Some self- review written at night

[Chaske]

Review.

One- thirty in the morning, wrecked at the Beach Of Wealth.
The Code Of Art is broken, the Sense Of Longing lost.
Dirty orange light slides above the worn- out oilcloth
Of my kitchen table where I myself have chained to.
I try to exorcize my synthetic bathos
By withdrawing sleep and pray to Decayed Poets.

Asking "Has a good writer to be a good lover too?"
I watch a solemn procession in the shape of plaster busts.
They all are gazing down from Artificial Wooden Shelves
Answering "Having a Muse or sucking Lemon Slices -
That is all the same." - Vulgarism wrapped
Into symbols, Mysteries Of Shallowness.

A sole green candle dies hidden in the depth
Of Poetry's used- up Shrine of Artificial Wood.
As the last smoke whirls up I inhale it like incense
And all disguises fall apart from me and one
By one they do arise and hide into the night;
Copulating with the dust of a thousand books.

They all have fled me like a leper, remaining nothing
But my brain in front of me drowned in a Flask of Alc,
Conserved till Kingdom Come. - But a cynical drunkard
Will only be read when he's already dead. Or a woman.
But the drunkard becomes gender- free. - That's
A plagiarism - Pray for me. - That either - I'm lost.

I am a Copyist. There Happens Nothing New
Under The Sun says Solomon - Do I really
Copy someone or is this we call The Course Of World,
Moving in circles around us, in Eternal Spins?
Maybe I am but a Chessman, maybe a Knight
Holding The Mighty Feather in both my trembling hands.

Fingers stained with ink and wax as I replace
That one molten candle with one of its little sisters
I bought in a Discount - Cheaper In A Dozen! -
And all great Neptune's ocean will not wash clean
My hands, rather they will the multitudinous seas
Incarnadine, making the Green One inky.

Lost 'twixt foreign meters and disfigured Symbolisms
I raise and leave my desk to repeat my Sheepish mantras
Again to Patient Papers: "No More Double Cursus
For The Living! It Limps Behind Reality!"
- But sells better. - Slave! Slave Of The Shelves!

[lizzytysh]

Dear Chaske....This seems almost an Ode to Leonard, very influenced by a number of words, phrases, and visions from his songs across time. It sounds like you felt depressed as well, perhaps the alcohol, by your state of aloneness and success, during the time it took you to write it. I enjoyed reading it.
~Lizzytysh

[Guest]

Hi Lizzytysh, a few words about this poem:
Yes, it is influenced by Leonard, but that was nothing planned, it just happened and that is even one of the matters it deals with. Another influence is that of Shakespeare; the last three verses of stanza 6 are from a monologue of Lady Macbeth ( a little changed, of course ); I guess there are much more influences if you really started to look for, but even that made me think about in that night I wrote it. Is being influnced by some author you admire copying or a kind of plagiarism - and how influenced can art be without being unoriginally? - I discussed a lot of time about with my muse and one night, dissatisfied with my own work, and sleepless, I found me at aforesaid kitchen table, sketching those lines.
And then it took me about three months to find the right form to assemble it. - Well, at least I guess I did it very passable.

So and now happened what always happens when I start to write something that begins with "a few words": It's becoming half a novel.
Well, I just wanted to say I'm glad there's someone out there who enjoyed that.

[lizzytysh]

Dear Guest,
Leonard said something, though I couldn't begin to quote it, but the essence was that after awhile and so much reading and listening by other poets, writers, and singers, it all goes down in and later comes back out in various, altered form[s]....and who really is to say, anymore, what's whose.....that perhaps is the loosest paraphrase I've ever managed to impart, but I'm trusting you know what I mean. Then, who was it that said, "There's nothing new under the sun".....so, happy recycling to you!
~Lizzytysh

[Sideways]

Ok, provided the Ironers are attractive

[Cate]

Dear Sue, if you ever retire from ironing you'd make an excellent archivist.

great find!

[Sideways]

Thank you for recognising that I am not some ordinary ivist, in the same way as I recognise that you are not some ordinary Angel.

[Cate]

Jeeze louise you had me looking up what an ivist is - okay you can be the forums official Arch Ivisit Sue (the Naked Ironer)

[Sideways]

Jeeze louise you had me looking up what an ivist is - okay you can be the forums official Arch Ivisit Sue (the Naked Ironer)

I'm glad you agree, otherwise I would have to Sue you

[Cate]

bra ha ha

[Sideways]

I never wear a bra

[DennisZ]

It's a bit scary, but also pretty funny too, seasoned with a touch of nostalgia to see one of my oldest poems coming up again. I thought they were lost within the forum's vast eternity as well as my former nickname (Chaske).

Still nice to see it bobbing up again, even if the subject of discussion seems to have changed to something like "to wear or not to wear a bra" and naked ironing. Something my older self (24 by then) certainly would have appreciated