[John Riley]

Traits

Obedience wasn't starred among the ones
we thought necessary for the life
we wanted to live deep in the ether,
far from the loam, or perhaps
in one of the shallow hollows
where ancestors had counted their teeth.
We did value manners and kindness
although we had no notion this
may mean we were full of hate.
We gathered bones stripped of flesh
to restructure our new selves,
not knowing we would soon find
another stack of dried bones
and in the thinning crowd of the day
debate longer than before
if we wanted to begin the chore again.
So many things we failed to discuss:
the holes that stretched and narrowed
across the expanse of land,
the closets filled with death chatter,
how to sit modestly among the lesser blessed,
waiting for the ending storm that never comes.

[Carl Copeland]

John, since my efforts to understand fail so utterly here, it’s time I try out the right-brain approach you and Cameron have been urging: don’t look for answers, just hug the surface and feel. My sense is of an absurd, futile afterlife and the bad infinity of endless waiting and endless decay. A lot like Hades, in fact, or the wasteland of “Waiting for Godot.” But I’ve already caught myself looking for clues and trying to make connections, so I’ll stop there, except to say that “closets filled with death chatter” is a striking phrase.

[John Riley]

I don’t think anyone mentioned hugging the surface. I know I said the mathematical, analytical mind will never thoroughly know a good poem.

[Mark McDonnell]

Hi John,

This felt to me like the perspective of a group of early adherents of a religion. Some various clues suggested Buddhism: the idea that the Buddha didn't ask for obedience but for each person to seek his own proofs through meditation, the counting of the teeth that may refer to the legend that a Buddha has 40 teeth, the notions of kindness and sitting modestly among crowds. It is hard to stop the brain looking for clues, although (and I know how this sounds) it was only when I stopped looking and relaxed into the poem that things began to fall into place.

Since Buddhism isn't an apocalyptic religion, I thought the "ending storm" the speakers are waiting for could be referring to an inner experience, that of nirvana, in which case I wondered if "empty storm" might work.

But then I thought, perhaps the vague sense of disillusionment that runs through the poem is because they are expecting a "storm". Something dramatic. They haven't relinquished desire for nirvana and so, ironically, cannot attain it. In which case, "ending storm" works.

Of course, all these thoughts only make sense if I'm even vaguely on the right interpretative track here


Anyway, I really enjoyed sinking into this. Each time I read it I like it more. I have no desire to know whether I'm "right" or not. How Buddhist is that??



Mark

[John Riley]

Thanks, Mark. After this was written I saw a theme of family traits. We don't use who we are regardless of how often we rebuild ourselves. That is certainly where my thoughts were while writing. We can keep trying to rebuild, pull the flesh off old bones, but the results won't change much. But I may have missed that theme and left it too widely open.

Thanks for reading, thinking about it, and commenting. I always appreciate your comments.

[W T Clark]

John, consider,

Traits:
obedience wasn't starred among the ones

or
Traits
Obedience wasn't starred among the traits

Ending the first line on ones is a little dull and awkward; the first line needs to more explicitly demonstrqe that the "ones" is the traits of the title.
The poem is breathlessly captivating. It seems to me plain and simple: the traits of a group people: a trible, it seems to me, or an order. You have a much greater talent for "free-verse" rhythms than for metrical ones. Your talent for the breathless rush works wonderfully with a chorus-voice. I'm not convinced by the stripped bones to structure the self. The image seems too cartoonish: too much of a wide and gaudy gesture. The heart of the image does not need to go; but I think it needs to be made more subtle, less striking and big. The poem obviously needs this turn into the concrete: but I think there is a quieter, less strained way to do it.

I like it very much. It needs a few revisions: but not something ever to give up. You have the power to chill with the most blasé admitions in your narrators' mouths. I don't see much irony in poetry anymore; thank the Noone-god you are there!

Hope this helps.

[W T Clark]

Originally Posted by John Riley

We can keep trying to rebuild, pull the flesh off old bones, but the results won't change mch.

I think you put it here a little more subtly and I think superiorly than in the poem.

[John Riley]

Thanks for the help, Cam. You’re clearly on point.