The snow fell,
an army of old men with wings.
And as they piled,
I imagined them penned,
like the old man that
Gabriel Garcia Marquez
had penned into my head—
alone and betrayed,
pissed on by drunks,
trampled by chickens and men,
the likes of myself,
until the absolute white of their wings
became grey
with the dust and the grime
of the wind and the world.
I knew then,
that on various days,
in various hours,
and in various moods,
the beauties of life
would take to the air,
one by one,
and make leave
of this place.
As always, thank you for reading.
Nice! Love me some magical realism, but I don't remember ever reading it in a modern poem, written so deliberately in that style, before. It is deliberate, no? GGM and all.
I could read this all day long. I'm rising and falling with both the dead and the alive. Love this! You are a true original, I think that's why your poetry sends me.
I’m not sure how to answer your question about whether writing in this style was intentional or not.
I love magical realism and have tried in the past, and continue to try to work with it, so in that sense, yes, it’s intentional. But with this poem, I didn’t try to write in other styles and then intentionally choose this one because it appealed to me most or best suited what I was trying to capture.
Does that make sense?
It’s funny to say that you like your own work, but I like this poem a lot. I wish I could write like this at will, any time, any day, but for some reason, writing doesn’t work like that. Not for me anyway.
It makes perfect sense to me. I have tried to write magical realism prose, but the only thing I can ever come up with is for things to float. This one has an essense of magical realism. It's really good. No shame in being proud of it!
I think a good poet lives on the edge of a magical reality. Otherwise, they wouldn't be able to see the little special things and put them to words.
Did this one take long to write? My favorite poems took me months, and at least one of the best took me a few years. It's still not done I don't think.
This one mostly took shape in one sitting, but it’s been revised again and again many times. Pretty much every time I take out a piece of writing, I make changes to it, so nothing is ever really finished. Although, this one might be. I only changed one word before posting it yesterday.
When I work on things, I tend to work on them for an hour here or an hour there over the years. I don’t particularly spend hours and hours on them day after day because I find that doing so usually makes me get stuck.
Writing for me works much better when it comes spontaneously. In order to keep that spontaneity and freshness, I need to feel like I’m reading my work for the first time, that way I can quickly respond to it, sense what isn’t working (for me), and change it without trepidation.
Many years ago, when I tried to write stories, I spent hours at a time, day after day working them, because if I didn’t finish them, I often found that I lost the story.
I guess poetry is the same way. If I can’t finish the basic poem quickly, then it often falls to the wayside and remains unfinished. For me, completing the general idea is important. After that, getting to the finished product is a bit of a never ending journey.
What I like about the haiku (which I’m not even sure if my small poems can be considered haiku) is the structure. For me, the 5-7-5 syllable structure is really helpful.
I can look around me and in one glance find things of possible interest, but if I can’t find a first 5 syllable line, then I know there isn’t a poem there and I can just move on.
Whereas poems that don’t have any structure at all can really take a lot of time because I often start with a specific line or image that I find interesting but then can’t figure out how to develop it.
There’s a poem that I started last week that begins, You can climb trees,
or you can climb ladders. And I can’t get anywhere with it.
I really like that line, though, and want to turn it into something, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to.
I think what helped me with the writing of the poem in this post, is that it’s working with a character and a story that was already created by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Without his winged character, and the abuse it suffered in his story, this poem and the magical elements in it would never have happened. So, in a way, maybe you could say that I cheated when I wrote this one.
It might have been hard on them to have been betrayed, but then at the end of the struggle lies beauty to wash away their pain. Great poem
Interesting. I hadn’t associated betrayal with this poem, but I think I can see what you are pointing out.
Thank you for commenting.
Was the meaning I get from the imagined penned men
I see. You’re right, basically they were betrayed and their trust was violated.
When I wrote this, my intention was more to comment on how we abuse things of importance and beauty, and that because of this, they will willingly disappear from our world.
But I now see where you were coming from more clearly.
There are always a thousand worth to a written poem. But glad to know your actual meaning
👍
Someone borrowed my One Hundred Years of Solitude and never returned it.
Now I'm into minimalism and I try not to attach myself to stuff. But friendships have ended over such things.
Beautiful again, my friend.
I do love your poems so... ❤️
Don’t ever lend a book to me. I’m terrible about returning them. 😬
Some betrayals come with tons of fortune as depicted in this poetry story line.
You see betrayal and reward in this poem, too, just like @dwixer. I find that interesting.
I thought I read a few lines from the great Gabo, Your lines reflect that wonderful magical realism that flourishes in the field of vibrant and magical colors.
Beautiful verses.
Thanks for sharing.
Good day.
Thank you for commenting.
Sweet
Thanks.
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