Greetings @d-pend.
This poem reads as a get-away story.
Poor-but-happy kind of scene.
The divine hills vs the sad sky lines suggest a flight away from urban suffocation; to shake off sorrow in a small town square, under a sun that does not bother but produces joy.
The poet's contemplation of dry, unproductive seasons past. Pages
fallowed, unseeded, triumph denied.
A sad picture indeed
My legacy—
of weevil's eggs
and parchment scorched
by fever-dregs,
Finding inspiration in forbidden love, perhaps, to overcome the fears of the common man/woman.
A life of confort is not always a life of peace and happiness.
When we find passion and excitement, in the oddest of places, it is easy to refuse to give up the ever-spells that play a different tune, one we listen to with rapture.
This one came to me in an odd way. I had been working extensively for hours on a completely un-writing-related project (actually a video about beatboxing) and the contrast seemed to bring a wave of inspiration, because this poem almost completely "wrote itself," compared to many others who are written slowly and more consciously. I also think the type of verse that it was written in is a bit strange compared to what I've done before, but not being educated in verse forms or knowing the right terms, I suppose I'd have to ask @marlyncabrera about that!
All that to say, there was a powerful emotion driving this one. I think you hit it spot on when you said it was poor-but-happy, and it also had the feeling of being an "optimistic lament" or some such paradox. Poetry is uplifting when it is beautiful, it can be expanding when it's ugly, but I believe it starts to transcend itself where the unlikely marriage of the beautiful and ugly begin to reveal the falsity of our dualistic ways of perceiving the world. We begin to develop gratitude for all aspects of life, whether horrific or lofty.
Hi again, @d-pend☻Well, about your hypothetical asking me about verse form, you know, although it is obviously free verse, there is here (as well as in many of other of your pieces) a anapestic rythm which makes your poetry sound like a song. I guess this is because your a musician and a singer (I really like your voice by the way).
More specifically about the rhythm of this poem, I see pairs of dibrachs (ta-ta) plus iambs (ta-TUM), each pair making a quartus paeon (ta-ta-ta-TUM), but as a read your poem aloud (which is what counts if you ask me), I read it predominantly “anapestically” (If I can say that): ta-ta-TUM. I think you mix the sounds by ear, and I think you do it exquisitely.
Yep, @marlyncabrera is the verduga when it comes to poetry tech :)
I don't care much about those nuances, probably because i have a terrible memory for those things (well, it's more than just memory; i wasn't born for that, lack the talent). I have a great deal of respect for those who can.
Interesting source for that poem. Art also works in mysterious ways :)
To be honest, at this critical point in my life I am having a hard time showing any kind of gratitude for the horrific aspects of life. I am growing increasingly angry and frustrated and that is affecting every single thing I do or try to.
It has become a daily fight i'm losing
Hey, @hlezama, why don't you write a sonnet "full of scorn"; you might find it therapeutical (I've done it myself), and you know it'll be great because you're such a good writer. Sonnets are a good thing on earth and good things are, well, good things.
Thanks for the suggestion. I may do it some day, when the muses come back