Second of Two Poems: "The Great Winged Beast" (final and revised)

The final assignment revised as hurriedly as I could under the deadline. Quotes and difference of font articulate my professors words. The rest are mine for YOU to read. Enjoy! I was also told by the professor that he would like to use some of my poetry in an upcoming lesson for the next semester. You know I am the shit. Admit it.

“Your poem is attached. The first stanza, severely edited, is a great beginning. The last, again edited, works. Your issues are all in between, especially the lines in red which are not poetic and abstract. The metaphor of depression or any other emotional state as a beast on the shoulder is fine, but the physical details of that beast have to be applicable to the emotional state you wish to particularize. You can't give it talons and other  parts without making those aspects part of the particular emotional state--in other words, extending the metaphor in all the different ways this beast corresponds to the emotion that is your burden. (how does "robbed" fit the metaphor?)Instead you use your poem to refer vaguely to different periods in your life when the beast makes its appearance. Vaguely, because there are only generalizations, not specifics. You don't say "when my mother left" or "when I had my bike stolen" or "when the Twin Towers fell." Is the depression about personal or public events? But actually, I want to know that less than to see the beast you invent have physical characteristics that enanable the reader to understand the equation of beast=depression. You need to look at Tyger Tyger by Blake and the story of Sinbad the Sailor and the Old Man he is forced to carry on his back. And if you have not purchased the Workbook and the Drake text, you have done yourself a disservice”.

I changed “the great winged beast” to “a great winged beast” to make it seem, to me anyway, more intimidating by being generalized. It becomes a more invisible monster. I kept your “made me a crooked old man”, instead of my “it made me seem like a crooked old man” because your arrangement of words just seemed better. I kept some of your other changes which I didn’t think I could do better, while others like “robbing me of my energy and virility” I changed to “feeding itself my energy and virility”. I wanted this beast to be just another beast of prey, another thing that needs to feed itself, that does so by nature, and not with malice or hostility. I wanted to make the bird just another part of natural life that one just has to learn to adapt to. I tried to hone my imagery of a large bird of prey, powerful yet invisible and indescribable. I like the image of its shadow, terrifying and unstoppable, and another allusion to “darkness”. I made it a carrion bird, as if I was the dead thing it was searching for. I rearranged some words to make the poem “flow” more in the mind as one is reading it.  I added “its capricious whims my inevitable destiny” to the ending to make it seem more “sorrowful”. I would like to add that the experience of depression, for me anyway, did not necessarily have to be “triggered” by any event. It did seem like I would just slide into it for no reason at all sometimes, even when I should be least depressed. That is why I did not use any specific events for the comings and goings of “the great winged beast”. It came and fed when it was hungry it seemed. I think also for the benefit of the poem, this works out. The beast can and does come without warning, without reason, without any invitation by some external event, as does the circumstances of our lives.

The Great Winged Beast (original submission)

As far back in time as I can

Remember

This great winged beast

has been a part

of my existence

From time to time

it has visited me.

Suddenly appearing

To land

Upon my shoulders

Weighing me down

Perhaps that’s why

when people told me

throughout out my youth

“Don’t slouch”

I couldn’t obey them

Making me seem to others

A crooked, burdened old man

It would return

to sit upon my back

Holding me down,

Robbing me

of my energy and virility

When I needed to rise and be an

Active participant

in the goings on of life

The years pass, and it comes

to rest again

Beside me

Its talons ripping at my legs,

Tripping me

Causing me to stumble

On the already

Murky and obscure path

Of my life

The great winged beast

Used to come when

I was the most vulnerable

Snatching me away

To carry me

far away

From my chance

at bliss

To drop me into

An abysmal hole

Where I would spend

What seemed

Eternities

Crawling and scrabbling

My way back

up and out

The great winged beast

Would appear

At the worst of times

Ripping me out of

My blissful ignorance

To deposit me atop some

Desolate mountain

Where I would sacrifice

Epochs,

carefully and deliberately

Finding my way

down and home.

The next time

the great winged beast

Comes

I will finally

succumb

to its

Power

Over

Me.

I will not fight,

I will not struggle

To whatever hell

It places me

I will unresistingly remain

Alone and inconsolable

The Great Winged Beast (Your Corrections)

As far back in time as I can remember

This great winged beast

Would suddenly appear

To land upon my shoulders

 “Don’t slouch”

I couldn’t obey, his weight made me crooked

A burdened old man

It would return

to sit upon my back

Holding me down,

Robbing me

of my energy and virility

When I needed to rise and be an

Active participant

in the goings on of life

The years pass, and it comes

to rest again

Beside me

Its talons ripping at my legs,

Tripping me

Causing me to stumble

On the already

Murky and obscure path

Of my life

The great winged beast

Used to come when

I was the most vulnerable

Snatching me away

To carry me

far away

From my chance

at bliss

To drop me into

An abysmal hole

Where I would spend

What seemed

Eternities

Crawling and scrabbling

My way back

up and out

The great winged beast

Would appear

At the worst of times

Ripping me out of

My blissful ignorance

To deposit me atop some

Desolate mountain

Where I would sacrifice

Epochs,

carefully and deliberately

Finding my way

down and home.

The next time

the great winged beast

Comes

I will

 finally

succumb

The Great Winged Beast (revised final submission)

As far back in time as I can remember

A great winged beast

Would suddenly appear

To land upon my shoulders

 “Don’t slouch”

I couldn’t obey, his weight made me a crooked

and burdened old man

It would seek me out

Circling overhead

Its shadow shatters my

Sedate

Obliviousness

returning

to sit upon my back

Holding me down,

Pecking like the carrion bird

Feeding itself

 my energy and virility

When I needed to them for myself

To rise and be an

Active participant

in the goings on of life

The years pass, and it comes

to rest again

Beside me

Its talons ripping at my legs,

Tripping me

Causing me to stumble

In the murk and obscurity

Of this life of confusion

The great winged beast

Used to come when

I was the most vulnerable

And debilitated

Snatching me away

To carry me

far away

From any chance

at bliss

To drop me into

An abysmal hole

Where I would spend

What seemed

Eternities

Scrabbling and grasping

My way back

up and out

The great winged beast

Would appear

At the worst of times

Ripping me from

My blissful ignorance

To deposit me atop some

Desolate mountain

Where I would sacrifice

My epochs,

Deliberately and in desperation

to

Find my way

down and home.

The next time

the great winged beast

Comes

I will

 finally

succumb,

its

capricious

whims

my

inevitable

destiny

One of Two last poems for Poetry Class, "Box of Ashes".

 This is one of two last poems I submitted for my poetry class. This is my final submission for a poem that I don't really know how to finish. The red text is the professors criticism.

 “This is animated by your passion. The language is strong and plain, and the portrait of the mother emerges clearly. You have definitely made great use of the direct address approach. When revising for Module 7, you should focus on cutting, more of sections than line by line. Also, be specific in indicated places (though that might add to words), and try to work at creating more dramatic story line. The “box of ashes” is overused and forced. Try it just once where it would be most effective (not necessarily in title). This is a strong piece that is sapped of its full power by some excesses”.

I remove the other uses of “box of ashes” in the poem. I agreed it was overused and forced. At the time it felt like the right thing to do. I changed the beginning of the poem to what you suggested, moving the fifth “stanza” to the beginning. I think the listing of particular foods demeans the poem somehow so I didn’t follow that suggestion. I added “one last person” as an allusion to myself and also a reminder of my mother’s death. I tried to underscore and focus the feeling of impotent rage/anger throughout the poem. I use the word “caretaker” as a word to imply I was just a thing to be fed and cared for like a pet. I cut out what you recommended to see the poem from another perspective. I tried to follow your suggestion of clarifying my relationships in my family, by sharpening the fact that it was my grandmother who raised me.

This is the most difficult poem to revise due to my emerging feelings for my mother, how to say everything I want to say but in as few words as possible as required by the art of poetry. I still do not have a feeling of closure or anywhere near a feeling of approaching one. I think only time will be able to give me the proper perspective to take with this poem.

Box of Ashes (original submission)

Perhaps if you had raised me

rather than leaving me

with your mean and spiteful mother,

who became my vacant headed

and befuddled grandmother,

who offered no comfort

but a roof over my head,

all the food I could gorge myself on

rather than teach me

what to do with my emotions,

who created a monster

by giving him a lavish lifestyle,

gilded his cage,

filled his cell with

all the treasures a boy desired

sent him into the world

with no self-control

my youth became as worthless

as a box of ashes

A mother to me,

Is just an irritating, annoying stranger

who tried to discipline me

on the random, rare occasions

you came to see me

Why are you here?

You knew more about the goings on

of all the bars in Syracuse

Than what was going on

inside your lonely son’s mind

only a few miles away

as he tried to make sense of

his life as he grew

Perhaps if I had a real mother

I wouldn’t be a convicted felon,

drug abuser,

thief,

money waster,

whore monger,

liar,

calculating predator,

accomplished actor,

so accomplished

he doesn’t even know who he is,

who’s been trying

to figure it out

by thrashing around

and flagellating in his environment

all these years

until he becomes

just another box of ashes

Out with some friends

Downtown one night

I came upon you loaded

As you sat with your friends

At a table in front of Quigley’s

and you did not know

I was standing

in front of you

mere feet away

Where were your “friends”

that you spent so much time with,

all these years

who you abandoned me for

so you could have companions

to drown yourself in alcohol

and talk about petty, mundane events

Where were they

when you asphyxiated from your asthma

by yourself in your apartment

these people just as worthless

as a box of ashes

Left behind a nine year old crippled dog,

that I used to watch you baby more

than you ever did to me,

another abandoned thing

for someone else to take care of

did you get him

to fill some emptiness inside

The same emptiness

that became my entire life?

Left me with

your belongings that you

compulsively accumulated

over the years

that I had to sell for pennies,

donate to the rescue mission,

take to your mother’s apartment

so she could live amongst this debris

so we wouldn’t get stuck with paying for

another month’s rent for yours

because I already had

the credit card debt to cremate you

and now a box of ashes to dispose of.

It is so easy for me to tell a woman

I love her with straight face

This word means nothing to me,

it is merely a tool

that has it’s proper uses

for certain occasions

When I was a boy

Someone used to speak

this foreign word to me

then turn around and leave

When you were barely out the door

your mother would tell me

what a horrible person you were

because I didn’t know you

I didn’t know

what to believe.

When your mother passes away

Some years from now

Leaving me the last

Surviving member

of the family

That box of ashes

Will finally get scattered

By seagulls and rodents

Searching for sustenance

In some landfill somewhere.

Box of Ashes (your revisions)

Perhaps if you had raised me

rather than leaving me

with your mean and spiteful mother,

who became my vacant headed

and befuddled grandmother,

who offered no comfort

but a roof over my head,

all the food I could gorge myself on        specifics?

rather than teach me

what to do with my emotions,

who created a monster

by giving him a lavish lifestyle,

gilded his cage,

filled his cell with

all the treasures a boy desired            specifics?

sent him into the world

with no self-control                      specifics?

my youth became as worthless

as a box of ashes

A mother to me,

Is just an irritating, annoying stranger

who tried to discipline me

on the random, rare occasions

you came to see me

Why are you here?

You knew more about the goings on

of all the bars in Syracuse

Than what was going on

inside your lonely son’s mind

only a few miles away

as he tried to make sense of

his life as he grew

Perhaps if I had a real mother

I wouldn’t be a convicted felon,

drug abuser,                   (different line breaks?)

thief,

money waster,

whore monger,

liar,

calculating predator,

accomplished actor,

so accomplished

he doesn’t even know who he is,

who’s been trying

to figure it out

by thrashing around

and flagellating in his environment

all these years

until he becomes

just another box of ashes

Out with some friends             Start your poem here?

Downtown one night

I came upon you loaded

As you sat with your friends

At a table in front of Quigley’s

and you did not know

I was standing

in front of you

mere feet away

Where were your “friends”

that you spent so much time with,

all these years

who you abandoned me for

so you could have companions

to drown yourself in alcohol

and talk about petty, mundane events

Where were they

when you asphyxiated from your asthma

by yourself in your apartment

these people just as worthless

as a box of ashes

Left behind a nine year old crippled dog,

that I used to watch you baby more

than you ever did to me,

another abandoned thing

for someone else to take care of

did you get him

to fill some emptiness inside

The same emptiness

that became my entire life?

Left me with

your belongings that you        specifics?

compulsively accumulated                       good!

over the years

that I had to sell for pennies,

donate to the rescue mission,

take to your mother’s apartment

so she could live amongst this debris

so we wouldn’t get stuck with paying for

another month’s rent for yours

because I already had

the credit card debt to cremate you

and now a box of ashes to dispose of.

It is so easy for me to tell a woman

I love her with straight face

This word means nothing to me,

it is merely a tool

that has it’s proper uses                        its

for certain occasions

When I was a boy

Someone used to speak

this foreign word to me

then turn around and leave

When you were barely out the door     interesting connection needs to
                                                            your mother would tell me                        be worked out

what a horrible person you were

because I didn’t know you

I didn’t know

what to believe.

When your mother passes away

Some years from now

Leaving me the last

Surviving member

of the family

That box of ashes

Will finally get scattered

By seagulls and rodents

Searching for sustenance

In some landfill somewhere.

Box of Ashes (revised and final submission)

Out with some friends

Downtown one night

I came upon you loaded

As you sat with your friends

At a table in front of Quigley’s

and you did not know

I was standing

in front of you

mere feet away

You knew more about the goings on

of all the bars in Syracuse

Than what was going on

inside your lonely son’s

mind for all of his

lost and

wasted years

Perhaps if I had a

real

mother

I wouldn’t be

a convicted felon,

a drug abuser,

a thief,

a money waster,

a whore monger,

a liar,

calculating predator,

accomplished actor,

enmeshed in a living death

one

less person

to guide him in this life

Perhaps if you had raised me

rather than leaving me

with your mean and spiteful mother,

who became my vacant headed

and befuddled grandmother,

who offered no comfort

other than a roof over my head,

all the food I craved,

all the food

I could gorge myself on

And crush out my feelings

rather than teach me

what to do with my emotions,

who created a monster

by giving him a lavish lifestyle,

gilded his cage,

filled his cell with

all the plastic treasures

that a boy desired

and sent him

into the world

who could make no sense of his emotions

my youth became a worthless

passing of days

Where were your “friends”

From the bar

when you asphyxiated from your asthma

alone in your apartment

the ones whose company

you so obsessively pursued

these people offering now

only

their worthless

sympathy and condolences

You left behind a nine year old crippled dog,

that I used to watch you baby more

than you ever did to me,

another abandoned thing

for someone else to take care of

did you get him

to fill some emptiness inside

The same emptiness

that became my entire life?

Left me with

your belongings,

and bills

and debts,

that you

compulsively accumulated

over the years

your precious treasures

that I had to sell for pennies,

donate to charity,

deliver to your mother’s apartment

so she could live amongst your

debris

so we wouldn’t have to forsake more money

paying for

another month’s rent for yours

because I already had

the debt to cremate you

and now a box of ashes to dispose of.

It is so easy for me

to tell a woman

I love her

with straight face

This word

means nothing to me,

a mere tool

for its proper uses

in certain occasions

When I was a boy

Someone used to speak

this foreign word to me

then turn around and leave

When you were barely out the door    
                   your mother,

my caretaker

would tell me

what a horrible person you were

and because I didn’t know you

I didn’t know

what to believe.

When your mother passes away

Some years from now

Leaving me the last

Surviving member

of the family

That box of ashes

Will finally get scattered

By seagulls and rodents

Searching for sustenance

In some landfill somewhere.

Poetry Class: The Great Winged Beast with revisions

Your poem is attached. The first stanza, severely edited, is a great beginning. The last, again edited, works. Your issues are all in between, especially the lines in red which are not poetic and abstract. The metaphor of depression or any other emotional state as a beast on the shoulder is fine, but the physical details of that beast have to be applicable to the emotional state you wish to particularize. You can't give it talons and other  parts without making those aspects part of the particular emotional state--in other words, extending the metaphor in all the different ways this beast corresponds to the emotion that is your burden. (how does "robbed" fit the metaphor?)Instead you use your poem to refer vaguely to different periods in your life when the beast makes its appearance. Vaguely, because there are only generalizations, not specifics. You don't say "when my mother left" or "when I had my bike stolen" or "when the Twin Towers fell." Is the depression about personal or public events? But actually, I want to know that less than to see the beast you invent have physical characteristics that enanable the reader to understand the equation of beast=depression. You need to look at Tyger Tyger by Blake and the story of Sinbad the Sailor and the Old Man he is forced to carry on his back. And if you have not purchased the Workbook and the Drake text, you have done yourself a disservice". Professors comments.

The Great Winged Beast

As far back in time as I can

Remember

This great winged beast

has been a part

of my existence

From time to time

it has visited me.

Suddenly appearing

To land

Upon my shoulders

Weighing me down

Perhaps that’s why

when people told me

throughout out my youth

“Don’t slouch”

I couldn’t obey them

Making me seem to others

A crooked, burdened old man

It would return

to sit upon my back

Holding me down,

Robbing me

of my energy and virility

When I needed to rise and be an

Active participant

in the goings on of life

The years pass, and it comes

to rest again

Beside me

Its talons ripping at my legs,

Tripping me

Causing me to stumble

On the already

Murky and obscure path

Of my life

The great winged beast

Used to come when

I was the most vulnerable

Snatching me away

To carry me

far away

From my chance

at bliss

To drop me into

An abysmal hole

Where I would spend

What seemed

Eternities

Crawling and scrabbling

My way back

up and out

The great winged beast

Would appear

At the worst of times

Ripping me out of

My blissful ignorance

To deposit me atop some

Desolate mountain

Where I would sacrifice

Epochs,

carefully and deliberately

Finding my way

down and home.

The next time

the great winged beast

Comes

I will finally

succumb

to its

Power

Over

Me.

I will not fight,

I will not struggle

To whatever hell

It places me

I will unresistingly remain

Alone and inconsolable

The Great Winged Beast

As far back in time as I can remember

This great winged beast

Would suddenly appear

To land upon my shoulders

 “Don’t slouch”

I couldn’t obey, his weight made me crooked

A burdened old man

It would return

to sit upon my back

Holding me down,

Robbing me

of my energy and virility

When I needed to rise and be an

Active participant

in the goings on of life

The years pass, and it comes

to rest again

Beside me

Its talons ripping at my legs,

Tripping me

Causing me to stumble

On the already

Murky and obscure path

Of my life

The great winged beast

Used to come when

I was the most vulnerable

Snatching me away

To carry me

far away

From my chance

at bliss

To drop me into

An abysmal hole

Where I would spend

What seemed

Eternities

Crawling and scrabbling

My way back

up and out

The great winged beast

Would appear

At the worst of times

Ripping me out of

My blissful ignorance

To deposit me atop some

Desolate mountain

Where I would sacrifice

Epochs,

carefully and deliberately

Finding my way

down and home.

The next time

the great winged beast

Comes

I will

 finally

succumb