Thursday, December 31, 2015

The Snare


The Snare





Those notes you play
beneath the stars
as sweet as wine
as red as Mars

keep me hung
and strung on fire,
a golden fuse
burning beads of lyre.

My peacock fan
can't stop the blood
that paints my skin,
the traitor flood

of feelings trapped
as night runs strong
to keep its foot far
from the snare of your song.

What use the art
of lace and gown
when all I am
is so quickly unbound?

Your blinded face
eclipses your lines.
You play for yourself
not for me or mine.
 
How often I've run
from that puppeteer's tune,
till you sing me back
to fish for the moon.



~December 2015




posted for     real toads

a few quick and extemporaneous rhymes for







Image:  Das Ständchen (The Serenade) 1918, by Gerda Wegener
No copyright infringement intended. Source


22 comments:

  1. feel of haunting song with alluring rhythm, love it very much!

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  2. I love it! I particularly like the way you break the lines between the third and fourth stanza. Beautiful.

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  3. Ah, sweet. You have captured a lot of the spirit of the story here (the bio) as well as the pic. I love the idea of the beads of lyre--and, of course, the art of lace and gown so quick unbound--ha-- very clever and somehow seasonal too --wonderful play between the eclipses lines and searching for the moon--thanks-k.

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  4. i just love it. and i've always been fond of fishing for the moon!

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  5. I love the use of Mars and the red that runs through that verse...intriguing details that you bring forth from this piece.

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  6. The stanza that begins "What use the art..." is my favorite, not only because I love the writing, but because I can imagine myself saying those words! I really like the painting you chose--notice how the reflection of the moon is different from the actual moon; you've captured that in your poem so well. Thankls for being part of my challenge, BFF!

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    1. PS--I still miss your Off The Shelf feature.

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    2. Thanks Shay--a fascinating artist, and her world and bio as well. AFA OTS, I wish there had been more interest in it, as I enjoyed it, too--I may still do something along those lines occasionally--I miss having a good poem to read when I come here. ;_)

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  7. This has such a lilting rhythm, it could be put to music. I love the way you have worked with the romantic notions, and shown the flaws of loving one who loves only himself.
    And I loved this stanza:
    What use the art
    of lace and gown
    when all I am
    is so quickly unbound?

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    1. Thank you, Kerry. And I loved your sonnet.

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  8. When I was rummaging through the google creel of Gerda Wegener's images, the male-female erotica seemed dangerous, dark, sometimes deadly (another one, much like the one you use, shows a suitor successfully singing his way up to a lover's window where the rapturess sinks into his kiss with a dagger raised over him). The seduction of art betrays the heart here, "sweet as wine / as red as Mars," where flushed skin is a "traitor flood." And what happens when two arts, two seductions meet? Do they erase each other, or must one conquer the other? Is the paramour a fiction, a ruse that one is always compelled, like Charley Brown, to try kicking one more time? Must we always confuse art and heart? Potent questions, which in the Wegener story takes on added dimension when the male artist surrenders to the female art. Wonderful response to the challenge, and the art of this is on high wire that's never easy to cross.

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    1. Well, the metaphor here is a bit facile, but I thought it suited the style of W's work--the feeling of style over substance, yet substance enhanced by style--of betrayal, of safety and belonging with one's own gender which her rather touching female portraiture shows--while there seems to be a lot of the demon in the male bits, as you say. Here I was struck by the complete blankness of the faces--yet both are full of their own secrets. The singer is androgynous, though, and so I think it may be about the ritual nature of love itself, superficially conforming to the traditional memes, yet being something more, hidden under those mask-like caricatures of faces. AFA art v heart, that is a battleground I hover above looking for sustenance as a raven might, not offering interpretation. Anyway, thanks for your insights, B--and for reading with mind and muse, as always.

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  9. I love the fifth and last stanzas of the dance between opposites (that seem not to oppose each other all the time). I like the secrets gowned, almost precariously, by the fifth stanza... the promise of revelation. The last stanza made me think of things unwanted (even scary), but needed in order to continue to hold on to self...

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  10. Hi Joy--I came back as I was rather tired yesterday when first reading this and knew I'd not given it the focus I would like to--I had not focused on the narcissistic aspect-- which you tag so beautifully as blood from a moon--ha. But the narcissist artist or maybe art itself--I can't think of you or anyone running from the call of their own art or to make art--but certainly the weaver, the singer, the blind lyre-cist (or lyricist) can be a difficult lover--the Homer who doesn't offer a home, ha! And it is like fishing for the moon as you have to fish in their reflective pond, if you know what I mean--so anyway--sorry that I focused more on the beautiful touches first go round, and missed this aspect--the way in which the artist does reach us even when he/she plays for himself not for me or mine--and yet it speaks to us anyway, right? More than speaks. A drive-one=crazy conundrum--and one hopes not to be that way also, but probably can be. Anyway, thanks and sorry for meandering. k.

    ps i don't think this is really about gender--or not to me--but about a kind of artist/artistry--maybe more common in males? I don't know. k.

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    1. Well, I really wrote this off the top of my head k. It is a subject I often return to--unrequited love--and a personal addiction of mine, so I am not totally sure how art itself works in. I think nothing is more seductive than art and music, but that loving those who produce it is a sort of surrogate for loving the art itself, and expecting them to 'love' you because of that attraction is totally 'fishing for the moon.' That is the best I can explain it. Thanks for the second dip!

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  11. To love the vain is a chore, but we are drawn back perhaps because our own vanity feeds on it. Love your ending.

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  12. i'm on fumes and 14 hour days are the short ones... but though I can't intelligibly comment, this lilt was a perfect start for my new year. I was particularly struck by the period / sentence in the penultimate verse - how the full stop pivots the speaker's voice, and makes the reader stop and ponder...

    at least the event was / is a success... happy new year, Joy ~

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    1. Thanks very much. I know what a toll those long days take, M., especially on the creative juices. I feel for you sincerely--for ten years in my working life I had no time or energy to write anything but a journal and the occasional spurt of poetry that couldn't be stomped out. That penultimate stanza was the most edited and rewritten of the lot, so glad it came out well for you. I hope your New Year brings you all you most need and desire. (Or as much as you can handle, anyway. ;_) )

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    2. I actually got 8 hours of sleep last night. well, 4-1/2 then a series of 1's, as I guess I've tuned my body to wake after that first bit. But still. I feel closer to subhuman than I have in a while.

      I also admire the phrasing other's pointed out, but mostly it's the entirety of the piece, how it coheres and then - well, stabs, almost - with that last line.

      Cheers ~

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  13. I'm in love with that fifth stanza.

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  14. "You play for yourself" goes so well with the facial expression of the musician. Loved the rhythm and rhyme of this one, Joy.

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg