Revolution
I've broken this shell,
and now I'm out there,
naked.
I hope they won't see me.
Just you.
This unprotected flesh,
a sanguine beat,
of red flesh.
I hope they won't touch me.
Just you.
And yet,
every so often,
without a touch,
without a glance,
I shatter.
The wounds of decades,
the yolk of my
self imprisonment
can be seen.
(Not for you.)
The weight of disregard,
the yoke of my
fragile feelings,
can be felt.
(Not for you.)
And yet,
every so often,
still free,
still feeling,
I shatter.
You come,
like daybreak.
You leave,
like a winter storm.
And I live,
and I die,
hinging on your
revolution.
This piece is dedicated to and for @mamadini, for whom all my poetry flows
Thanks to all the Isle of Write members who gave me feedback and encouragement on this piece, and all the others.
Check out my latest pieces:
- After the Flood - A poem
- Reddit: An Attention-Based Economy
- Three Days' Longing - A poem.
art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics
The image used is Guercino's Atlas Holding up the Celestial Globe (1646), and is public domain.
© Guy Shalev 2018.
the Moirai would be very proud of this tenuous string you have the narrator walking, methinks.
the cyclical motifs and extended metaphor that builds this poem, and the refrain that grounds it, big fan. when wordplay becomes worldplay, you know you are reading something special (or, at the very least, I do).
this poem is something special, Guy. It's not the most vulnerable I've seen one of your narrators, but it is pretty darn close.
the use of sight and feeling is a fun pairing - especially in the context of emerging from our egg. sight consistently being one of the last senses to develop, touch the first. certainly creates that alpha omega sense that, in so few words, you have crafted something all encompassing.
it makes the last stanza feel very real, the line between life and death might truly be so thin.
this is one of those pieces that I love to read, and read thrice, @geekorner, if the poem was a case, I'd have to say you cracked it.
"Moirai" is cute, but when I do not call them "The Fates," I must say that my name of choice is "The Norns" :D But really, this is one case where I find the translated term to be my favourite, heh.
Thank you Alain! By the by, you know that all my "narrators" in these poems I wrote in the past month or so are all me, right? I'm writing with my life's blood here. This poem is exactly about where you are at after you bare yourself, after a long time of not having done so.
There are so many good things to do with sight and touch, such as one being the first way others touch you, and the other being the last. Also, lines in defense, if you think of it.
And again, thank you for all the kind words, they are part of the fuel that helps the poetry keep coming. Though most of it is coming from the muse, I won't lie and say this isn't helping as well :)
I love absolutely every single thing about this, Guy.
That means quite a bit coming from you Inna, thank you <3
Powerful!
Love the image, too (Jesus, like Atlas, shouldering the weight of the world)
And the imagery - wow -
and *The weight of disregard
Which can crush us sooner than ridicule can.
The echo of "I hope" and "Just you"
The plea of despair, the undying thread of hope -
No doubt I'm reading too much of my own views into this
But doesn't everyone do that (except the most objective critics?)
Bravo!
I love this!!!
That image is Atlas, not Jesus. Though I can't keep seeing the Jesus-esque figure of the era now that you've mentioned it :P
And yes, the weight of disregard is heavy indeed. Also makes you think of all the poems and prose where they make use of "He felt their regard on him" or "The weight of their regard," etc. The only thing weighing more than regard is disregard, to play on Wilde's quote, eh?
And isn't that what poems should do? Give you enough room to read yourself, and your life, into them? I think that certainly should happen, while also not letting you stamp out the author entirely.
I'm glad the poem spoke to you, Carol :)
This was one of my favourite pieces of yours.
I love the dichotomy between these lines (above) and the earlier stanzas. It gives off such a borderline feeling.
Again, you really know how to play with words. There is a consistency throughout the poem. You broke out of your shell - now we see what the shell was and what came out of it.
What do you mean by "borderline," Jeremy? Though yes, the paragraphs play off of one another, and continue one another :)
And what came out of the shell? It sometimes wants back in. It's hard out here. Thank you, I really like the structure of this poem, one of the ones I like more. It's very structurally pleasing to me.
Borderline, as in, not wanting to be touched, but still wanting it.
שמע שאתה מדהים. שפת האם שלך היא אשכרה עברית?
Reading enough books in another language, especially if you read ones written in a higher level, with rich vocabulary, help a lot.
And yes, I started writing poetry in English around 2002 or so. I can't write poetry in Hebrew anymore, and it did require a transition period. Practice makes perfect. I've started learning English in the 4th grade, like all Israelis my age. I just never really stopped ;-)
Such elegant precision to the flow of this piece.
Thank you Ellie! I have to say that while I am not always in love with my own poems, I do really like the form and flow of this piece in particular :)
Revolution is a something that has power,and this ur poem is lovely,i love it.
Thank you. I actually think of the word "Revolution" differently than most, because a revolution brings you back to the same spot you were at prior. An interesting concept that is oft overlooked.
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Beautiful, powerful poetry!
Thank you!
wow its amazing use sensitive words i like it and follow you