Author Topic: The empty whisky glass is rolling and my mouth is parched.  (Read 1961 times)

Scott

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The empty whisky glass is rolling and my mouth is parched.
« on: November 07, 2007, 05:28:16 PM »





Spooling the Lights

 

Who’s going to spool the (series) lights that you’re gone?

The cobwebs are tweaking the branches

And the icicles are falling, one by one, to one side.

 

The dinner is cold,

and the windows are open--

                yet it bars the satin moonlight from crawling

                in the dust, into this room—plank after plank of this floor

                where I lay on my back.

 

By the doorway, the gauze curtains sweep a dead leaf

to the beat, to the beat of my heart.

 

The empty whisky glass is rolling and my mouth is parched.

 

Look now, Miranda.

Who’s going to spool those lights and gather the stars back into their box?

The cellar is still damp and it’s almost another Christmas.

 

 

RV Escatron (c.2007)



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I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.--Pablo Neruda

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Re: The empty whisky glass is rolling and my mouth is parched.
« Reply #1 on: November 07, 2007, 05:38:28 PM »


I imagine:  Erap after receiving Sandiganbayan's writ of execution forfeiting his properties to satisfy his P600 Million fine.

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This smacks of a grand conspiracy to hide the non-existent, to identify the nameless, to paint a picture of the unseen. -- Benelynne

Scott

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Re: The empty whisky glass is rolling and my mouth is parched.
« Reply #2 on: November 07, 2007, 05:44:30 PM »

I imagine:  Erap after receiving Sandiganbayan's writ of execution forfeiting his properties to satisfy his P600 Million fine.

*winks*

Linkback: https://tubagbohol.mikeligalig.com/index.php?topic=6121.0
I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.--Pablo Neruda

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Re: The empty whisky glass is rolling and my mouth is parched.
« Reply #3 on: November 07, 2007, 06:04:28 PM »

Well, RV, I'm sure you had something else in mind when you wrote these lines.
But isn't it that poem are supposed to be like this -- one which the reader can relate to personally and draw his/her own interpretation or experience? The poem is so real to the reader that one  could very well consider it as one's very own?

*blink*  *blink*   ;D




 

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This smacks of a grand conspiracy to hide the non-existent, to identify the nameless, to paint a picture of the unseen. -- Benelynne

Scott

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Re: The empty whisky glass is rolling and my mouth is parched.
« Reply #4 on: November 07, 2007, 06:24:38 PM »
Well, RV, I'm sure you had something else in mind when you wrote these lines.
But isn't it that poem are supposed to be like this -- one which the reader can relate to personally and draw his/her own interpretation or experience? The poem is so real to the reader that one  could very well consider it as one's very own?

*blink*  *blink*   ;D

 

In so many ways, poetry is like that. Once the poem is published, it doesn't belong to the poet anymore, it belongs to the reader. And the reader builds his own meanings from his own set of experience.

Ideally, what the meanings the poet intends to convey should be the same with that of the reader. Somehow, we have different ways of looking at things, and by ambiguity, by suggesting something, we enrich the meaning of the work.

A reader has no responsibility to read or continue reading a poem or whatsoever. I'm glad you are able to get into the poem and consider it as your own.

Salamat Sano! 


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I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.--Pablo Neruda

Macky Ferniz

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Re: The empty whisky glass is rolling and my mouth is parched.
« Reply #5 on: November 08, 2007, 12:02:34 AM »
"Nag hubog-hubog"
      Say it in your angelic voice
      Say it in Loonanon accent
      Say it in Anda accent
Say it!

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benelynne

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Re: The empty whisky glass is rolling and my mouth is parched.
« Reply #6 on: November 08, 2007, 11:56:43 AM »
HI RV,

This poem touches a chord and resonates to an experience of brokenness in my distant, youthful past. I read this as a love poem, specifically a heartbreak poem. The poet seems to suffer from guilt in the failed relationship.

Though I am not as gifted a poet as you, I remember writing this poem during a deep low in my untethered days.

My heart has a dark shadow


Let me not run anymore

For I've covered enough distance

Trading passion for another passion

In a Sysiphean struggle that sees the shadow

Expanding rather than receding

With every place I go


Then I'll still have a place

That's not engulfed in any shadow

Where I can turn back to face the shadow

That makes my heart seek love

But doesn't know how to give it back

Because impenetrable, it can love only itself


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Scott

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Re: The empty whisky glass is rolling and my mouth is parched.
« Reply #7 on: November 08, 2007, 07:27:17 PM »
"Nag hubog-hubog"
      Say it in your angelic voice
      Say it in Loonanon accent
      Say it in Anda accent
Say it!

tagayan na? yay! :)

Linkback: https://tubagbohol.mikeligalig.com/index.php?topic=6121.0
I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.--Pablo Neruda

Scott

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Re: The empty whisky glass is rolling and my mouth is parched.
« Reply #8 on: November 08, 2007, 07:29:28 PM »
HI RV,

This poem touches a chord and resonates to an experience of brokenness in my distant, youthful past. I read this as a love poem, specifically a heartbreak poem. The poet seems to suffer from guilt in the failed relationship.

Though I am not as gifted a poet as you, I remember writing this poem during a deep low in my untethered days.

My heart has a dark shadow


Let me not run anymore

For I've covered enough distance

Trading passion for another passion

In a Sysiphean struggle that sees the shadow

Expanding rather than receding

With every place I go


Then I'll still have a place

That's not engulfed in any shadow

Where I can turn back to face the shadow

That makes my heart seek love

But doesn't know how to give it back

Because impenetrable, it can love only itself



Here's to the Bohemian wild child days Benelynne! Yay! :)



Linkback: https://tubagbohol.mikeligalig.com/index.php?topic=6121.0
I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.--Pablo Neruda

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