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This week's offering is from a Clevelandpoetics the Blog contributor.
I was riding in a car
A passenger, staring out of the window
And as each line on the asphalt passed me by,
A dotted line that never seems to connect with the other
Like an unfinished sentence, like a failed relationship
I looked from sky to ground
As each cotton candy cloud of manmade pollution passed, I pondered each passerby
As they flitted passed me in their cars, everyone different from the last
I looked from Eastern Horizon to Western walls
Walls of iced graffiti climbing
Like veins, like vines, on cars, on trains, on dividers
Housing a skyscraper forest
That oppressed the beautiful blue sky
And then I realized
That the sky is not as beautiful as it once was
That the view beyond my window
Was a portrait of what we never really see
Oh yes!
The sky was so blue that day
So cearulean that it would shame the most pure of sapphires
But painted upon this corroted canvas
Was a landscape worn with time
Tained, by man’s need for dominance
Sky pollution
Road pollution
Ground pollution
Water pollution
Even the trees looked sad
As they were bullied by house upon house
Building upon building
In this forest of metal and glass
No part of nature was sacred anymore
And I thought to myself
That I could be a warrior
With hands that could sew
And feet that can stand
A voice that can raise
And ears that can listen
I could conquer the metallic gates
I could fight beyond distressed walls
Break down the invisible layers of denial
Of each
And every person
That sped past my eyes
Next to me
I knew as I sat there
Quiet and thoughtful
That no one really knew
What we had been doing
To what we had so graciously been given
I would become a general in a battle of one
And though I am so very small
And my voice meak against the walls of human ignorance
I will never stop speaking
And though I love this city
I will not become oblivious
To the depletion of green around me
To the smell of industry that fills my nose
With every breath
To the view outside my window
Of building upon house upon gravel
Where mother nature gravels to be heard
Where oxygen begs to be purified
Where forests call out to be explored
Armed with only these two hands
Young, hands, strong hands, my loving hands
And my meak voice
That houses strong opinions
Shall I ask each and every person
What do you see when you look outside your window
What do you want you childrens children childrens children to bask in
Shall they bask in the warm glow of the spring sun upon their faces
And the sweet crisp air of the evergreens
Or swim in a sea of ozone depletion they cannot quell
And metal and pain that cannot be healed
What kind of world are we shaping for them
I will ask
As a woman my womb cries out
To my brain to my heart
And as I look from sky to ground once again
East to west out of my window
I look at my fiancé sitting next to me
And know she understands
I am a warrior
5 comments:
Ah, some good stuff here.
The poem is strongest where it is most specific, and gets weak when it gets generic.
"I looked from Eastern Horizon to Western walls
Walls of iced graffiti climbing
Like veins, like vines, on cars, on trains, on dividers
Housing a skyscraper forest"
for example, I found very strong, while in the next line "beautiful blue sky" I found a little.
overused.
I liked the irony of the narrator riding in a car while describing in beautiful language her disdain for the way our car culture is ruining the world, but I think, perhaps, it might be a little stronger if the poet made that contradiction a little more explicit, that the narrator is herself complicit in making the world she decries.
-- I'm glad to see blind review back, by the way.
Hurray, Blind Review is back!
I enjoyed the passion of this poem. The strong feelings of the speaker come through clearly.
I agree with Geoff that there are some fresh specifics. There are also some cliches, like "cotton candy cloud" and "the warm glow of the spring sun." I'd rather be surprised by new images, like trees "bullied by house upon house."
Just as an experiment, you could try the entire poem in present tense. As it is now, it starts in past tense and ends in present tense.
I also wonder whether the physical form of the poem could in some way reflect what it's like to drive in a car and watch the things you pass by, as well as the things (like the sky) that stay with you as you drive. I have no specific idea how to do that, but probably with attention to line breaks.
There's lots of good stuff to work with here. For me, the real strength of the poem is in the speaker's fervor. I believe she's become a righteous warrior.
I like a lot of this poem, and agree with many of Geoff and Shelley's observations There are a few "typos" that have little or nothing to do with how "good" the poem is, but bug me nonetheless. For example....
passed = past
fiancé = fiancée (if indeed female)
corroted = corroded?
Still... this is a very worthwhile piece. I like it - but would love to see it tightened a bit....
Damn, John. You're probably right that corroted=corroded? I was hearing carotid, like the artery in the neck that's sometimes used to take pulse. I was taken with the notion of a "carotid canvas." Even more so when I looked up the etymology of carotid and discovered that it's rooted in a Greek word that means "stupefy" because at one time it was thought that compressing the carotid artery causes stupor.
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