The Slam: Slammables
false cadence
by Elizabeth, California
sunset on an empty intersection:
though the light changes, nothing moves
but above your head tonight,
through the window,
a moth spun circles
in the naked wind:
"there is nature in the human,"
a little glimpse of the harmonious universe
brief relief of the divine headache
(maybe the spheres are untuned?
what the mind sees is no tragedy
but the comedy isn't divine)
i cannot worry about the self
when i am caught between the fantastic
and an imperfect mirror
I think that it is remarkable that the words of someone an ocean apart can lay a finger on my soul. They did.
critiqued by jujubee, Thailand
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010
I realize that a poem like this has multiple meanings, but for me, it reminded me of physics and ballet. I'm not quite sure why -- possibly because I've recently realized that I'm going to have to choose between ballet and academics sooner or later (I'm in high school). The line about sunset on the intersection speaks of inescapable reality, but noticing the moth reminds us there is still inspiration in the littlest things. My favorite line is "i cannot worry about the self when i am caught between the fantastic and an imperfect mirror." Of course, for me, that is ballet and astronomy -- what is it for you? What did you have in mind when you wrote this? I really want to know! I LOVE THIS! Sorry, no criticism -- this is just amazing!
critiqued by Estelle O., USA
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
The
somewhat mundane truth is that I began composing this poem in my head
while in a History of Literary Criticism class, and so the terms of
that discipline are sort of interwoven with my own thoughts. It was
about twilight, so the world outside the window was mostly blue, except
for a small circle of yellow around a streetlight that had just come
on. A classmate with this six-inch mane of wildly curly blond hair was
answering some question about Sidney or Dryden or something, when I
looked up and noticed that, through the window above his head, I could
see a bright white moth spinning in frenetic circles around the
streetlight.
It
gave me this amazing sense of transcendence. I suddenly knew that the
universe was perfect; and I was right where I needed to be; and even in
this concrete, static, pedestrian, twilit world, bits of nature seep in
to exist in harmony with us. That was my Fantastic.
And
then I realized that I'd missed everything my classmate had said
(information that I'd probably need on the final), and I was pulled
back into the world of untuned spheres and divine headaches -- a world
that, while by no means tragic, is an imperfect mirror of the Fantastic.
Sometimes
I think that explaining a poem ruins it (who was it who said the best
literature is the stuff that inspires emotion rather than clearly
represents life? -- damn, I really am going to fail this literary
criticism final), but, since Estelle asked, hopefully this little note
will simply offer a layer of meaning that you can file away alongside
your own...
critiqued by Elizabeth, California
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010
Slammings