Iron Poet II

[Brickwall]

@PhoeKun

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Took you long enough

Anyway, the layout of the poem was totally from inspiration. From the muse's mouth. It had nothing to do with wanting to abandon structure. Now, I can't really argue with any of your aspersions toward the quality of my muse. That's what objective judges are for. But don't think I'm overreacting to my failure from last time.

I'll remember your tips about syntax duality next time I do it (I'm probably going to do it again at some point in my life). And as for the speaker sounding whiny...my muse is so Emo she's struck deaf and dumb by positive emotions. It's in all my poetry for some reason.

Next round, if I can, maybe I'll try something with unicorns and butterflies. Maybe try and dig myself out of the rut I'm in.

[ZombieRockStar]

*ahem* While I don't usually like complaining about these things, I should note that Eugar hasn't been on since the 11th, and I believe that he said you'd make sure to prod him, Phoe.

And sometimes I really wish I knew how to accurately respond to the judges' comments. I'll try and think of something to say.

@V: 'kayz. Gotcha.

[PhoeKun]

Don't worry about him. He's been busy this past week because he's a masochist, and loves loading himself down with tons and tons of classwork, which has apparently been hitting harder than he thought it would.

Long story short, I need him for a D&D session this afternoon, but Eugar should be able to get some sort of judgment up this evening.

[MethodicalMeat]

@Phoekun

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You know, for how much I love reading and writing poetry, I seem to suck at it. Hard. I don't seem to be getting much better either, this the second contest where I've lost on the first round. I don't know, maybe I'm just not meant to write poetry, but whatever.

[rubakhin]

@MethodicalMeat

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Don't feel too bad, my friend. And, whatever you do, don't give up on poetry entirely. As another amateur, I think what you need is more direction, more control ... Do you have another language? Perhaps you could try translations of poetry. That will discipline you. If not, maybe pick up one. Like something obscure, but with a lot of good poetry, so that your translations, if they reach professional quality, will be very important. Do you like Chechen? Or Harari? I never see any translations into the English of Chechen or Ethiopian poems. You have a strong sense of word choice and imagery that would make you a really good translator.

(Yes, I know I'm being nosy, but I hate it when young poets get discouraged. I hope I don't come off as condescending or anything. Sorry.)

[PhoeKun]

@MethodicalMeat:

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I don't think it's fair to say you suck, and I certainly hope I didn't give that impression in judging.

A professor of mine once told me that there are three stage's in a poet's growth: in the first step, you learn structure. This is the point when the poet has stopped producing garbage, and where a reader can look at a piece and find something to like about it. But this is also the point where the verse tends to dictate what the poet does, which prevents the poem from being all it can be. Poems, after all, are terrible at writing themselves.

The second step is where the poet learns to manipulate and play with structure (or, it's worth noting in both cases, the lack thereof). A poet at this point is making decisions in order shape the poem around the right words.

The third step is the point at which the poet manipulates structure with such precision that a reader isn't aware the structure is even there. This is what we all aspire to, but so very few of us reach.

But, there are a great deal of people who never even reach step 1. These are the kind of people who are always pleased with themselves, and never go back and question their work. But that's not you. You've got talent, it's just going to take time to develop. It gets frustrating when you hit a plateau, but you've got to keep pressing on if you really love the art. We're not all meant to be writers all the time, but for those with a passion for it, there's always room for the attempt.

[Brickwall]

And what about Canti? It conveniently forgot to do the bracket I was in as well...

[Eugar]

First of all, I apologize to everyone who is a part of this competition for my slow judging. Phoe's explanation of why I did not posted earlier had me laughing because of how accurate it is. Anyway, I will do my best not to allow this to take as long next time.

Without further ado:

Mr. Saturn vs. ZRS

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Winner: Mr. Saturn
Mr. Saturn

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This poem flows off my tongue when I read it aloud, which is a trait common in my favorite poetry. The characterizations of the butterfly and the moth were clear and straightforward. The last two lines brought much to the poem. Besides being well crafted, they introduce indirectly divine approval on the attraction of the two insects and by extension that there is nothing unnatural or wrong with such an attraction.

ZRS

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While I enjoy this poem, it is not as clear as it could be. In the second line does "it" refer to the butterfly or the box? Since "it" has legs, I assume the butterfly, but since the box was the last thing referenced before "it" I assumed that "it" referred to the box until almost a full two lines later, the legs were mentioned. The enjambment of "Escape" seems to break the flow of the line; however, I do not like enjambment in general in English poetry. The comparison between the butterfly and a Christmas star is good for the similarity of the position at the top of a tree; however, the narrator in the poem has a larger imagination than I do: I can image a butterfly screaming to escape, but without any other personification for the Christmas star I have trouble believing it suffers.

Ravyn vs. rubakhin

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Winner: rubakhin

Ravyn

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I really enjoyed the style of this poem and the demonization of cellular telephones, but I am left wondering how does one pay one's soul for a cell phone? Time and attention are the only two common problems of owning a cell phone brought up in the poem, while the obsessed devote themselves to their cell phones. The emotions expressed in the poem, especially the end, were clearly communicated; however, I never found any unholy bargains being made.

rubakhin

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This poem covers several themes and ties them all together very well. The imagery releases the reader from the narrator's internal conflict and then pulls the reader back into the conflict just as the narrator cannot escape it himself. I am mainly referring to the imagery associated with the "revolution of the heart" and the "escape of the heart." Occasionally, I had trouble following the transitions from one theme to another. In particular, the sentence beginning "This small room" was difficult for me to follow the first time I read it. The ending fits the poem perfectly tying the themes together: moving on while still being in love.

Average Joe vs. Methodical Meat

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Winner: Methodical Meat

Average Joe

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The focus on the clown's face and lips and the comparison to a vulture and implicitly to a hyena clearly show the the narrator's fear and the clown's malice. Unfortunately, the wheel was confusing. How can a wheel keep a beat like a metronome, while spiraling "toward nothing" and "down toward infinity" assuming that the "white with dark lines" is on the wheel? Also, consistent use of punctuation is important, and if no punctuation is used it is important that it is clear which lines are new thoughts and which are continuations of previous lines. However, if punctuation (i.e. commas and semicolons) is used to signify breaks of thought within lines, then punctuation, beyond a question mark or two, should be used to signify all breaks of thought.

Methodical Meat

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The narrative was very well executed, being able to focus on details not yet mentioned and returning to the narrative without loss of clarity. For example, the "cry in the night" and the "desperate flight" are obviously refering to what the boy is doing and not the rock. Despite this, the ending line is confusing to me since I do not understand what "my only and one" can mean, unless it was a typo. Nevertheless, this poem was well done.

Amotis vs. Brickwall

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Winner: Brickwall

Brickwall

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First of all, I love the ring composition. Since I have not heard that term outside of the study of ancient poetry (especially common in Homer), let me clarify: Ring composition is going through a list of ideas or concepts then going through the list again in reverse order, similar to a mirror image. A, B, C, D, C, B, A is an abstract example of ring composition. Extolling the virtues of the paper crane, then following it with the narrator's low opinion of himself is also a creative use of juxtaposition through the ring composition between the ideal of the paper crane and the reality of the narrator.

Amotis

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There are many things going on in this poem, which while definitely intensional makes it complex and for me difficult to follow. Despite this, almost everytime I read it I find something new that I enjoy. However, I still do not understand "endless clothing" or "the bitter water that we all drink." The use of the prompt was well done: using it literally for the newspapers and figuratively for virginity and for the mortality of humans and the lack of permanence in life in general. While the multitude of themes of created a realistic relationship between the narrator and his significant other, it does make it harder to understand; however, I believe this difficulty was intended to reflect the complexity of real relationships. While it is clear the narrator does not understand the poetry he is given, he also does not understand the giver, which explains the numerous themes and topics.

[Brickwall]

@Eugar

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Huh. I've never studied much ancient poetry, so it's definitely not inspired by that. Then again, muses are traditionally Greek...coincidence?

So...anyone know when Canti will be around?

[PhoeKun]

So...anyone know when Canti will be around?

Your guess is as good as mine. *shrug*

[Canti]

Yeah, sorry about my absence. Things were becoming hectic, what with essays being due and me ignoring essays until the day before.

[Amotis]

@ Canti:

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Why thank you. But I feel kinda strange just appealing to your sense of romanticism (as much as I can relate ). Perhaps you could tell me specific parts that you liked, any parts that faulted, and what you thought of the structure of the poem. I really am deep into the characters and I seek to elaborate, so any help would be awesome sauce.

@ Phoe:

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It was risky, I know. I wanted to experiment with using the structure to represent as much as the character/mood/feel of the poem as I could. I was scared that people might just blow it off as horrible free verse. Endless clothing was a metaphor for the sexual tension, her stubbornness to stay a virgin but as well as representing how ironic that the flesh dies (as she shows ((but also not just flesh but virginity...which goes back to other metaphors...which is like a metaphor on a metaphor on a metaphor that maybe shouldn't be assumed to be got...)) and he refers to her clothing as endless or immortal. Apparently you weren't the only one to be confused at that line. >< As for the "And I was confused." part...well that was a main point on how their differing views of their relationship just clashed. The two metaphor stanzas next to each other showing how even though there are differences it still revolves around holding hands, a sign of being together and their relationship. Characterizing both her and the togetherness.

Oh...and 37 minutes is how long I wrote the poem in. And really, I was struggling the whole week to make something that I could think about. And really it was only that closing shift at work that night where I started forming what was to be the poem. Came home, wrote it, and hit reply.

But I really want to continue this poem. So please, any pointers would be great.

@ Eugar:

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Thanks for the comments. Endless clothing was a metaphor for the sexual tension, her stubbornness to stay a virgin but as well as representing how ironic that the flesh dies (as she shows ((but also not just flesh but virginity...which goes back to other metaphors...which is like a metaphor on a metaphor on a metaphor that maybe shouldn't be assumed to be got...)) and he refers to her clothing as endless or immortal. Apparently you weren't the only one to be confused at that line. >< (seriously, I just copy and pasted what I had to explain before ) Bitter water is simply just alcohol. Hence the little limerick-y thingy after it. I'm very glad you got that the whole rush of metaphors and themes made the relationship. I do admit the strange use of structure and the overall complexity were included to characterize the narrator and represent the relationship. It was risky to assume that people wouldn't just brush it off as bad poetics or something like that.

But I'm curious, if you found it so fitting and explainable, then what didn't you like? I'm seeking to do quite a few more drafts of the poem and I want to know what you didn't like, what you could see differently. A workshop critique, if you would please. I know you're busy but anything would be helpful. The comments were wonderful but I seek to draft this over and over so I want to know how.

@ anyone else:

Hey, I want to continue this poem, more drafts and all that jazz. So any comments and suggestions would be awesome and I'd greatly appreciate it. Also, AJ, I'm a bit worried that this poem might carry a bit of what you disliked in my last IA effort. So if you would please, I would like to hear your input as well.

[MethodicalMeat]

@Everyone

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I would like to apologize to everyone for that self-loathing I demonstrated back there. I was mean and unfair of me to lash out at even myself in such a manner. So, I'm sorry.

@Rubakhin

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As I said up there, sorry. Bad day, took it out on myself, and to an unfair extent, everyone else as well. At any rate, I do appreciate your advice, it isn't condescending in the least. Languages though? I live in a rather small town, and have had little drive to learn Spanish, the only language taught at my school. Nothing against the language, but I'd just rather learn another. I am attempting to learn Norweigan though...hmm...
Anyways, thank you Rubakhin.

@Phoekun

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Thank you Phoekun, and don't worry, you didn't give that impression, I'm my own meanest, worst critic at everything I do. Thank you for the advice, I don't plan on giving up any time soon. Your professor is a smart one, that's some grade A advice s/he gave you, and you gave me. Even if I lose this contest, I'll still be here for the next one.

[Brickwall]

Well, craponastick.

At least this time I didn't lose because I wrote a bad poem.

Remind me never to judge this competition, though. Apparently there's supposed to be some appeal to cubist poetry that I don't get, and I'd end up voting for the people who didn't use it, and it just wouldn't be fair, since so many of you seem to.

[averagejoe]

Hey, I want to continue this poem, more drafts and all that jazz. So any comments and suggestions would be awesome and I'd greatly appreciate it. Also, AJ, I'm a bit worried that this poem might carry a bit of what you disliked in my last IA effort. So if you would please, I would like to hear your input as well.

No problem. Actually, I was curious so I've already glanced at it a bit, but this sort of thing I always need time to be able to read it at a strech, so I'll do a better reading and tell you what I think when I have time.

[Amotis]

Cool cheese, man. Thanks.

[Vaynor]

I'd just like to say congratulations to ZRS, rubakhin, AJ and Amotis.

Expect the brackets tomorrow, or at the latest Tuesday.

[Ego Slayer]

Well, now that judging is over for now, I'll throw a comment at Amotis.

*throw*
Amotis -

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After reading the judges comments, and your own to the, I'd just like to say that I'm glad that what I got out of them poem, for the most part, was what you explained it as. So, good. And I want to see any more versions you do. That's all, really.

[rubakhin]

@Amotis

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I'm glad you're continuing with this poem. I offer you some humble feedback. First of all: I loved the poem; but you know how good it is, so I won't go into useless fawning. Okay. I don't particularly like the third line or the first stanza, but to lose that you'd lose a sort of symmetry with "Like for our entire lives." Therefore, if I were you, I'd get rid of that, too. Especially since you end up using the word "like" half a dozen times there. I understand that it's representing that useless, emphatic filler that makes up so much of conversation, but it slows things down, I think. At least add a comma between that, and really.

I get what you're trying to say with endless clothing, but it doesn't really work.

I didn't really get the suicide pills thing. Are they some kind of medication or drug that he thinks she should start taking? Like anti-depressants, but she's afraid of the suicidal side effects? (In that case "safety" is convoluted.) Or are they there in case she wants to kill herself? In that case you shouldn't say "take" but "keep" or something like that, and maybe use "backup" or "plan B" instead of safety. Safety kinda kills the conversational mood, too, "just for safety" doesn't read like natural dialogue.

You know, "jagged" just doesn't work for me. I'm trying to figure out why. I think because, although your average songbird flits from here to there in a meandering and erratic sort of way, the flights themselves and the way they fly are pretty linear and smooth. "As the crow flies" and all that. "Jagged flight" would be more appropriate with bats.

Bitter water seems too metaphorical. Again, like endless clothing, I get where you're coming from but it doesn't gel. I think because this poem is so conversational in tone (it's made up mostly of external dialogue and internal dialogue) that the occasional forays into metaphor don't work, seem out of place, and we're inclined to interpret them wrong. "Where it was filled with" is way too long and totally devoid of content, I could tell you rushed with that one.

Finally, I'm not exactly sure what's meant by oxymoron, but I assume I'm missing some kind of slang usage.

Oh, and it could use a couple once-overs for grammar and spelling, natch.

[averagejoe]

@ Amotis:

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I should say straightaway that I don’t really like love-themed stuff as a general rule, or at least not this sort of love, so these sorts of poems always tend to start off in the hole with me.

I’d also like to say that, if nothing else, you definitely have style. A lot of it is in the little things. It’s like, in the first verse, “And it’s like that really.” I like this line a lot just because it says so much, and it feels very, I don’t know, very genuine where almost anything else would have felt preachy. Also at the end where you snuck in that rhyme: “is to bleed’/ ‘Well, f***’,/ I said/ and you agreed.” That came together very well, and I think, sounded very good in context. That’s another thing, and something you’ve really improved on since last time I read you; I still don’t understand all of what you’re trying to say, but the things I don’t understand sound like something is there to be understood, and not like you just put it in to sound cool. Which is better whether you mean anything or not, because I like a poem I can sink my brain into, so it’s just as bad, or worse, when the poet is too obvious.

I must admit that I enjoy this one more and more as I reread it. I love how you played with the ambiguities; it worked really well to bring out the whole thing. Ambiguousness, especially when it comes to the central characters can easily become a chore to read through, but in this case you managed to make the reader feel very intimate with the main characters, though we didn’t know them.

A few things. For one, you began your lines with conjunctions more than is necessary, strictly speaking. I’m not one of those Nazis who thinks it is never appropriate to do so, but I think it tends to make writing better if people try to exhaust all other options first. It isn’t terrible, but it can be very distracting if it is every other line, as it is in some places. Also, there’s some just plain weird stuff in here. I had no idea what you were trying to get at with, “swing pass swing swing f***.” It felt almost like it should have been “swig” not “swing,” because that works with the drink metaphor, as if they’re passing a bottle around. As it is I have no clue whatsoever. Also this, “And then we smoked it,/drunk and f***/and then you sleep.” I don’t like the way it sounded, I’m not quite sure why. I’m leaning toward saying that it was too blunt, or perhaps too pointed, but it seriously jarred the flow of the poem. I’d think about rewording that part.

That’s all I can think of to say at the moment. This is, however, the sort of thing that I tend not to think much of either way at first, but there’s always some niggling fascination in my mind with it, and then I read it more and enjoy it more the more I read it, so I will probably revisit it.

I have to say, sometimes when I’m reading your work I’m thinking, “Geez, what the heck was Amotis thinking when he wrote this,” but there are other times when I read it and think, “Geez, I’ll never write anything nearly this good.” (I always remind myself that this is a boldfaced lie, but that feeling still sneaks in there.) It’s not that you’re hit or miss, it’s just that I’ve seen some bad stuff from you, but also some really amazing stuff. I can honestly say that this was a very enjoyable read, and I don’t say that often to amateurs, even people I like personally.

[Vaynor]

ZRS vs. Amotis: machine, house, actor
rubakhin vs. averagejoe: soldier, jealousy, game (electronic)

Deadline:
The time between Tuesday, October 2nd, 11:59 pm EST (eastern standard time, new york i.e.) and Wednesday, October 3rd, 12:01 am EST. This is the midnight of october second.

[averagejoe]

Hmmmm... interesting. This may actually work to motivate me to work with a concept for a poem I've been thinking about for awhile. I haven't even done any work on it, but I find the words suddenly coming to me with this prompt. Cool.

The video game thing makes it somewhat difficult, though...

[Amotis]

@ Ego:

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OW!

afnsgongaofafidsafasnbrbrwrwbrwbwgvoqef

*is done with "chatting" with you now*

Thanks. I'm glad you did too, I'm always hesitant about the work speaking for itself because I'm very overprotective. I mean, I don't really know how well it will until I show someone. But of course, drafts will come and I'll send 'em over.

@ rubakhin:

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In an honest question, not that I feel that it's in stone, but what didn't you like about the first stanza? Was it the normality it treaded? The over simplicity or perhaps the vague almost not a point way it was said? I'm curious because I think it really summed up the narrator in the first line, something I've always loved to do in first person works.

Yeah, I agree unfortunately. Too much confusion, too much contrast to the rest of the poem and not the good kind. It's out.

Ah, well let me explain. The pill is slang for a popular birth control method which is literally just a pill. Ummm...perhaps that clears things up and doesn't require the changes you suggested? Or do you feel that safety is still out of place?

Simply put, it's what sprang in my mind when I saw such an incident. I agree, it isn't the best word but I struggle to find another to fit such a...sudden almost unexpected movement. I plan to min/max the image stanzas so we'll see if that gets the cut or something like that.

I am forced to agree on this one too. The forays into the smaller stanza metaphors seem to fall a bit out of place. They may not disappear completely but those that you mention definently will be looked at closely and poke and prodded. The filled with line was my tie in with the title, the overall completion of the line, and showing the impermanence of flesh and other things. You aren't the only one who noticed a certain meh about it so that too goes on the list. In fact, the list is longer then the poem.

Oxymoron was used in the context of her stressing the impermanence of life, just like paper. And so a will, something that exists after life, really doesn't make sense to her. Does this make sense or am I making bad connections?

Roger that, it was a very very quick write and I noticed a lot of them after the deadline pasts. Those should be easy.

But thank you for your comments. You didn't have to but you did and that's really cool of you. Perhaps I could include you in the people who I wanna show my drafts of it too for further critique?

@ AJ:

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It's okay, they don't like you.

Er, what? I mean, thanks AJ for the comments. Heh, no really, that was extra work on your part and thank you for that.

On your conjunction (junction) comment, what would you suggest? Should I try removing them all together? Playing with the punctuation from the previous line and tying that in? I did notice the conjunction (function) popping up thing as I wrote it but it seemed conversational enough to pull it off. But I agree, it's somewhat distracting, which is a unfortunate thing to get distracted by instead of what's after it.

Perhaps it's an area thing? I hardly hear swig and swing is what I hear a lot. Means the same thing I suppose...but I don't like that bit too much either, nor the bitter water which seems out of place in foresight, so that part is gonna be changed.

About the drunk and ****ed...yeah, it seems off. The trouble is...I had thought of that line early in the poem and now I can't get it out of my head even though I don't really feel it's spot on. Was the bluntness in the swear? The shortness of it? I think its a bit a jarring to, especially from what around it. But I'm stuck. I know it's not right but I don't know what else to put there.

Aw, thanks for the compliments AJ. Do you mind if I send you a draft that I'm happy with later? I would appreciate the critiques then as well. But thanks.

[rubakhin]

@ Amotis

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I have this thing against those meaningless sentences. I really hated that "It's like that, really." line. It just doesn't ... mean anything at all. It's not like anything at all, whatever it is, it's just ... er ... *brain breaks* See, it means so little I can't even communicate how little it means. Thinking about it, it doesn't sound like natural dialogue, either. The conversational tone is established pretty well with "You just don't," and then the second stanza sets it in stone. Maybe there should be something there - in fact there probably should be - but what you've got now strikes me as disorienting.

Ohhhhh, I get it now. *cough* Sorry, I'm, er, a depressed gay drug fiend. When I hear talk of pills, birth control is the last thing I'm thinking about. Yeah, birth control would immediately spring to the mind of any reader who isn't, um, me. Ahem. Why suicide, though? And again, "Just for safety" isn't the best, most natural way to phrase things. Something like "just in case" or "just to be safe" would work better.

Still not quite getting the oxymoron thing, but I really think it's a linguistic problem on my side. Ignore that.

Please, by all means, add me to the list. I'm looking forward to your next draft.

[Vaynor]

The video game thing makes it somewhat difficult, though...

Isn't that the point? If it was easy it wouldn't be a very good contest, eh?

On that note I'd like to say, remember as there are more prompts, they don't have to be featured as much as a single word prompt. Still include them as much as possible, but if one of the prompts (such as the games one) is just mentioned, it won't drag you down too much. But still, try your best.

[averagejoe]

Amotis - Yeah, sure. I can't garuntee any sort of swift response, although I'm usually pretty good about that sort of thing, but I'd be happy to look over any subsequent drafts.

@ Rubakhin:

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I've been reading your reviews, and I really have to disagree with you about the third line. (In fact, when I wrote my review, before reading yours, I specifically picked on that line because I liked it.) It isn't meaningless at all; it speaks volumes about the relationship the characters have, and all in so elegant a package. Something like, "I never liked your poems,/but you wrote them for me./And I don't want to say anything because I'm touched by how they're for me, and I don't want to insult you and ruin what we have, and etc." would just be clunky, no two ways about it.

[Ego Slayer]

@Amotis/AJ/Rubakhin -

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I liked the whole first stanza, and agree with AJ that the third line isn't meaningless. Instead of wordy explanation, you have just an honest, to the point line. The narrator isn't trying to put padding around the first line with "but I really am touched" explanations. I think it would be implied, and wordy explanation would make it awkward, and not quite as honest. It sort of set the tone for the rest of the poem... What do I know, though.

Wait... what am I doing here? This is your fault, Am. >_> *slinks away quietly*

[Vaynor]

OK. The contest is now about halfway over. Just a reminder (also don't want the thread to drop to low for fear someone participating will forget about it, I'm paranoid like that).

[ZombieRockStar]

Done.

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My acting mentor was my home; the house I lived in
when I was young. The lessons were, like the floor, the colour of tea.
Ballet lessons were going up the stairs to sleep on Friday night—
Stage fighting in coming down again on Saturday morning.

The stage turns into a death trap.
The pulleys bring the walls in to crush you.
The trap door, downstage left, is above a pool of sharks.
The spotlight is a set of lasers.

The tech crew are its sadistic operators. The stage manager is the diabolical orchestrator. The director gives me acting lessons in how to die and I am at home on the stage. This time, the lessons are the colour of cranberry juice.

[rubakhin]

Shout-out to Langston Hughes!

ETA: Now with working spoiler code!

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Rhapsody on a Theme of American Poverty

America dances on a raw nerve
Called my back.
The mother tongue
Has been pulled from my mouth
With pliers heated in the melting pot.

The kettle gets riled up, and
Shakes from its sweaty lip
A breakfast's worth of steam.

Even the kettle doesn't speak
The language of the samovar
Of my youth.

America - with its drumbeats
And happy savages,
no ancient parapets
Nor colonnades; onion domes
As far away as Grecian temples.

America - with the chant of poverty
Purifying the abandoned theater
The mass written on the old marquee.
My children will not know Khram Spasa na Krovy
My children will not pray to ikons.

America - where the jobs go to
Yale students with trust frunds
Seeking work experience rendered useless
By nepotism. And I, with my poet's eyes
And the blood of Akhmatov throbbing
In a chest sunk in with sad compassion
I, with my poet's eyes and eighth grade education

In the afternoon wind, I exhale my problems
In a cloud of menthol smoke and autumn fog:
"The only chance I've got now
Is to make a killing
With a best-selling novel."

The ghetto sings its chain-gang song
"Yeah, I know, man,
Yeah, I know it's hard.

Peace Corps don't want me cos
Communications degrees
From party college come in handy
In third world countries; the army
Don't want more middle-school soldiers,
Middle-class daughters
Get the Dunkin' Donuts jobs.
To buy video games. What?
Claim I hate her outta jealousy
This city: can't take it
But we can't afford to leave.
Too many lost kids singing "**** it -
If life gives you **** then suck it"
Slip Terry a kiss and an extra dollar-fifty
Buys safety on the bus cos I know his hood is tricky
He say
"Honey promise me
You won't go out tonight
They got a guy going 'round, picking off us blights
On society - cops and papers don't care
They would if he was killing
Regular girls."
Terry knows what happens
When you have a dream deferred.

A dream
deferred.

For this dream was I wrapped in furs
And sent sailing from a shore getting smaller
And smaller. I looked back and saw my fathers
Waving farewell among the pine limbs
Singing lullabies from the water.
The wind carried the cries of the Royal Martyrs.
The twilight clouds bore the blood of Pushkin.

A sea breeze kicks up dust
On a desolate street.
A last gasp from a dying city creaking beneath
37 million
American Dreams.
The ocean is a lover's shoulder
Calling my lips, my tear-stained cheek.

America, let me run,
towards the ocean,
past the endless fences and parking-lots-on-the-blood
Prostitutki! Ya - vash poet!
I will fight for you, people
Until tears take me over.
I will sing down our swollen jaws
Our filthy skin and broken sighs.
The stained corners,
The stink of urine.
I will wed the drooling and depraved
And lead the march down the streets
In our colanders and boas, king of poets
America, you will know our joy:
We shall be saved!
Though not all of us are beautiful,
And not all of us are kind.

I will run, America,
Past desolate highways
And deserts of construction
I will run, America,
Until I see the choking shore.
And know for sure this
Will never be
Home

And where

Where are the cliffsides?
Where is the sand?
The shores are crowded with endless miles
Of tanks, of carriers, of docks.
Bridges sway among the rusty domes
That seem to shriek in horror.

Let my people
go.

Waves of Odessa, come find me, let me rest
Come lull me to sleep once more
You who rocked my cradle long ago.
I'm coming to you, from beyond the fog
In a funeral shroud, white
Like the clothes of a virgin. I will lie
In the water, hands crossing my breast
Let the waves of Odessa bear me home on their backs.

- Sevastian Davidovich Rubakhin, 2007