Burdens

EvilToasterElf

this one still needs a lot of work, but I've had a long absence

Burdens

"My sons and I are like some wine,
The dead have already bottled."
--William Mathews

Why is it so easy to love the cities of the dead?
To walk the streets named after trees
that no longer grow, along the cobblestones
laid down by families whose surnames
dwindled like endangered species, preserved
only in the cemeteries of public record.

Budapest fills the mind with a darkness
reserved for moments of beauty.
An ancient castle squats above the Danube,
pregnant with the stories of the dead.
At night it reaches toward green spotlights
like a stone sapling.

These monuments to the past do not attract
because they are alive, or because they fill us
with emotions or thoughts;
but because they hold back the floods
of the voiceless swarming dead.
They are the fresh earth that covers the grave.

I visit these palaces and basilicas
But I rarely know why
These wonders of the dead fill my mind
With a blank space
A vacuum that fills with the sweat of labor
Or scarred hands,
But how many were sacrificed for the benefit of snapshots
The glorious victory of novelty goods
At the crossroads of a gift shop

I sit in a park straddled by cathedrals
Surrounded by a marble army of men
Statues stare down, hands on hips
That final pose an eclipse of stone over blood

And my dark space fills with two pigeons
Bathing in a fountain
History is a burden the dead bare

FinsburyParkCarrots

The repetition of 'd' sounds suggests the finality of death and makes the reader read this poem haltingly. I think some of the lines and sentence structures could be shortened slightly without affecting the poem's slow, funereal momentum (and maybe hinting at the steady dum-dum-dum trimeter of a burial march).

Ali

EvilToasterElf wrote:

this one still needs a lot of work, but I've had a long absence

Burdens

"My sons and I are like some wine,
The dead have already bottled."
--William Mathews

Why is it so easy to love the cities of the dead?
To walk the streets named after trees
that no longer grow, along the cobblestones
laid down by families whose surnames
dwindled like endangered species, preserved
only in the cemeteries of public record.

Budapest fills the mind with a darkness
reserved for moments of beauty.
An ancient castle squats above the Danube,
pregnant with the stories of the dead.
At night it reaches toward green spotlights
like a stone sapling.

These monuments to the past do not attract
because they are alive, or because they fill us
with emotions or thoughts;
but because they hold back the floods
of the voiceless swarming dead.
They are the fresh earth that covers the grave.

I visit these palaces and basilicas
But I rarely know why
These wonders of the dead fill my mind
With a blank space
A vacuum that fills with the sweat of labor
Or scarred hands,
But how many were sacrificed for the benefit of snapshots
The glorious victory of novelty goods
At the crossroads of a gift shop

I sit in a park straddled by cathedrals
Surrounded by a marble army of men
Statues stare down, hands on hips
That final pose an eclipse of stone over blood

And my dark space fills with two pigeons
Bathing in a fountain
History is a burden the dead bare

i personally think it is amazing.The part about revision lies in your own heart.The best part about poetry is that there is no wrong or right way it should be read,in my eyes peoples.Each word should be read as though an actor is giving his last speech onstage...and every word holds new colors and desires.I think the information given in this poem alone is worth a pretty penny and theres not much to be fixed at all.It shows pesonality. and alot of it.VerY WELL DONE.
PS I was watching this show on dish satellite and they were showing the catacombs under Paris and it was absolutely astounding how this is a complete city of death below with so much "Modern " beauty above.

ISN

Budapest fills the mind with a darkness
reserved for moments of beauty

I'm toying with the idea of watching a film starring Nicole Kidman called Birth tonight......but since Nov 03, I associate Budapest with birth......my half-brother, an insanely jealous homosexual, who begrudges me my travels, and is intent on one-upmanship with me, sends me trinkets and souvenirs from anywhere I haven't been yet.....in an effort to mend our relationship, when my son was shooting down the birth canal on 22nd November 03, I put on this navy t-shirt emblazoned with a colourful embroidered BUDAPEST which he'd sent me......to this day, I associate my son with Budapest.......my mind was filled with a darkness reserved for moments of beauty on that fateful morning, and the doctor, keen to distract me.....said, 'have you ever been there?' I said 'where?' - he said.....Budapest.....and then Michael, the nurse, and the doctor all in synch shouted PUSH......and Torin was born

EvilToasterElf

Thankyou for your comments all.

Fins you are of course correct in your assertion, some of the line most certainly can be shaved, but a funereal momentum isn't exactly what I want with this piece which will be part of the mound of changes, too many dead dum dum dum type sounds and moments.

Ali you are also correct, however, If I were to ask readers to read every word as if they were some concluding speech to a lifetime of acting, I better damn well be sure those words have been wrung through an actual process and not just spit out onto a page so the reader has an anyeurism trying to figure out the connections between them

ISN, you have quite an interesting connection to the material, which is always lovely to hear about, the random combination of words that can resonate with someone's personal experiences, thankyou for sharing