[Cally Conan-Davies]

Willing


The struggle to keep death at a distance

or let its shadow (which is itself) deepen

till the whole heart is dark to the core

and ink-black waves pump through the mind


A sea bird brings the news

a missing boat

an empty man


We look for clues

in all things washed ashore

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Cally—

I like the connection here between the sea and death, the bird serving as the herald of both.
I would have expected “a missing man” and “an empty boat.” The ironic transposition suggests that the “empty” man has either sought his own death or else ventured recklessly alone into the [wine?] dark sea. The use of the flotsam and jetsam for divination is a vivid touch. In all, you managed to put a lot into a very compact poem. Nice work.

Glenn

[W T Clark]

Good, very good, but... what would happen if you put the second stanza first, then had the (previous) first stanza, then the third?

Hope this helps.

[Roger Slater]

I think the last five lines alone would be a lovely poem. I can't say I dislike the opening strophe (it reads well), but it strikes me as relatively heavy-handed and abstract, and it relies quite heavily on the over-familiar trope of death being dark and black, etc. The last five lines, to me, seem relatively fresh and original, and would be a mini-poem almost like an Asian figure.

Either way, I can't really see how the title suits the poem.

[R. Nemo Hill]

The title plays double for me.
The first line posits the willing away of death, its banishment through will power.
Whereas the rest of S1 take willing in a different sense, to be willing, to surrender to death's darkness.

I love the title and the whole poem.

Nemo

[John Riley]

Another lovely poem, Cally. I can't help but think of the Buddha and the responsibility of learning the willingness to transition. Over the last years, we received updates on how Thay (Thich Nhat Hanh) was doing as he moved toward transition. I can only dream of facing my days as he did.

That's what I read here and the simplicity is perfect. I think Cam has an interesting suggestion. I'm not rejecting it. But as it is now I read the first stanza almost as a chorus in Aeschylus or Homer. The opening theme is announced and then the action occurs. Thinking this way does cause me to want more while also seeing this is as it is and that is good. I hope this makes sense.

I love this.

[Phil Wood]

I presumed the man is empty because the boat is missing. I like the sense of distance with the sea bird news and the evidence seeking closure. Enjoyed.

[R. Nemo Hill]

It also occurs to me that the topography of the poem follows the same thread as the morphing of the word willing: the first stanza being a rational flourish of willed thought, while what follows breaks down into the sort of imaginal logic that only poetry (which is always willing to die in various ways) can elucidate. A choice is offered, and the poem takes it. That leaves it up to the reader not to resist : to be Willing.

Nemo

[Jim Moonan]

.
I'm in the mood to resist overthinking this, though that's not to say it doesn't deserve deep thought. But I feel satiated with the meaning I get just by letting the images play together. Maybe I'll come back when I'm in the mood to make more of it than it is to me at the moment. At the moment, it is light and dark, simple and mysterious.

It's interesting that others suggest re-ordering the stanzas. It is an attractive thought. But to my mind it speaks to the poem's confluence of thoughts and images. it is as if the stanzas are interchangeable and can give the poem a different slant depending on the order. That's remarkable to me.

My only possible nit might be to lose the parenthetical. But I also love what it does. (It whispers to the reader).

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