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November 07, 2004
Childe Roland (original draft for now)
"He that endureth to the end shall be saved"
-statement made by a friend of Robert Browning about Browning's poem, "Child Roland to the Dark Tower Came"
I watched the window plane glide into the wall like a pomegranate
bursting. Into the wire, sent my angel, of danger, of self-respect; there
was a hoary cripple on the plane wing, splitting the edge's spine with a boxcutter.
Why should I see some freak show's malicious eyes like that, I says to myself?
The tears of the wing the plane the malediction the self-content, what is the fear?
What is the malediction?
-How you know how I feel what you say what is real what is cold what is steel-
An aside stance, I look to the landed plane. There are dark holes bursting
in the seams of bulk, a nuisance to the turbulence of removal of
passengers.
There is screams; a skull-like laugh.
I vantage to the right of me: there are no passengers. I venture
to the left of me; I see bullets; I see slow motion grounders; I see bloomers;
I see trousers; I see stars. The plane is not moving at all; there is explosions.
Is there?
Is there stillness where the Dark Towers hide?
-Do you care how I care do you dare when I stare is there air when I stare
ground air
(How should I know that this window out the window stares into
U.S. paranoia kinda sorta see ya going solo out there do you care you
if I why should I why should I not blaze into the future,
almost as if I shot Kennedy)-
I watch men in false beards saturate in headline news
their morning coffees. I dance under the plane seats,
smelling the sweat of nervous third world wannabe Jihad
revelers tampering with portholes speaking through blowholes
eating gunshot wounds in the face of the U.S. reserves.
Wait, where am I? I have dwindled into a ghost;
I am on a plane, still gaining altitude from the thoughts and shouts
of Holee Jeehad Yeehaa, towelheads saluting the pair of buildings
like a set of ungodly twins.
Where am I really? Am I a prisoner to these false deities?
Or am I enslaved on a plane? What ever happened to the
James Cagney, strong silent types?
Is my life founded on a soul pitch white?
Where is that white noise coming from?
Why not aske the road? You muste solve it!
The plane lands into a third floor spiralling window; 6th avenue flying out of
floors with their own zip codes. Rockefeller is spiralling in his grave,
into the 106th, I am still mumbling, clinging to the seatbelt that is
twirling around my midsection, cradling honey roasted in my lap and
spooning a life preserver between my thighs;
no grieving can resolve my posture.
-Is this ridiculous are you ridiculous why this is ridiculous am I to blame am I for
shame am I for God's sakes am I for God's stakes in this share of land that
prepossessed envy obsessed deny oppressed shared equality
what should I care I have 401K when should I dare to leave as I stay-
There is darkness in gulps of the Last Judgement's fire. There is
a high pitched siren encompassing every lukewarm seat.
There is a mad brewage in the pitching of crows; there is the living frame.
I feel the searing burns of the licks of a thousands of tongues, red and yellow,
that speaks in unfettered dialects, in unbroken dialects.
It says, Just this, It says, Just THIS: my eardrums hear all,
shunning the mouths of young children
from distant countries on lifesavers, my vocal cords express indignation
at the childe sent back for good. There is twilight in these dark clouds,
these autumn sprinkles.
The outside.
And the tower(s).
(The childe Roland sleeps within).
Posted by tony at November 7, 2004 11:29 AM
Comments
Josh and Garth may recognize this as a poem that I submitted for the Bazannella award, but I thought it would be important to bring to this website, seeing as how it deals with many concerns I have regarding the challenging nature of poetry.
I have changed the title from "Child Roland" to what I was actually referring to, which was the incident on September 11th. The epigraph has also been added to see the allusion to Robert Browning's "Child Roland to the Dark Tower Came". Hopefully, that will clear up any misconceptions as to what the poem might be about, as I had with "Melancholy Catcher".
I wrote this poem in a burst, like I used to do in high school, so it was mainly spontaneous, except for the allusions to Browning, which I worked on diligently. What I am really curious about is what is strong, and what is filler? I know it is a long poem, but there seems to be so much that works for me: I have actually already cut a page and a half or so from this. This poem has been revised a few times.
So...tell me what works and what doesn't.
Posted by: tony at November 7, 2004 11:44 AM
Ok! After a quick meeting with my colleagues at a ritzy italian restaurant, I have decided to change the title back to its original form. Thanks to one peer, known to certain literary circles as Doc Hodg (Dr. G), who expressed alarm over my very controversial title, I took it upon myself, after much deliberation (1 minute) to erase my new title and return to the original.
In other words, this damn poem needs a new title.
Which I will gratefully request from my colleagues at this time. Until then, I will fix my old works, read Matthea Harvey, and put on my Viva La Bam shirt (with matching beanie) until we meet again.
Posted by: tony at November 8, 2004 08:18 PM
Hi Tony!!!
I personally think that there needs to be "Childe Roland" somewhere in the title (or at least something that alludes to the poem), because the whole work is an allusion to Browning's poem, but, perhaps, that would work in the epigraph (or is it epitaph, I always get it confused) if you changed it. If the title was changed to just something about 9/11 the repeated allusions would just seem overdone, at least in my anal pet peevish way.
I love all your use of internal rhyme, and the way you work language in the poem conveys a message about the way we use language; I like it way mucho. I didn't care for the allusion to the Judgment Seat and hell. I can understand it being like hell or like judgement, but saying "There is darkness in gulps of the Last Judgement's fire" seems overdone. Also, the line, "6th avenue flying out of floors with their own zip codes. Rockefeller is spiralling in his grave..." doesn't seem necessary, incongruent with the narrative voice. The detail described in the poem is very first person, and these just aren't realistic thoughts; creative, but not congruent in my mind, anyways.
Awesome poem, Anthony!!! (did I ever show you my 9/11 poem?)
Posted by: Amanda at November 8, 2004 11:56 PM
I agree with Tony. The real question is, what is filler and what needs to stay, and I don't feel like I can answer that question in this little box. I will have to print it out.
But I will say that in general, the shifts in voice are distracting. The strange, syntactically flawed speaker is not doing anything for me. I think you should stick with the voice that appears in the first line and (seems to) finish the poem. Although I do like the idea that there is some kind of call and response effect going on, I think it seems too much like saying, look at me! look at me! Multiple speakers is very avant garde, but here it confuses me.
I think the first line is great, but why window plane, why not just plane? Condense, condense, condense. More on this later...
I just read a couple 9/11 poems in an anthology and will have to show them to you. Just as examples of what other poets have said about it.
Malediction is "the calling down of a curse", so shouldn't that line read, "What is this malediction?"
That's it for now. Definitely keep working on this one.
Posted by: Josh at November 9, 2004 07:07 PM