For All is Good

constructive criticism always welcome

My inner conflicts

 

                                    are like streets that lead nowhere
                  

                but a Kubin's gibbet,
                      

                            made out of barbed wire

 and umbilical cord…. 
                           

                                             Hanged is the
         

             hundred-year-old grandma
     

        that my child carries,
                                    

                       and burnt is the white on the sheet…
                     

 

                      Hanged is the child
             

          begot on the same bed
                

              that squeaks like a bird
                                    

                  and rests on three legs
                                      

 

                  (If I could, I would
             

    break that bird's neck

   and put it to sleep)
  

  For all is good,
       

                  ten fingers,
                          

                                ten toes,
                                     

                                          the first breath,
                       

                           the first word,
         

                                          the first step
                  

                                      (but step in Fahrstuhl zum Schafott)
               

 

        What a pair,
               

                       me and the grandma
                                 

        that my child carries
             

                  I rise,
                                

                         In the same spasm
              

                  She falls
                

                     (if I were you,
   

                       I would let us rot...)
                                   

 

   The belly full of no-prospects

                   and death,
       

                                    the swinging chair
       

        and us
                        

                            swung to the same spot

        

                     nowhere

          

     What a pair,
               

                     my inner conflicts
            

                            and all that is born

          turning to dust...

 

Reviews

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Wow, this is very interesting. I had to read it through twice to really get the entire impact. The form sort of draws you into a sublime sort of feeling, which is juxtaposed to the concept of the piece; I found that refreshing. I like to see writers play with form and style, because that is how the "new" is born. Well done.

[Marri]

thank you very much! Your words are appreciated and are certainly an encouragement for experimenting with form and style :)

[Ahmad Cox]

This poem drew me in from beginning to the end. Good write.

[Sami Khalil]

A splendid poem and form...Thank you for sharing...:)...........

[Neon]

Nice imaginary, i liked the structure.

[Rahul]

That;s again an amazing one write by you, loved your writing style. words're nicely described here. great job once again :)

[Marri]

thank you :)

[Raphael Minter]

Good writing. I really enjoyed it.

[Marri]

Thank you, Raphael :)

[Raphael Minter]

I can't find your review about my poem, how long is too short.

[Marri]

yes, I also checked but it disappeared miraculously, I will write it again when I have some more time to read again your work :)

[Raphael Minter]

ok, thanks very much

[Alvin L. Kathembe]

A series of disturbing images...I'm sorry to say I couldn't understand this piece...What is Kubin's gibbet? Kubin was an artist, according to Wikipedia, but I couldn't find any reference to a gibbet or gallows...
Fahrstuhl zum Schafott is the German version of Lift to the Scaffold which is the English version of a french film called "Ascenseur pour l'échafaud"...?
You work your readers HARD eh? :D

[Marri]

thank you for this criticism :) I am afraid I tend to digress and forget that translating the chaos in my head might often sound discordant...this said, I did actually keep the fragmental nature of this on purpose as I was targeting 'inner conflicts' and it seemed appropriate for me to paint them without any harmony or coherence (as I often experience them as such). Kubin didn't actually draw the gibbet I had in mind but he has a very specific expression of the macabre and I borrowed his style for my imagery...metaphorically, of course...Fahrstuhl zu Schafott was just a metaphor for the inevitable ending despite the efforts, I suppose here Steven's comment on 'whisper of despair' comes spot on....But I take your criticism on board and will work on my chaotic expression...I suppose it's more fair if the writer works harder than the readers :)

[Chris]

welcome back

[Marri]

Thank you, I guess after every storm the sun rises again after all

[Chris]

It sometimes takes us particular effort to find our heart again...but that is part of being human.

[Marri]

yes, that heart, the biggest blessing...and the biggest curse...

[Alessander]

I haven't been completely baffled in a while, so I thank you for that (I think it's a good thing). To me this piece is like a great collage which bombards the viewer with seemingly random visual stimuli and imprint a feeling more than a linear argument.

The feeling I receive is one of lingering despair.

It doesn't particularly bemoan the state, rather report it with some fragmented imagery of a grandma, a bird, barbed wire, and naturally the last line almost echoing the Biblical prophets from thousands of years ago which gives this piece a certain fatalistic ominous undertone.

Very interesting.

[Marri]

Thank you so much for this critique, I am currently in a writing's breakdwon and your words certainly scatter some light in the shadow of that thick tree called dispair. How you have read my drops of ink flatters me and gives me if not a push to write, at least a good-morning call. Thank you for that.