Apr '18 27
I found today's poem difficult to rescue; I think that knowing I'm close to the end of the poem-a-day project may have quite a bit to do with it. (There are only three left to rescue after today's!)

The nouns weren't very interesting (yet I used almost all of them, except for a few abstract ones); the pronoun–verb combination didn't work the way I would've liked; and there weren't many useful conjunctions (I really needed 'until' but it wasn't there).

All of this is so obvious to me when I re-read the poem, but it's a curious one all the same.

This one shuffled from pages 210 and 49 of The Devourers and Marie Tarnowska respectively, both by Annie Vivanti Chartres.

Sometimes life is dreaming an idea

It was morning when she broke through her chrysalis-shell.
She looked about her, surveying the garden.
She mused, but then leaped from the rose,
willing herself at one
with day, with earth, with fate.
A bird with blue feathers called her vulgar
but she shook her gentle head
and grasped the flame of her belief to herself.
Sometimes despair surrounded her
but then she would remember
to be kind to herself.
At noon she found her talents:
making verses from an idea
making names for nameless things
making a voice for someone;
this was her life from that hour
to the next,
Then she struck the dead end of evening.

Posted by Jennifer Liston


Display comments as(Linear | Threaded)
  1. No comments

Add Comment

Enclosing asterisks marks text as bold (*word*), underscore are made via _word_.
Standard emoticons like :-) and ;-) are converted to images.
Gravatar, Pavatar, Favatar author images supported.
E-Mail addresses will not be displayed and will only be used for E-Mail notifications.