The Monster Poem Cycle: #5 (of 5!) \o/

[capri0mni]

Freshly minted -- as of seven minutes ago -- the mold's barely been cracked.

I'll come back later and revise.

THE MONSTER CHALLENGE: OUT OF THE LABYRINTH

In looking down upon my naked self:
My lap, my scars, my hands, and crooked feet,
My posture's slant, my elbow's inner bend,
I sometimes wonder what it means to see.
This looking at myself from the where I am
Is not at all like looking at a rock.

Remembered words -- they echo in my thoughts --
In all the languages I've heard (or seen).
Like forest leaves, they sway in every breeze,
And cast their dappled shadows through my mind.
It's through this tangled forest I must go,
To find my truth, and know just what I am.
And then: one word amid ten thousand words
It catches, like a thorn, with sharp intent.
Although it stings, I trace the tendrils back,
And find a path, and there, the root:
That "monster," once, meant "warning from the gods."
The fear's unveiled. And like a ghost, it fades.
And here's the fruit: it's heavy -- rich with seeds.
I'll plant one for myself, and start anew.

Comments

[spiralsheep]

I think that's the best poem of your cycle. I'm glad you chose "what I am" rather than "who I am" cos I think it clarifies which aspects of self you're referencing.

("?This? fear's unveiled." Or would that be too difficult to read aloud?)

[capri0mni]

I think that's the best poem of your cycle.

Oh dear. "Oh dear," because after repeated readings of this post (today's/last night's [post midnight]):

http://davehingsburger.blogspot.com/2012/06/silence-and-day-before.html

I realized that this particular cycle -- this story I'm telling about the Interplay Between Disability, Prejudice, and Social Justice -- should NOT end in a place where the Privileged can walk away feeling comfortable.

So I went back, today, and rewrote the piece that started with: "There are no monsters underneath the bed." --


THE MONSTERS' CHALLENGE: THE VOICE OF REASON

There are no monsters underneath the bed
(Or so we say). We say there never were.
And when a baby's born with half an arm,
No chanting priest foretells the death of kings.
Today, we know the scientifc truth
And we've outgrown those silly, ancient fears

(Or so we say). And yet, we're still afraid.
There's something churning underneath our feet.
This modern world is bursting at the seams,
And we agree that Order must be kept.
We turn to science, and learn ten thousand ways
To know, and name, what's normal -- and what's not.
We raise our funds, we search for cures, invent,
And teach the child to wear a plastic hand.
And though we know it's fiction, we still cheer
The knight's triumphent ride, returning home;
The dragon's dead, and now her heart
Is safely bundled in his handkerchief.

For monsters -- they must never win the fight:
We let them challenge, just to prove Our Right.
---

(Also, this is in keeping with the source of my inspiration, since this poem encapsulates [If I read correctly] the central argument of When a Knight Meets a Dragon Maiden)

I went back and forth on whether or not to end a blank verse poem with a rhyme; I decided to go with it, in the end, for emphasis, and just a hint of dark humor.

However, I do agree with you that "Out of the Labyrinth" is the strongest poem of the lot, as an independent piece. The most personal and intimate pieces almost inevitably are.

And I believe that the story of finding empowerment through the use of thorny words is a story worth telling.

But it's not the same story as the one I set out to tell in "The Monster Challenges."

Perhaps it will be the foundation of a new cycle?

[spiralsheep]

Challenge is more in keeping with the rest of your Monster Cycle, yes, and Labyrinth is certainly strong enough to stand alone.

[capri0mni]

You know this "sleeping on it" is getting ridiculous, because every time I wake up, I have a different opinion!

(Get with it, oh Brain o' my Heart.)

Yesterday, I woke with the notion that "Labyrinth" should undergo mitosis -- that I should expand it by writing a partner for each of the twelve central lines, write a new six-line preamble and closing couplet for each, and split it into two separate poems.

Because, really, it's exploring two separate ideas: 1) Everything we see is "Shadowed" by the words we use, even when the original meaning of the words have been "forgotten," and 2) Taking ownership of words, even when they're "negative," is empowering. One poem would expand on "This looking at myself from where I am," and the other poem would expand the journey to the forest, and finding the "root" of "monster" (hee, hee! I take such geeky delight in finding an idiom that matches to metaphor so perfectly).

...Then, when I sat down at the computer, I reread "Silence and the Day Before," and thought: "Demmit! He's right (I wish he weren't right, but...)!" so I went back to "Challenge."

Today I woke up with this idea: But the entire rest of the cycle narrates the problem of Dis/Ableism through the lens of personal experience, and "Labyrinth" tells where that has ended up (so far), and "Challenge" is a complete switch in narrative voice (though that can be mended, a bit, by switching some of the "we"s to "they"s). And really, I think the weakness that's been bothering me in "Labyrinth" is the ending: The fear has not faded, like a ghost. I'm still not yet free of being hurt by it. But at least now, I can see it, understand it, and answer to it. And that is liberating -- that's what gives me hope. So maybe I could end there, if I went ahead with the mitosis, and gave myself more than ten syllables to explore that idea.

Now, some points in favor of ending with "Challenge:"

1) it acknowledges and voices the argument against the thesis of poem #4 ("Philosophers in centuries long past..."), and thereby cuts it off at the pass.

2) "There are no monsters underneath the bed," is a nice place to start, after #4 ends with drifting off to sleep.

3) It spells out exactly what I meant in the first poem, when I wrote of the doctor's (unacknowledged) "superstitious heart." -- Isidore of Seville's twelve categories of monster are no longer taught, but in its place we have umpteen categories of abnormality, and corresponding "treatment protocols" for each... And "thinking scientifically" has done nothing to turn around cultural assumptions of good and evil.

[smw]

I love this, beginning to end. It's stylistically distinct from your usual, which is curious, particularly in a poem cycle.

It all comes down to the first line, though. Because – yes. The amount of time I spend looking (literally and figuratively) at my body and trying to figure things out is doubtless unflattering.

[capri0mni]

Well, actually, this is probably closer to my "usual style." the style I chose for the poem cycle as a whole is what's distinct, I think, because it was a project with a distinct and unusual goal for me (more like a thesis essay in five chapters that happened to be versified).

And as such, I've decided to end this particular cycle on a completely different note, with a poem I've posted in reply to spiralsheep, above.

I agree that this poem is one of my best, and will be polished into an opus that will stand on its own (the ending is far cozier than real life deserves, so that will be expanded and complicated).

[smw]

Perhaps by "your usual" I meant "the rest of the cycle", yes – I should look back at your poetry as a whole and compare, because now I'm interested in analyzing the mechanics of the difference.

Anyhow! Love the new ending, too, and definitely feel that it fits better with the rest. "The dragon's dead, and now her heart / Is safely bundled in his handkerchief." is so very satisfying of a line.

[capri0mni]

You know, I started writing poetry forty years ago, and for most of that time, I wrote modernist, free-form, works, But when I went back, just now, to search through the "Art Garden" tags for examples that I've posted here (for you to check out), I realized that all of them just happened to be iambic pentameter, and sonnet-based.

I guess that structure just comes in extremely handy when you have to write clearly and concisely on a strict deadline, and also remember it for performance in front of an audience... Which could be why Shakespeare and Colleagues all wrote with that form; I recently saw a clip from the Beeb on YouTube where it was stated that back in the day, theater companies would put on forty-three different plays a year (some were reruns, but still).

Anyway, here's are a couple of poems that I think of as "Iconic" for myself -- ones that I've recited often throughout life, as personal statements... even though I've matured in style since their composition:

That first poem I ever wrote, at age eight (I recited, Mom transcribed):

The Wind is my Father,
The Mountains are my Mother,
The lion is my brother,
And I'm the wheat.
The trees, I love.
And the dove.

(and yes, that's rhyming, but I didn't think of it as rhyming, at the time)

Here's one I wrote about twenty-five? twenty-six? years ago (I was in college, in the library, and squirming with a creative itch that I couldn't identify... until I did)

I feel the need to weave
(as a tiny spider weaves a web
a thousand times, or more, her size
moving with microscopic grace
in the cool green shadows
where the dew never vanishes)
a poem.

[smw]

Since it doesn't seem as if I'm going to come up with something more meaningful or lengthy: thank you. I appreciate the little glimpse into your process and history as well as the two pieces.

[capri0mni]

Thank you for the thanks. :-)