酷我-北美枫

[星子]

If lonely I appear,
it is the clouds I wear
or the mirror not near
a reflection of the passive

I am not the door
to which you hold the key
and perhaps mercy
or the bays
that lie and beckon

I am the face of moon
up in the sky
watching you slip in
shadow long and hollow
_________________

[[ANNA]]

If lonely I appear,
it is the clouds I wear
or the mirror not near
a reflection of the passive

I am not the door
to which you hold the key
and perhaps mercy
or the bays
that lie and beckon

I am the face of moon
up in the sky
watching you slip in
shadow long and hollow
_________________

[fanfan]

I like the imaegery you use here.

[[FFFFFF]]

I like the imaegery you use here.

[anna]

Hi Fanfan,

I guess if I change

If lonely I appear,
it is the clouds I wear
or the mirror not near
a reflection of the passive

ok? Please let me know, thanks
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[[星子安娜]]

Hi Fanfan,

I guess if I change

If lonely I appear,
it is the clouds I wear
or the mirror not near
a reflection of the passive

ok? Please let me know, thanks
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[fanfan]

Hi! Anna:

If you want to keep the original sentence structure, I think the first two lines can be re-written as follows:

If I appear lonely,
it is the clouds that I wear

"If lonely I appear" means If (I'm) lonely I appear stressed ( unhappy, etc.).

By the way, what do you mean by "a reflection of the passive?"
_________________
Don't imitate me;
it's as boring
as the two halves of a melon.

[[FFFFFF]]

Hi! Anna:

If you want to keep the original sentence structure, I think the first two lines can be re-written as follows:

If I appear lonely,
it is the clouds that I wear

"If lonely I appear" means If (I'm) lonely I appear stressed ( unhappy, etc.).

By the way, what do you mean by "a reflection of the passive?"
_________________
Don't imitate me;
it's as boring
as the two halves of a melon.

[星子]

Hi Fanfan.

If lonely I appear
is

If I appear lonely (lonely 前置)

"a reflection of the passive" is the mirror reflects things, only refelcts, all things inside it are the passive.


Comments from Don (he is always honest to me)

This is dreamy and wonderful. Your kind of naive use of language comes out feeling very fresh. This phrase:

"I am not the door
that you hold the key..."

maybe should be changed to something like

"I am not the door
to which you hold the key..."

otherwise its great.
_________________

[[ANNA]]

Hi Fanfan.

If lonely I appear
is

If I appear lonely (lonely 前置)

"a reflection of the passive" is the mirror reflects things, only refelcts, all things inside it are the passive.


Comments from Don (he is always honest to me)

This is dreamy and wonderful. Your kind of naive use of language comes out feeling very fresh. This phrase:

"I am not the door
that you hold the key..."

maybe should be changed to something like

"I am not the door
to which you hold the key..."

otherwise its great.
_________________

[ericcoliu]

Aesthetically speaking, the imagery you employ here is quite evocative; I like it.

Thematically speaking, I don’t get the “many facets” of solitude. Nearly all of the images you use, such as the lonely clouds, the reflection of the passive, the wrong door key, the long and hollow shadow, and etc., are subjective, “external facets” of solitude. If I don’t misunderstand your poem, I think you don’t make a distinction between “loneliness” and “solitude,” which is one of the favourite topics in spirituality literature.

Etymologically speaking, solitude is the objective condition of being alone and it is defined by communicative separation from others; by contrast, loneliness is the subjective condition and it may or may not co-occur with being alone. Therefore, your poem, in my view, mainly deals with many facets of "loneliness."

The bliss of solitude, as William Wordsworth claims, is the inward eye. That’s why most of the characters that appear in the poetry of William Wordsworth are solitary in some way.


When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign in solitude.

-- William Wordsworth
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[[ericcoliu]]

Aesthetically speaking, the imagery you employ here is quite evocative; I like it.

Thematically speaking, I don’t get the “many facets” of solitude. Nearly all of the images you use, such as the lonely clouds, the reflection of the passive, the wrong door key, the long and hollow shadow, and etc., are subjective, “external facets” of solitude. If I don’t misunderstand your poem, I think you don’t make a distinction between “loneliness” and “solitude,” which is one of the favourite topics in spirituality literature.

Etymologically speaking, solitude is the objective condition of being alone and it is defined by communicative separation from others; by contrast, loneliness is the subjective condition and it may or may not co-occur with being alone. Therefore, your poem, in my view, mainly deals with many facets of "loneliness."

The bliss of solitude, as William Wordsworth claims, is the inward eye. That’s why most of the characters that appear in the poetry of William Wordsworth are solitary in some way.


When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign in solitude.

-- William Wordsworth
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[熏衣草]

The bliss of solitude, as William Wordsworth claims, is the inward eye. That’s why most of the characters who appear in the poetry of William Wordsworth are solitary in some way.

Well said!

[[我还没有昵称]]

The bliss of solitude, as William Wordsworth claims, is the inward eye. That’s why most of the characters who appear in the poetry of William Wordsworth are solitary in some way.

Well said!

[熏衣草]

Here is Sylvia Plath's another poem which is very vivid and quite catured one's heart.

Wuthering Heights
The horizons ring me like faggots,
Tilted and disparate, and always unstable.
Touched by a match, they might warm me,
And their fine lines singe
The air to orange
Before the distances they pin evaporate,
Weighting the pale sky with a soldier color.
But they only dissolve and dissolve
Like a series of promises, as I step forward.

There is no life higher than the grasstops
Or the hearts of sheep, and the wind
Pours by like destiny, bending
Everything in one direction.
I can feel it trying
To funnel my heat away.
If I pay the roots of the heather
Too close attention, they will invite me
To whiten my bones among them.

The sheep know where they are,
Browsing in their dirty wool-clouds,
Grey as the weather.
The black slots of their pupils take me in.
It is like being mailed into space,
A thin, silly message.
They stand about in grandmotherly disguise,
All wig curls and yellow teeth
And hard, marbly baas.

I come to wheel ruts, and water
Limpid as the solitudes
That flee through my fingers.
Hollow doorsteps go from grass to grass;
Lintel and sill have unhinged themselves.
Of people the air only
Remembers a few odd syllables.
It rehearses them moaningly:
Black stone, black stone.

The sky leans on me, me, the one upright
Among the horizontals.
The grass is beating its head distractedly.
It is too delicate
For a life in such company;
Darkness terrifies it.
Now, in valleys narrow
And black as purses, the house lights
Gleam like small change.

[[我还没有昵称]]

Here is Sylvia Plath's another poem which is very vivid and quite catured one's heart.

Wuthering Heights
The horizons ring me like faggots,
Tilted and disparate, and always unstable.
Touched by a match, they might warm me,
And their fine lines singe
The air to orange
Before the distances they pin evaporate,
Weighting the pale sky with a soldier color.
But they only dissolve and dissolve
Like a series of promises, as I step forward.

There is no life higher than the grasstops
Or the hearts of sheep, and the wind
Pours by like destiny, bending
Everything in one direction.
I can feel it trying
To funnel my heat away.
If I pay the roots of the heather
Too close attention, they will invite me
To whiten my bones among them.

The sheep know where they are,
Browsing in their dirty wool-clouds,
Grey as the weather.
The black slots of their pupils take me in.
It is like being mailed into space,
A thin, silly message.
They stand about in grandmotherly disguise,
All wig curls and yellow teeth
And hard, marbly baas.

I come to wheel ruts, and water
Limpid as the solitudes
That flee through my fingers.
Hollow doorsteps go from grass to grass;
Lintel and sill have unhinged themselves.
Of people the air only
Remembers a few odd syllables.
It rehearses them moaningly:
Black stone, black stone.

The sky leans on me, me, the one upright
Among the horizontals.
The grass is beating its head distractedly.
It is too delicate
For a life in such company;
Darkness terrifies it.
Now, in valleys narrow
And black as purses, the house lights
Gleam like small change.

[hahaview]

It's a good poem; I agree with ericcoliu's viewpoint. Changing the title is not a bad idea.

I think maybe solitude is a thing Wordsworth craves.
_________________
I came, I saw, and I conquered

[[hahaview]]

It's a good poem; I agree with ericcoliu's viewpoint. Changing the title is not a bad idea.

I think maybe solitude is a thing Wordsworth craves.
_________________
I came, I saw, and I conquered

[星子]

Hi Hahaview,

Thanks. Just changed it to untitled.

I don't like this poem, a little making
_________________

[[ANNA]]

Hi Hahaview,

Thanks. Just changed it to untitled.

I don't like this poem, a little making
_________________