Awaiting Reply
So I sent out a few poems to try and get into this Writing of Verse class fall quarter, and I'm very nervous I haven't received a response yet. I've gone over them with some of my TAs (certain responses eliciting more humorous irony than others), and figure I stand a good chance.
Wordly I already put up her at its conception. However, I sent in three more recent poems I figured had potential. My TAs said a number of nice things I'm not sure I believe about them as well.
Tongue let me tell, though impeded by thought
Awfully amazed, for thou dost constrain,
But in thy motion the truth thee unchain.
My trembling soul in his memory caught,
Now begs, my Tongue, speak the words she cannot:
Speak of the hands hunting pleasure to gain,
And panting breaths, beast’al joy, heedless pain,
Shivering night and the ecstasy hot.
Why should his force thee so impotent make?
Silence, withheld, can purge not; without sound,
Stifles itself and in suff’ring churns ‘round
Vortex-like, sucks mind and soul in its wake.
Body my prison and Shame as my Hell,
Pleading thee herald; O Tongue, let me tell!
Hymn for a Departed Sailor
O Father, King of earth and sea
I dedicate this song to Thee.
In faith I do my given task;
In faith of Thee I humbly ask:
O hear Thy child’s too late cry,
And speed Thy spirit to on High.
O father stilled my wanton tears,
The wasteful show of grounded fears.
Provided with example first,
I drown my sorrow like His thirst.
O Father, hear me when I pray;
Though distant, still Thy doth hold sway.
O Father, Lord Protector dread,
Respected master, family head,
Prevented me from selfish pleas,
And taught me silence best holds peace.
Grand me from Thy great throne above:
Forgive accounting of Thy love.
But since at length Thy course is run,
Thy awful hand from my life gone,
Of all the lessons Thou gave’st me,
Let not one fail return to Thee.
And hear from my voice newfound loud:
Departed Man, Thou wert too proud!
Eternal Father, strong to free,
Whose arm hath granted liberty,
Who brings with loss my life’s first light,
Let not this Man escape Thy might.
O, hear me when I sing to Thee:
His silence kept delivers me!
Amen.
Our words are dancers who turn round the floor;
Many surround us, though never match pace.
Tongue keeping time, and our though on the score,
Footsteps so perfect that no one can trace
Measured together how partnered we are.
Each turn of phrase dips and twirls its own part,
Discoursing freely in each noteful bar.
Grasping ideas, hand in hand, breaths apart,
Spinning our speech with our meaning combined,
No one has seen that our thoughts have just kissed,
No one can know how we have intertwined
Our performed dance as our own private tryst.
So I ask you debate me, reply, share, and teach,
And we shall romance in our secrets of speech.
I apparently have a common theme of communication and the issues of public and private discourse. Oh well. I suppose there are worse trends to have in one's verse. I was also told I'm very eighteenth century. I always thought I was baroque, but I guess that's just in essays. I feel somewhat metaphysical bridging sublime and romantic in my verse though. Of course, the Sidney influences help to confuse things a bit.
PS: guess who really liked the last poem.
Wordly I already put up her at its conception. However, I sent in three more recent poems I figured had potential. My TAs said a number of nice things I'm not sure I believe about them as well.
Tongue let me tell, though impeded by thought
Awfully amazed, for thou dost constrain,
But in thy motion the truth thee unchain.
My trembling soul in his memory caught,
Now begs, my Tongue, speak the words she cannot:
Speak of the hands hunting pleasure to gain,
And panting breaths, beast’al joy, heedless pain,
Shivering night and the ecstasy hot.
Why should his force thee so impotent make?
Silence, withheld, can purge not; without sound,
Stifles itself and in suff’ring churns ‘round
Vortex-like, sucks mind and soul in its wake.
Body my prison and Shame as my Hell,
Pleading thee herald; O Tongue, let me tell!
Hymn for a Departed Sailor
O Father, King of earth and sea
I dedicate this song to Thee.
In faith I do my given task;
In faith of Thee I humbly ask:
O hear Thy child’s too late cry,
And speed Thy spirit to on High.
O father stilled my wanton tears,
The wasteful show of grounded fears.
Provided with example first,
I drown my sorrow like His thirst.
O Father, hear me when I pray;
Though distant, still Thy doth hold sway.
O Father, Lord Protector dread,
Respected master, family head,
Prevented me from selfish pleas,
And taught me silence best holds peace.
Grand me from Thy great throne above:
Forgive accounting of Thy love.
But since at length Thy course is run,
Thy awful hand from my life gone,
Of all the lessons Thou gave’st me,
Let not one fail return to Thee.
And hear from my voice newfound loud:
Departed Man, Thou wert too proud!
Eternal Father, strong to free,
Whose arm hath granted liberty,
Who brings with loss my life’s first light,
Let not this Man escape Thy might.
O, hear me when I sing to Thee:
His silence kept delivers me!
Amen.
Our words are dancers who turn round the floor;
Many surround us, though never match pace.
Tongue keeping time, and our though on the score,
Footsteps so perfect that no one can trace
Measured together how partnered we are.
Each turn of phrase dips and twirls its own part,
Discoursing freely in each noteful bar.
Grasping ideas, hand in hand, breaths apart,
Spinning our speech with our meaning combined,
No one has seen that our thoughts have just kissed,
No one can know how we have intertwined
Our performed dance as our own private tryst.
So I ask you debate me, reply, share, and teach,
And we shall romance in our secrets of speech.
I apparently have a common theme of communication and the issues of public and private discourse. Oh well. I suppose there are worse trends to have in one's verse. I was also told I'm very eighteenth century. I always thought I was baroque, but I guess that's just in essays. I feel somewhat metaphysical bridging sublime and romantic in my verse though. Of course, the Sidney influences help to confuse things a bit.
PS: guess who really liked the last poem.