Gold Like A Broken Ring. by Will Dockery
Will Dockery
Crescent moon
on just fresh Autumn
waves lapping
from the river.
Myth and reality at once.
Bon Bon
Good good early chill.
Memory like a haunting shadow.
Sandy blanket
slither of moon
gold like a broken ring
by the river.
Hair caught the light
Bon Bon
bright stars shining somewhere above.
Lights across the bay.
Movement in the field
under cover of darkness
she says "Don't worry..."
"The woods have predators."
Myth and reality at once.
Bon Bon
Good good early chill.
Memory like a haunting shadow.
-Will Dockery 12-9-02 (for Ellen Horn} (c)2002.
J Rinier
"Will Dockery" <ir0ny...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
news:6fe2c3fc.0301...@posting.google.com...
> Gold Like A Broken Ring.
>
> Crescent moon
> on just fresh Autumn
> waves lapping
> from the river.
This does happen, I know as a river-fish, but the image suggests the sea, a
bay, or lake. Rivers flow, and their presence in poetry is almost
unfailingly a suggestion of that flow.
> Myth and reality at once.
> Bon Bon
Why french? It seems unsupported. Besides the refrain in the last, this is
lonely and serves no purpose. I don't get it. At least add a comma so we
don't confuse romance with snack food.
> Good good early chill.
Later you speak of stars. It is early because you've been up all night, a
la early the next morning, or was it a mistake?
> Memory like a haunting shadow.
Tempts cliche, but effective image.
>
> Sandy blanket
Sand at the river? Again the images, while possibly accurate, suggest lies
are being told, either by the author or the world.
> slither of moon
Sliver, maybe? If the moon is reflected on the river, maybe it can slither,
but your first word suggests you meant sliver.
> gold like a broken ring
This feels forced; you're shoving the metaphor down our throat. Why is the
moon gold? No, I don't know how to make it better because I'm stupid.
> by the river.
> Hair caught the light
Again tempting cliche.
> Bon Bon
> bright stars shining somewhere above.
Kill the bright or reword it. The somewhere is bad. Methinks you know
exactly where they shine. That the sky is big doesn't mean that calling it
'sky' is inaccurate. Just beware cliche in the rewrite.
> Lights across the bay.
Now a bay? River? Lapping? There's just confusion here, Will.
>
> Movement in the field
> under cover of darkness
Cover of dark crosses the line, is cliche.
> she says "Don't worry..."
> "The woods have predators."
Ok.
> Myth and reality at once.
> Bon Bon
> Good good early chill.
> Memory like a haunting shadow.
>
> -Will Dockery 12-9-02 (for Ellen Horn} (c)2002.
Not too awful-bad. But poetry really does take effort, no matter what
Kerouac tells you in your head about the Truth of shitting consciousness all
over the page.
Most of this is nit-picky, but I couldn't stop trying to figure out where
the hell you two were, what with lapping waves, rivers, sand, bays, and
forests. That was the wrong thing for me to think about and, sorry, but
it's your fault. It shouldn't be too hard to fix.
That cross-posting vein you ruptured at least has been largely welded shut,
at least with this post. Cheers to that.
J Rinier
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Will Dockery
> "Will Dockery" <ir0ny...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
> news:6fe2c3fc.0301...@posting.google.com...
> > Gold Like A Broken Ring.
> >
> > Crescent moon
> > on just fresh Autumn
> > waves lapping
> > from the river.
>
> This does happen, I know as a river-fish, but the image suggests the sea, a
> bay, or lake. Rivers flow, and their presence in poetry is almost
> unfailingly a suggestion of that flow.
Well, these waves lapped, J... the Chattahoochie has a series of dams
in it, and thus is a series of "backwaters"... believe me, at Kite's
Field that night on the riverbank as we made love for one of the last
times... the waves "lapped". A night I will never forget.
>
> > Myth and reality at once.
> > Bon Bon
>
> Why french? It seems unsupported. Besides the refrain in the last, this is
> lonely and serves no purpose. I don't get it. At least add a comma so we
> don't confuse romance with snack food.
John Joiner and Kurt Kertzman were playing a couple of acoustic
guitars, fluttering delicate sounds that sounded like something
halfway between "Julia" and "Michelle"... it just worked... that's
all. It worked. You know it does. Plus, "Bon Bon" is a reference to
Ellen, who uses the name Bonnie Bender on some of her internet
travels..
>
> > Good good early chill.
>
> Later you speak of stars. It is early because you've been up all night, a
> la early the next morning, or was it a mistake?
No, no... that refered to the changing of seasons... it was Early
Autumn, if you check the poem. Jeeeze...
>
> > Memory like a haunting shadow.
>
> Tempts cliche, but effective image.
Thanks... sometimes life seems like a cliche', but hurts much worse.
>
> >
> > Sandy blanket
>
> Sand at the river? Again the images, while possibly accurate, suggest lies
> are being told, either by the author or the world.
You really really got to come to Alabama... there's LOTS of sand
here... I have no idea where you live, J, but there was SAND at this
river... the Chattahoochie River... it's kinda big. Look it up on the
Atlas.
>
> > slither of moon
>
> Sliver, maybe? If the moon is reflected on the river, maybe it can slither,
> but your first word suggests you meant sliver.
Nope slither... shit... I shouldn't have to go into this... maybe
later, but I just awoke with a screaming headache... I'll get back to
this. In short the little sliver of moon seemed to slither. It could
be my poor eyesight, also...
>
> > gold like a broken ring
>
> This feels forced; you're shoving the metaphor down our throat. Why is the
> moon gold? No, I don't know how to make it better because I'm stupid.
I really like it like it is... it works fine. And no one else has ever
used it. Ta Da!
>
> > by the river.
> > Hair caught the light
>
> Again tempting cliche.
Okay. But the damn light and her... hair are to blame.
>
> > Bon Bon
> > bright stars shining somewhere above.
>
> Kill the bright or reword it. The somewhere is bad. Methinks you know
> exactly where they shine. That the sky is big doesn't mean that calling it
> 'sky' is inaccurate. Just beware cliche in the rewrite.
You're right... "stars shing above" would do just fine... got me
there.
>
> > Lights across the bay.
>
> Now a bay? River? Lapping? There's just confusion here, Will.
Backwaters... the river backs up behind these dams... again, check the
Atlas... it's the way it is... the water DID lap. Sorry for the
confusion, I live near a unique river then.
>
> >
> > Movement in the field
> > under cover of darkness
>
> Cover of dark crosses the line, is cliche.
Wish I could have done better, but didn't, and I guess it'll stand as
is there.
>
> > she says "Don't worry..."
> > "The woods have predators."
>
> Ok.
>
Thanks.
> > Myth and reality at once.
> > Bon Bon
> > Good good early chill.
> > Memory like a haunting shadow.
> >
> > -Will Dockery 12-9-02 (for Ellen Horn} (c)2002.
>
> Not too awful-bad. But poetry really does take effort, no matter what
> Kerouac tells you in your head about the Truth of shitting consciousness all
> over the page.
> Most of this is nit-picky, but I couldn't stop trying to figure out where
> the hell you two were, what with lapping waves, rivers, sand, bays, and
> forests. That was the wrong thing for me to think about and, sorry, but
> it's your fault. It shouldn't be too hard to fix.
Yes... I'm thinking some of the tinkering details would actually be
good... I have no idea how to explain the problems of the
Chattahoochie not conforming with the average river, backed up water,
sand and lapping... I might just have to go into history looking odd
on that one...
leisha
This is the problem. No one else knows that "Bon Bon" is a nickname for the woman in the
poem. Only you know that. If you are writing a poem just for yourself and only you
understand it, any readers of the poem will be as baffled as J. Rinier & me.
As an inhabitant of the rainforest of western Oregon, I must get in on this river imagery
discussion. Okay, so water in the Willamette River laps downriver of each eddy. Sometimes
the Willamette pours into a crevice, slows down, and looks and acts like a little pond or
lake. The point is, your reader is not sitting on the bank of the Chattahoochie. You need to
make them see and feel what you wish to convey in your poetry via imagery that does not rely
on a memory of yours, but that is concrete and complete enough to make your readers sigh
with understanding, not cry out in frustration because they're confused. I also thought the
water/river/slithering moon was hopelessly tangled and that this poem was perhaps a collage
of memories you glued together.
Keep it simple.
Leisha
Will Dockery
____________
______________________________________________
Message: 5
Date: Thu, 02 Jan 2003 15:27:22 -0000
From: "Will Dockery <opbop1@y...>" <opbop1@y...>
Subject: college Professor buddy rates "Gold Like A Broken Ring"
"J Rinier" <gotgk@a...> wrote in message news:<0YRQ9.595946
$NH2.40251@s...>...
The good professor is off his rocker. You are correct in that he knows
nothing of the Chattahoochie River, Alabama, Geargia, North Florida etc.
Shades of Okeefenokee! Rivers DO RUN, and swiftly sometimes. Rivers also
run into bays. The man's whacko, out of his gourd, doesn't know what
he's talking about.Tell him go pick on the guy that wrote about the
jabberwocky. We liked your poem. Vivian
"J Rinier" <go...@attbi.com> wrote in message news:<0YRQ9.595946$NH2.40251@sccrnsc01>...
J Rinier
First off, the fucking rocking chair threw me, so yes, I am, technically,
'off' of it. That the rocking chair has abandonment issues is not my fault.
Next, I didn't say that rivers don't run, I said that they typically don't
lap. There is a massive confusion of imagery in this poem, and if you deny
that, you must be sleeping in the rocker that threw me. Careful, he's a
bronco.
Finally, I do know what I'm talking about because I birthed the words
falling wet and mewling out of my mouth, transcribed for your benefit by my
fingers and shot willy nilly to be sprayed all over the walls of the
universe in little ones and zeros. No, I don't know anything about the
Chatterbox hoochie because I've never been to Alabama. Run Forrest Run.
That you liked the poem is fine.
I was only trying to be a helpful little idiot; some silly rabbits would say
I know just a shade more about pottery than dockery, and so I offered it in
good faith in response to his severing some limbs from the wild tree of his
cross-posting.
Now bugger off like a good soldier.
Will Dockery
Crescent moon
on just fresh Autumn
waves lapping
from the river.
Myth and reality at once.
Bon Bon
Good good early chill.
Memory like a haunting shadow.
Sandy blanket
slither of moon
gold like a broken ring
by the river.
Hair caught the light
Bon Bon
bright stars shining somewhere above.
Lights across the bay.
Movement in the field
under cover of darkness
she says "Don't worry..."
"The woods have predators."
Myth and reality at once.
Bon Bon
Good good early chill.
Memory like a haunting shadow.
-Will Dockery 12-9-02 (c)2002.
Well, J, I thank you for your comments, a good read for a change...
I'd wager you don't know more about poetry than me... you may know a
lot, but it's never enough. Really, I liked what you wrote, let's
please not turn this into some flame war, you know what you know, I
know what I know. Shall we compare mythologies or the size of our
cocks next?
A friend of mine, who knows the Chattahoochie, sent this:
Gold Like A Broken Ring.
>
>
> Dear Will,
>
this guy has obviously never been here. yes, the moon doth appear
to
> slither now and then, and given the area, does appear gold
sometimes.
> he also does not know that the chattahoochie is a tidal river on a
> land that used to be an inland sea. i have heard and seen it lap
> myself, even without the boaters going by.
>
> feather
Foxfeather,
It is good to see your typeface, it seems too long since you have
graced us with your sweet presense and wisdom.
You are right... the Chattahoochie is a special river, our river... a
Kibosh to Atltana and their nonshallant poison program, a Kibosh to
the manufactorers and makers of run offs... the Chattahoochie is our
long running, deep silent and still and raging and weaving and
flowing and glowing river. The waves lap, the moon slithers across
the sky...
And those who can't do it, teach it... a that Nutty Professor does
not know the fortest from a hole in the ground. Means well, but
always suggests changes. The poems are what they are, the spring out
fully grown and tell ME what and how they wan't to be written, I
don't write them, the pen writes them, they write themselve, they ebb
and flow much like the above mentioned Chattahoochie, they speak to
me in many voices, and I pick them from the invisible air like ripe
fruits, word harvests, Love manifestations, wrods words words...
creative lies, incatations, evocations, mantras, psalms, and
everything else remembered and mentioned or tucked away in some blue
velvet candybox of the soul...
Hope all is well... my IM is off... are you there? I'll turn it on,
if you can see this, buzz me... so much to say and we are only here
on borrowed time, until the next go around, when we do it all gain,
only different, when we laugh and drink coffee and watch the sun rise
and sleep is far far away...
Tiny Will
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ironywaves
"J Rinier" <go...@attbi.com> wrote in message news:<iTaR9.541130$%m4.1...@rwcrnsc52.ops.asp.att.net>...
J Rinier
heh. hehheheheh.
> you may know a
> lot, but it's never enough. Really, I liked what you wrote, let's
> please not turn this into some flame war,
Who, me?
> you know what you know,
Do not.
>I
> know what I know. Shall we compare mythologies or the size of our
> cocks next?
Cocks. I'm hung.
>
> A friend of mine, who knows the Chattahoochie, sent this:
>
> Gold Like A Broken Ring.
> >
> >
> > Dear Will,
> >
> this guy has obviously never been here. yes, the moon doth
ew....doths.
appear
> to
> > slither now and then, and given the area, does appear gold
> sometimes.
> > he also does not know that the chattahoochie is a tidal river
Sure didn't.
on a
> > land that used to be an inland sea. i have heard and seen it lap
> > myself, even without the boaters going by.
May it lap your vaginas dry, heh.
> >
> > feather
>
> Foxfeather,
Foxes don't have feathers.
> It is good to see your typeface, it seems too long since you have
> graced us with your sweet presense and wisdom.
Get a room.
>
> You are right... the Chattahoochie is a special river, our river... a
> Kibosh to Atltana and their nonshallant poison program, a Kibosh to
> the manufactorers and makers of run offs... the Chattahoochie is our
> long running, deep silent and still and raging and weaving and
> flowing and glowing river. The waves lap, the moon slithers across
> the sky...
If you won't understand that the moon can't slither, I can't teach ye. You
must be drunk, all those inanimate objects slithering....
>
> And those who can't do it, teach it...
I teach nada.
> a that Nutty Professor
me?
> does
> not know the fortest from a hole in the ground.
I have no idea what a fortest is, but I know a hole in the ground just fine.
>Means well,
Do not.
>but
> always suggests changes. The poems are what they are, the spring out
> fully grown and tell ME what and how they wan't to be written, I
> don't write them, the pen writes them, they write >themselve,
That's not poetry, tis diarrhea. Spontaneity does not equal truth, repeat.
> they ebb
> and flow much like the above mentioned Chattahoochie, they speak to
> me in many voices, and I pick them from the invisible air like ripe
> fruits, word harvests, Love manifestations, wrods words words...
> creative lies, incatations, evocations, mantras, psalms, and
> everything else remembered and mentioned or tucked away in some blue
> velvet candybox of the soul...
I keep porn in the blue velvet candy box. Vomit on occasion.
leisha
> always suggests changes. The poems are what they are, the spring out
> > fully grown
Like when a baby spits up.
> and tell ME what and how they wan't to be written, I
> > don't write them, the pen writes them, they write >themselve,
>
> That's not poetry, tis diarrhea.
Or poops.
> Spontaneity does not equal truth, repeat.
>
> > they ebb
> > and flow much like the above mentioned Chattahoochie, they speak to
> > me in many voices, and I pick them from the invisible air like ripe
> > fruits, word harvests, Love manifestations, wrods words words...
> > creative lies, incatations, evocations, mantras, psalms, and
> > everything else remembered and mentioned or tucked away in some blue
> > velvet candybox of the soul...
>
> I keep porn in the blue velvet candy box. Vomit on occasion.
Here's the vomit again. Ray Bradbury called writing "psychic vomit," but this is
a newsgroup for people who want truthful comments on their poetry, not for
people who want to post their poems, defensively attack their critics, and back
their positions up with replies from another group that's unconcerned with
criticism, or even with poetry.
If it's perfect lying there as spewed, there's no need to post it here, because
here people will tell you when it looks bad, it stinks, and you need to clean it
up.
Leisha
J Rinier
"leisha" <lei...@decisionresearch.org> wrote in message
news:3E15F29B...@decisionresearch.org...
I lacked the effort to point out the basics, Leisha. I tried to be a good
sport, really I did...ah well. Now where did I put my flamethrower?
gnarl
"leisha" <lei...@decisionresearch.org> wrote in message
news:3E15F29B...@decisionresearch.org...
Herehere, that's telling the retch!
g.
>
> Leisha
>
Will Dockery
Found in the archives and responded to mainly in hopes Leisha and/or J. Rinier will see their names in a vanity search and maybe return to the newsgroup for a spell.
Plus this old poem was one of my better ones, I still think.
--
http://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery/song/11596860-gone-too-far--dockery-mallard-snipe — with Brian Mallard and 4 others at The Shadowville All-Stars.