Review of (Heidi Batista's children of the universe)
Christiana Lloyd-Kirk
Review of (Heidi Batista's children of the universe)
This poem gets points for rhythm but otherwise (I at least) have no idea what you are talking about. First off, why "the" soul? Are you trying to define "the soul" as the entire collective human consciousness? Because that's what it sounds like. Since part of the very definition of a soul is individually based...That doesn't quite wash, obviously. "Your soul" or "My soul" would make more sense. Blend of the soul also drew issues for me from the point of view those 4 words joined together sound like either a mixed CD, a really new agey coffee brand or the kind of "cotton blend" you might see on the average t-shirt tag above washing instructions. (The last one particularly so considering you have "cotton delight" three lines down. It's just cheesy is all....and plays into a lot of modern day advertising. When it comes to the word crisp..do you really want to use that word to describe cheeks? It kind of gives the image of fried poultry that's done it's time in the oven like a convict waiting for parole. (Okay, not that last bit. I threw that in just for kicks and giggles...but the fried poultry definitely.) If you describe an area with skin as, "crisp" I guarantee people will either think of poultry or something far worse...like Holocaust jokes. It's just not a place you want to go. Now, other parts of your imagery are fabulous. "pickled hues" is a very unique description of a sunset and stuff like "honey mind's eye", "laps crisscrossed, words buzzing and surrender" and "indigo water" are fairly pleasing to the eyes and ears.
The meaning and direction of the poem however, presented a lot of challenges. I get that this is by no means a literal poem and that it's addressed to someone of interest..but otherwise, the following are some things that came up. Lines like "Meditating wind, wrap yourself constrict up in cotton delight" aren't exactly easy to fix in one's imagination. Meditation is still and silent...wind possessing the same traits wouldn't be wind. It would be air. Wind can't physically constrict like a Boa either and wind turning into cotton even in a metaphorical sense..doesn't make much sense. I could tolerate that last bit though if it weren't for the "delight" attached to it. Man, all I can think about is the 70's song "afternoon delight" which is all about how great sex is in the afternoon. It makes it really hard to read the poem with a remotely serious tone after that (especially if you've seen Will Ferrell's Anchorman) but anyway...as I said before, some of your imagery is really great, but some of it just isn't working for you, either because it sounds like cheesy advertising or the images just don't quite match up with any sense of reality. You can make associations and point to similarities in two completely unrelated things (and make it work) but even metaphors have to bridge the abstract into something mentally tangible...
Here, let me give you an idea of what I'm talking about. This is James Tate's poem entitled "poem". He won the Pulitzer for poetry back in the 60's...but as you can see, he picks completely out there metaphors but they're not so out there that you have no idea what he's talking about. He just describes common things in a really original way...a little bit like Charles Simic. "The angel kissed my alphabet" sounds abstract...but if you continue to read the poem you realize he's talking about a girl he's crazy about whose inspired him to write this poem (alphabet being a part of language and more importantly, his language...his thought process. What made this poem possible).
"The angel kissed my alphabet,
it tingled like a cobweb in starlight.
A few letters detached themselves
and drifted in shadows, a loneliness
they carry like infinitesimal coffins
on their heads.
She kisses my alphabet
and a door opens: blackbirds roosting
on far ridges. A windowpeeper
under an umbrella watches
a funeral service. Blinkered horses
drum the cobblestones.
"She kisses: Plunderers gather
in a lackluster ballroom
to display their booty. Mice
testify against one another
in dank rodent courtrooms.
The angel kisses my alphabet,
she squeezes and bites,
and the last lights flutter,
and the violins are demented.
Moisture spreads across my pillow,
a chunk of quartz thirsts
to abandon my brain trust."
Reach into blend of the soul, crisp jagged cheeks rushed red
Sprint far and wide, take root like an elm tree on the schoolyard
it seems, i may have taken things too far
Meditating wind, wrap yourself constrict up in cotton delight
Reach into blend of the soul once you crack, cheeks rushed with red
Luminescent chakras like leaves sway in the distance, pickled hues sunset
Here we are: laps crisscrossed, words buzzing and surrender
Leaps into indigo water moist with calm, hushed relaxation
I take a quick look into your honey mind's eye, maybe quiet or reminiscent
Your soft aura lips that dive head first into the gentle blend of the soul
Wonder where the past lays buzzing still between sheets and true essence
Discuss esoteric topics and whisk away crisp jagged cheeks rushed red,
please, feel my presence
The conversation turns something cliché like “beauty in the breakdown”
Reaching, no, truly leaping into the blend of the soul, thoughts genuine
Laughter young now erupts blind in the pages of the background
it seems, i may have taken things too far again
Review of (Heidi Batista's children of the universe)
This poem gets points for rhythm but otherwise (I at least) have no idea what you are talking about. First off, why "the" soul? Are you trying to define "the soul" as the entire collective human consciousness? Because that's what it sounds like. Since part of the very definition of a soul is individually based...That doesn't quite wash, obviously. "Your soul" or "My soul" would make more sense. Blend of the soul also drew issues for me from the point of view those 4 words joined together sound like either a mixed CD, a really new agey coffee brand or the kind of "cotton blend" you might see on the average t-shirt tag above washing instructions. (The last one particularly so considering you have "cotton delight" three lines down. It's just cheesy is all....and plays into a lot of modern day advertising. When it comes to the word crisp..do you really want to use that word to describe cheeks? It kind of gives the image of fried poultry that's done it's time in the oven like a convict waiting for parole. (Okay, not that last bit. I threw that in just for kicks and giggles...but the fried poultry definitely.) If you describe an area with skin as, "crisp" I guarantee people will either think of poultry or something far worse...like Holocaust jokes. It's just not a place you want to go. Now, other parts of your imagery are fabulous. "pickled hues" is a very unique description of a sunset and stuff like "honey mind's eye", "laps crisscrossed, words buzzing and surrender" and "indigo water" are fairly pleasing to the eyes and ears.
The meaning and direction of the poem however, presented a lot of challenges. I get that this is by no means a literal poem and that it's addressed to someone of interest..but otherwise, the following are some things that came up. Lines like "Meditating wind, wrap yourself constrict up in cotton delight" aren't exactly easy to fix in one's imagination. Meditation is still and silent...wind possessing the same traits wouldn't be wind. It would be air. Wind can't physically constrict like a Boa either and wind turning into cotton even in a metaphorical sense..doesn't make much sense. I could tolerate that last bit though if it weren't for the "delight" attached to it. Man, all I can think about is the 70's song "afternoon delight" which is all about how great sex is in the afternoon. It makes it really hard to read the poem with a remotely serious tone after that (especially if you've seen Will Ferrell's Anchorman) but anyway...as I said before, some of your imagery is really great, but some of it just isn't working for you, either because it sounds like cheesy advertising or the images just don't quite match up with any sense of reality. You can make associations and point to similarities in two completely unrelated things (and make it work) but even metaphors have to bridge the abstract into something mentally tangible...
Here, let me give you an idea of what I'm talking about. This is James Tate's poem entitled "poem". He won the Pulitzer for poetry back in the 60's...but as you can see, he picks completely out there metaphors but they're not so out there that you have no idea what he's talking about. He just describes common things in a really original way...a little bit like Charles Simic. "The angel kissed my alphabet" sounds abstract...but if you continue to read the poem you realize he's talking about a girl he's crazy about whose inspired him to write this poem (alphabet being a part of language and more importantly, his language...his thought process. What made this poem possible).
"The angel kissed my alphabet,
it tingled like a cobweb in starlight.
A few letters detached themselves
and drifted in shadows, a loneliness
they carry like infinitesimal coffins
on their heads.
She kisses my alphabet
and a door opens: blackbirds roosting
on far ridges. A windowpeeper
under an umbrella watches
a funeral service. Blinkered horses
drum the cobblestones.
"She kisses: Plunderers gather
in a lackluster ballroom
to display their booty. Mice
testify against one another
in dank rodent courtrooms.
The angel kisses my alphabet,
she squeezes and bites,
and the last lights flutter,
and the violins are demented.
Moisture spreads across my pillow,
a chunk of quartz thirsts
to abandon my brain trust."
Reach into blend of the soul, crisp jagged cheeks rushed red
Sprint far and wide, take root like an elm tree on the schoolyard
it seems, i may have taken things too far
Meditating wind, wrap yourself constrict up in cotton delight
Reach into blend of the soul once you crack, cheeks rushed with red
Luminescent chakras like leaves sway in the distance, pickled hues sunset
Here we are: laps crisscrossed, words buzzing and surrender
Leaps into indigo water moist with calm, hushed relaxation
I take a quick look into your honey mind's eye, maybe quiet or reminiscent
Your soft aura lips that dive head first into the gentle blend of the soul
Wonder where the past lays buzzing still between sheets and true essence
Discuss esoteric topics and whisk away crisp jagged cheeks rushed red,
please, feel my presence
The conversation turns something cliché like “beauty in the breakdown”
Reaching, no, truly leaping into the blend of the soul, thoughts genuine
Laughter young now erupts blind in the pages of the background
it seems, i may have taken things too far again