, but you have crafted a totally-awesome-freaking-hard-to-pull-off example of contrapuntal poetry. this is hard to do, but is extremely satisfying when it works, and like you said in the above comments, it took a lot of work and concentration to produce, but flows like an effortless conversation of two worlds talking both to and past each other. dVerse poetry pub did a challenge prompt on contrapuntal poetry this last May, and I have never successfully produced one, but yours is both engaging and powerful. Here is the link to the prompt and discussion on the dVerse site. Jane, you would be right at home at dVerse by the way, it is a friendly bunch of poets, come play with us sometimes. Lona.
https://dversepoets.com/2018/05/24/contrapuntal-poetry/
and here is the link for the dVerse prompt tonight, can be fun, I take part maybe 2-3 times a month.
https://dversepoets.com/2018/09/24/its-quadrille-monday/
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Thank you for the information, and the glowing compliment, Lona. I’ve considered submitting poetry to dverse – and a couple of other decent sites – but every time make plans, I lose confidence and become convinced that my poetry is worthless. It’s late now, but I’ll click on the links tomorrow.
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Your contrapuntal is amazing! I have never been able to do one. There is a verve and a life to your writing. As for dVerse, it is just no pressure girl, jus c’mon, jus a frenly bunch.
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It could be a new form. We should ask someone who knows.
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I’m not an innovator after all. Lona Gynt tells me it’s a Contrapuntal poem.
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That’s a new word for me. Good to know.
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By the way, I once read that Stalin’s torturers were shot and replaced every 18 months or so because they became incapable of performing their duties. I’ve wondered if they were recruited from ordinary men or if an effort was made to find sadistic men. Whatever the case, they’d fall apart after about 18 months, if I recall.
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That’s interesting, if it’s accurate. Stalin’s paranoia resulted in the killing of many of his loyal subjects. Maybe he simply imagined they weren’t capable of carrying out the job. On the other hand, he gave orders and expected obedience. He might not have thought it mattered whether the torturers enjoyed their job – until it turned out they couldn’t cope with it.
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“yet if we could gaze
with a cleanly aesthetic eye”
This is something I believe too.
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I read this a couple of times and every time I read it I found a newness, much like a kaleidoscope, the patterns changing, reshaping and lo there is something new.
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Thank you! Your comment means a lot to me; I gave the poem a lot of thought.
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The pleasure is all mine 🙂
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Ivan Karamazov would have argued that the suffering of the girl is not worth all the beauty and meaning that might arise from that suffering. Alyosha Karamozov would not have cared about the price, would not give back his ticket, but would just get down to business and dry her tears, and therein Alyosha is beautiful. I love this poem, the world turns so much on the prism we view. The desert is beautiful after all.
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Thank you again, Lona. I took another look at the poem and feel I could improve it. I write with a hot hand. Although I edit before posting, I often find that my poems benefit from a rest while I distance myself from the topic. I expect I’ll return to this poem and edit it again at a later date.
Meanwhile I’ll read up on Alyosha Karamozov.
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He’s a sweetheart 💜
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your words are beautiful! i really enjoyed this.
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