Amongst the Stars

16th September, 2019: To the scribbles on yellowing pages, to the smiles frozen in frames.

Looking back through many a dreary morn, through many a sleepless night,

 I  have come  to seek the Midas  touch ; Memory, bring forth your light.

If your light may summon darkness, let it come -  the blessed dark sea,

Where the stifled sobs seek expression, where the reckless tears break free.

Drawing  aside  Time's moth-eaten veil ,  I peep  into the past,

As a shaft of ivory moonlight ,pale, wipes away the age-old dust.

I see your lips  tremble  in the magic of the night,

Looking at you, once more, in myriad-hued Childhood's light.

Speeding along the deserted roads under the night's neglectful eyes,

A child , in the backseat,  basked in Elton John's  "Sacrifice".

The" Norwegian Woods" still trickles out of the Beatles' sonorous voice.

I wonder if they still sing to you in your far-away Troy.

The almirah's stuffed with memories- shirts that speak of a death.

I put it on today - the blue shirt of yours - in a rush of hiraeth.

It all returns - the cigar  smoke you tried  in  vain to hide in  mints,

And the incense sticks that suppressed it all-your departure left no hints -

Just a couple of "Chloromint"s as you left for the foreign lands,

The child waved goodbye and one dropped from her restless hands.

Did the tiny crystals,green, whisper of an imminent gale?

I knew not that, with the parting kiss, you meant to bid farewell.

The cars that bore you far away, returned with the coffin....

The suffocating fragrance of sandalwood and the shattered crystals,green.

I believed,you left for a better home in the myths of mountainous Greece.

Years...ten years have sought your address in fragile memories.

Yet, as the night, on weary wings, descends upon Day's window-pane,

And the drowsy world retires to rest  in its secret, dreamy den,

I hear a knock at the door- I open the windows wide,

Out there, a mournful smile haunts me through the morning white.

Thoughts creep in, of dreary afterlife, in the purgations of the dark,

Shadows rise from their vandalized graves to throttle the song of the lark.

Time trickles, in heartless steps, down the pages of  the calendar,

Dear ones fade into oblivion-Autumn leaves at the dawn of an endless winter.

In the twilight of the setting sun, where day blends in peaceful slumber,

I find you walk, in open arms, to these abandoned chambers.

The scorched world thunders in anticipation of the first monsoon rains.

This day demands no words-freeze your smiles in our overflowing silence...

The silence that speaks of no balm to erase the never-healing scars,

Though I feel your eyes shining back from a sky still full of stars-

From that distant world the new-born sun strokes in the first patches of red,

Our funeral hymns rise over the skies and, in nostalgic whispers, fade.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I love the way your writing is a blend of prose & poetry. I love the way your imagery sounds bright & fulsome, piquing the reader's imagination with lots of mind pops for all the senses. There are spots where your writing reads like a story & I find myself more engaged thru these passages. Then there are spots where your writing is more nuanced & I can't guess what the story might be (which is OK too). All in all you have a ton of imagination, but some people might not be able to follow how your message somersaults (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Esther]

Thanks a lot.

[sonnie ibadah]

The imagery is great, the flow is flawless and emotions well depicted.

[Chris Shaw]

There are many feelings expressed here, without the reader fully knowing the story. Written in lovely poetic lines, I do pick up on the loss of someone loved who is or was important to the author. Full of rich imagery. Nicely related.

Chris

[Esther]

Thank you! I'm so glad you liked it!

[Chris Shaw]

I did and you are welcome :)

[LitStar]

I really enjoyed the atmosphere in this poem

It's much like a short story

you have a way with words

[Esther]

Thank you!

[Steve B]

Your personal grief told in a moving and poetic manner of a time and place far from your here and now
but never forgotten. well done Steve B.

[Esther]

Thanks a lot!

[richieb]

Esther,
Your poem paints a picture of long winter days, colored in gray dusk. Nature lays still and the world barely breathes. The wind carries sadness and silence. These are the images your words create in my mind. Very compelling write.
Peace,
Richie b.

[Esther]

Thanks a lot!

[Perdition]

Reading this one several times I do feel it is personal and perhaps a note to a loved one and perhaps I could take it a step further and even dream that it is to yourself at a different time. The reader must sleep in your woods with this one and must be willing to earn this journey where the pace wants otherwise as you might get lost. I understand personal poems as well as those meant to entertain, Value lies where the reader finds it. I will walk and somewhere find a place to earn this one. Such abundance of imagery deserves a slow nigh's read. Thanks for sharing.

[Esther]

It is somewhat obscure, for it was meant for a special person. Thanks a lot!

[Perdition]

Yes! You most certainly get that emotion but it want it to stay with me so I'm going to live in my own message and in your rich imagery. "I open the windows wide, Out there, a mournful smile haunts me through the morning white"....that clash of a mournful smile ..the opposition of it when read with a loving eye has avalue for me as we are poets and so there are lessons even in the off cuff splendor of our messages. Thanks again Esther.

[Perdition]

* "I want it to stay with me"...darn these eyes!

[Esther]

Thank you so much for "stopping by the woods on a snowy evening".

[Perdition]

You're most welcome...found it lovely dark and deep :)

[LazerRays]

Oh wow! This grabbed me at the title and holy crap I'm glad it did. This poem is wonderful! The sentences blend together into sort of a lullaby tone! This was like music!!!! The mentioning of stuff from Greek mythology also made my inner geek cheer! What a magnificent poem!

[Esther]

Thanks a lot!

[JayG]

I'm certain that this is deeply meaningful to you, and probably brings tears as it triggers critical memory. But...

All the references are personal to you, I have no touchstones. When you say, "I see your lips tremble in the magic of the night," This could be a sadist about to torture. It could be a moment of surrender to love, a parting, a first coven attendance, or a million other things. Intent is driven by your history, but intent doesn't make it to the page.

Given that I have no context, for why mornings are dreary, and nights sleepless, what emotional content can describing your own reaction to unspecified events have for me? So, rather than sharing the emotion, and becoming that person, all I can do is say, "Awww...poor baby. I hope you get over whatever it is."

And that's my point. Instead of prettily telling the reader how YOU feel, make them feel it. Give them reason to write their own version of this poem. Make them CARE, not just know.

For a reader, flowery language without context can be like whipped cream—better as a garnish than a meal.

[JayG]

• Though the story is obscure, one can take it as he wants...

In that case, who needs the poem? You can say that about ANY piece of writing. And weer it accurate, readers wouldn't favor one poem over another, they would simply place a few random words on the page, take them as brilliant because that's what they want, and shout, "Hosanna!"

In truth the reader doesn't come to us for their imagination, they come to borrow ours.

• The "dreary days" mentioned in the beginning are indicated in the later parts.

That's your intent. But I saw nothing that would make a sunny morning ten years after someone's death dreary.

But it doesn't matter if the ending does or doesn't justify the opening reference. You can't retroactively remove confusion, or, create a second first impression. So every line we provide either has relevance to the reader, as it's read, or doesn't belong there, as written.

• As for making others feel, I don't know how to go about it,

That's easy. Invite the reader in. Don't talk TO them, make them experience your pain, or joy, or desire, rather than talking about it.

The brain has something called mirror cells. It helps us feel as if we're doing something in parallel with what we're watching, and helps us learn.

Watch someone jump rope, and after a while you can feel yourself making aborted little movements in time with the jumper, telling THEM when to jump.

Then, when we try whatever it is we're watching, we're halfway there to doing it right because we have been, literally, practicing. The ability to insert ourselves into someoe's situation is why we feel pain when we see someone else hurt themselves. And, it's an ability that makes that story you read feel so real that if someone throws a bottle at our protagonist, we flinch. It can work in a poem, as well.

The trick is to evoke that empathetic function in the reader.

If you use the words, "The screams of happy children at the playground", or "the smell of suntan location at the beach," you'll trigger sense memory in the one who hears or reads the words. And for a moment they're there in that environment, living the story you're telling.

Use that, and a hundred other tricks that have been developed for the poet over the centuries. Why reinvent the wheel when that knowledge is there for the taking?

Poetry isn't something we just decide to do, and automatically know all the various techniques. Like anything else, it's all in the becoming. And as in any other field, there's a lot that, on hearing, you'll say, "Why didn't I think of that, myself?''

For example: Take a look at the excerpt for Stephen Fry's, The Ode Less Traveled, on Amazon. It's brilliant, and I recommend that to all poets and fiction writers—in fact, any writer—for what he has to say about the flow of language. And he's just one of many who are there pleased and ready to help.

That aside—and this is a personal view, one of the reasons I reacted as I did is because I think you're way over the top. This person says their father's death happened ten years ago (and we don't know what happened), yet every morning is still "dreary," and every night filled with loneliness. After ten years? Seriously? In ten years this person, who is no longer a child, is still weeping over daddy's loss, day and night?

I lost my parents. Everyone does. Three years ago I lost my wife, someone I loved for every moment of fifty-two years. I love her still, and think of her often, but I don't wake up every morning moping and sighing for poor me. So...in spite of the cascade of pretties, my response to this, was that this weeping person is an idiot. Sorry. Your mileage may differ.

[JayG]

• I recall one of Tagore's poems that revolved around his child's death.

Uh-huh... And I remember eating breakfast this morning. Neither has to do with if you made your meaning clear, and entertained the reader. Your intent doesn't make it to the page. Only the words do. And the meaning the reader takes is a product of what they suggest based on the reader's background, and what has been said to any given point, not your intent.

Look, you're trying to convince me that that your poems meaning was perfectly clear, which is something the POEM should have done. given that you're not there to explain or clarify when it's read.

Look at the opening lines as a reader to see how well they're directed along your chosen path:

In the first line you talk about "looking back." You also mention sleepless nights and dreary mornings.

So no matter your intent, the reader has been told that the speaker has been unhappy over something for some time So a mood is established and we, naturally, expect to learn why this is true.

But then, with no transition, we're looking forward, with, "I have come to seek the Midas touch." So,i we begin the story, and thump back to begin it again earlier? Seems so, based on the wording and, "have come."

So right off, there's the question of: where and when are we in reference to the speaker's time and place? And of course there's the question of how "The Midas touch" relates to sleepless nights and dreary mornings. Is the speaker in need of money? Nothing that was said after that clarifies, and your intent is unknowable to the reader at this point.

Then, we're off in another unrelated direction with "Memory, bring forth your light." What in the hell is memory's light? and how does it relate to the traditional Midas touch, which was, in reality, a curse (though the reader may not realize that). How does what sounds like memories of good times relate to lack of sleep and unhappy wakings? Is the person memory impaired? You don't intend to give that impression, but your self guiding trail is missing markers to guide the reader in the intended direction

So while the themes and directions relate perfectly in your mind, will it be clear to the average reader?

Remember, if the reader doesn't "get it" it's NOT their fault, because clarity is the author's job. Readers don't audition to see if they're okay to read your work.

ow I'm not making you happremember, someone you don't know took time they didn't have to give you to try to help you become an even better writer.And you did ask for my opinion. r

But my goal isn't to make you unhappy or argue the merits of a given poem, so I'll wish you success with your work and bow out.

[Einstein Noodle]

makes me think of Ireland's diaspora and the missing of them from home .. interesting mix .. i found myself leaning more for the prose .. it felt "right" ... i did like the return to rhyme in the closing few lines ...it kind of refreshed the reading for me ... i agree with all... tasty metaphors .. inspiring language use .. had to look up almirah and hiraeth so thank you for my new words ;) had to read it twice .. for the imagery alone .. but the story clarified for me the second time through ... need my second cup of coffee .. too ;)
brilliant telling of a life and memories of the most difficult times .. i think you have a gift Esther .. a real treat to read this
E.

[Esther]

Thank you so much!

[Agyani]

This is, what can I say, beautifully written! As Margie said, your blend of prose and verse is different yet feels quite right. But it's the imagery you've used that felt like the masterstroke to me. I found this piece replete with little metaphors and imageries that spoke so plaintively yet gracefully. The choice of words to express the exact feelings, like hiraeth, is immaculate.
I must confess I lost you for a while in the beginning of the second verse, but still by the end I was glad to have read this.
Great work!

[Esther]

Thank you!