Cataluna and her Strings

A repost but as a picture-poem... old photo of an angel in the garden, haha. This piece will be in a local anthology here soon sometime... just the words, though. Inspired by Lorca and the Spanish Civil War... damn fascists.

Author's Note

Title refers to the Catalan district and also my next to no-name brand semi-acoustic guitar, haha.

Reviews

[Vanessa Whiteley]

I can see the Lorca influence in content and form. The irregular lines work well. There is a sense of gypsy ballads throughout and beginning with that first stanza denoting flamanco dancing but, also, the past suggesting that this is a time after the commencement of the war or even later then that as the boys are forgotten. 'the green apples thrown to forgotten boys' (I like the repetition of 'beyond') This seems to suggest lost innocence and connotes for me both Lorca's homosexuality and also the loss of innocence through war. The mother's having to release their sons and the their thoughts and hopes going with them on

a journey of virgin hearts
leaping over the soil.

And yet the virgin hearts, also, seems to connote the boys innocence. In one way the leaping over soil suggests play but foreshadows war. The repetition of down works brilliantly in the next stanza. This stanza seems to capture the essence of Catalonia but leads to a river of death and lost dreams. The last stanza is wonderful it suggests that the guitars are waiting to be played again and yet also symbolises death in war and plausibly even Lorca's murder. Of course I may well be reading this completely wrong but its what it suggests to me. Beautiful poem as ever.

[vanishing]

the presentation, the graphic put instant visual deptiction to play on the senses. exquisite writing.
the metaphorical references are set in motion, pulling upon the reader heartstrings with
touching nostalgia, your words really take the reader to another place and time,
"the green apples thrown to forgotten boys".. wisdom weaves this poem with graceful thread.

[Emily B]

Words and picture come together in divine union. Now, I can't imagine one without the other. This may be a re-post but I don't remember it at all. And I thought I was your biggest fan. ;-)

[J. Hampton]

J ~

Sorry it took me so long to get to this....
much like desert....the best....well worth waiting for !!! of course I cannot listen ( I'm at the office )
but the read....enhanced by the pic...Incredible.
I leave your writes....feeling like I've just had a gourmet meal at a five star resturant
the very best...elegantly served...beautifully displayed...absolutely delicious.....satisfying
an experience ....really ... always memorable



floorboards of memories
Guitar ~ears...
mind~ cellars
umbilical ~ twine

the two lines that carried the power of this home.....

"green apples thrown to forgotton boys "

"the firm touch of imploring necks waiting to be bitten...to go under...to go under"

~ to have to take it...to sit back and have life sucked out from under you by powers that be...

Top-Notch !!

Blesssssssssss

[Rachel Eisenberg]

haha Damn fascists indeed :P

You have a poetry voice... Like, in your little preamble you're very listenable and casual, but you seem to get very serious once you start reading the poem itself... I've never known anybody to do that before. It's kind of cool.

(and I have to mention that your garden looks way more interesting than mine)

It's all very pretty. Really soft and sensual. But when are your words ever not?

The ears of the guitar laze in the sun, and wait
for the whispered cry of master fingers; this, the firm touch
of imploring necks waiting to be bitten, to go under, to go under.

Beautiful. Especially the double idea of 'neck.'

Dunno what else to say to you... Lots of people already said everything worth saying, I believe......

[E. M. Murren]

Damned fascists indeed! LOL This is so gentle and flowing... yet powerful. The picture is lovely, BTW. It adds an ambiance which is really nice. Super work... as always. Many cheers.

[J.P. Bristow]

"expendable fodder" the truth indeed ---the pen can wield such candor--a jaded freedom in which we curdle.......vox populi......what pictures you paint...wordsmith. "The burn of flamenco beyond the dusk," what a truly visceral line....though the topic pernicious I find a certain allure in the honeyed tones you sold. We are what we eat. I feel an elemental connection with this piece......The stark landscape of war draped in words of aster-like glory.

[Lesley Wood]

Beautiful, it is more than a poem~it is a song and story. I love it!

[J. Araujo]

It took expertise to write this. an expertise of words, of poetry, of creativity and of writing. excellent. your top notch for the contest !

[V]

J,
This is a gorgeous poem, I can just imagine the scene... beautiful... people dancing to the flamenco music on a rather warm summer's night. Some fabulous images here:

tonight, they'll rub wrists
perfumed with the soul of laughter

my favourite was the unsealed lips... and the last stanza, just waiting for someone to play those lazy guitars. You took me on a very special journey. Thank you.
Well Done... very inspiring
V.

[Tai Chi Italy]

Very erotic piece on the power of music J, Corizon Latino all the way...I thoroughly got into step with this beautiful write. Moi Bien, the Madra of all Madra's Tai