seabhac

Jan 20, 2010 ⭐ View statistics (Premium feature)

Marquez Moment

On Gardenia flowerI wrote my love for youEmbedded script in fleshSucculent white flesh. Now with time pressed on itIt liesBrowned and wrinkledAlive only in memoryTouched with the flesh of your scentLoosened on the pages of your love The worst of winter’s bleaknessPast nowNew greens suspired
Strengthened rays on exposed fleshBut your withered stalkWill never seed another blossom.
Loves memory is
Not enough
To flesh my Autumn longing
With hope of flower filled arms

— seabhac, Jan 20, 2010

About This Poem

About the Author

Country/Region: GBR

Critiques

Kailashana

16 years 4 months ago

Ahhh…. the lingering scent

Ahhh.... the lingering scent of the gardenia.... and the promise of love. Beautifully illustrated Seahbac... My white (soft blush pink centers) magnolia bush reminds me of gardenias. I am always saddened when the brown comes..it's the first thing that blossoms anywhere in the neighborhood, even before the crocus. I had a huge gardenia plant that I gave to a friend when I moved back to Ohio. Knowing it wouldn't live through the move. Hugs, Anna

seabhac

16 years 4 months ago

Hi Anna

there is something intoxicating about the scent of gardenia ...deep and heady. Sadly in our climate we can but get little house plants that struggle to grow and it is the death of once such plant in the colder than normal winter that inspired the kick off for this one. Thanks for sharing your memory of these delightful plants Seabhac

Nicole Michaels

16 years 4 months ago

vocabulary

From Webster's, SUSPIRE Intransitive verb 1. To fetch a long, deep breath; to sigh; to breathe. Noun 1. A long, deep breath; a sigh. This was a new word for me. Cool. My dad used to read the dictionary like a novel. !@@$$%

Nicole Michaels

16 years 4 months ago

Critique

In my first read of your poem, I read “fresh” as flesh. Got me to thinking. Another way to write this poem is to repeat a key word in each stanza. I think this device would serve you well here for a couple of reasons. One, it may unite the stanzas more rhythmically, gather them up if you will. Two, the narrator is remembering something, and the mechanics of repetition would mimic a person’s meditation on her subject, the unfolding of thought. Consider: On gardenia flower I wrote fresh love for you. Embedded script in flesh, Succulent white flesh. In that vein, consider a recent example of the form, “pantoum,” in posted Lake Erie poem. Forms are great vehicles, whereas free verse demands an awfully good ear to write. What I like about this poem: 1) I feel the writer is sincere in the effort. That's nice to see. Thank you. 2) The first stanza is fresh and specific and has unrealized potential. What I do not like about this poem: 1) It wanders, and relies on some stale images (not stale because of the season, withered stalk is fine, but stale because the images are overused, see open arms.). Early drafts of better poems often begin this way for me. I recommend you rethink the most obvious images here as your scaffolding, and start climbing! Make the poem your own by substituting another metaphor or simile everywhere you find cliche. Ask, what was I trying to convey with the image? What can I put in its place? Go crazy. Take risks. Words are free! Put surprising combinations to work. ("Touched with scent/On the pages of your love poems." vs. "Ripped with aging scent/Tearing out pages of your love poems." If you must use a cliche like "open arms," then think antonyms where you would expect to find synonyms. By adding the unexpected, the image is no longer cliche and it belongs to you. “With hope and open arms.“ Really? After all that painful withering and loss? I accept the chance of hope, but how about “with dread of my/own open arms." 2) In your rewrite, consider use of internal rhyme to better bind your poem together with meaning and sound. See first stanza (moved your word “fresh”). Poetry is as much craft as it is inspiration. Revise. Revise. Revise!

seabhac

16 years 4 months ago

Hi Kal

I couldn't agree more. See comment below...want to start a blog??? Seabhac

Nicole Michaels

16 years 4 months ago

1,000 words

Thanks for the confidence. The picture of the chapel reminds me of a poem's structure and function, rooted in a solid base and asipiring for something more lofty.

seabhac

16 years 4 months ago

What a gift you have given Nicole!!!

I cannot express how important your critique is to me as a searching and growing writer but for the whole purpose of this site. You have presented your points in clear and concise terms. I could instantly know what you meant. I loved the idea of linking the word flesh through the whole poem and this rewrite encompasses that lesson but what has excited me is the possibilities. I had known nothing of pantoum and have read many good examples of the use of this and hope to learn more of its use and play with it as a form. I see it as life itself ...each new episode carries a little of the thread of the past. Very inspiring, thank you. The lines your withered stalk Will never seed another blossom I have left because for me this is almost the comedy element in this write, age affecting each of us in different ways. I got lazy in this towards the end and yes you so aptly picked that out in the tired regression to cliché, I know a weakness of mine and one I will check each and every other future write. There is a months teaching for me here in the time you have spent on this and I hope it can be shared with others who are looking to grow their skill on this site. Again thank you for your gift Seabhac

Nicole Michaels

16 years 4 months ago

My pleasure

Good to see you defending your choices and reconsidering others. That's an excellent strategy for a rewrite. I look forward to your pantoums.

Candlewitch

16 years 4 months ago

Hello

Dear Seabhac, The last flowers I pressed were from my wedding bouquet. I wonder how many women press flowers along with preserved memories now a days. It is a thoroughly romantic practice. Thank you for inspiring a lovely memory, for me, with this lovely piece. Always, Cat

seabhac

16 years 4 months ago

Hi Cat

Before textiles I was a florist and I used to dry brides wedding bouquests and reassemble in framed pictures...sounds great? the tiny beads of dessicant got everywhere...in the beds, underfoot and even in the food...ha ha a very different memory altoghther. This write is called Marquez Moment because it relates to Gabriel Garcia Marquez great love story ...love in the time of cholerea and this is what she did for her love.... Have I a pressed flower somewhere with embedded name...now that would be telling! Seabhac

Nicole Michaels

16 years 4 months ago

Context: The florist

This is a very unique point of view to bring to a write. Revisit your own note for great details, potential pantoum or other piece.

Nicole Michaels

16 years 4 months ago

Pressing forward

Is there a poem there?

Seren

16 years 4 months ago

Dear Liz

I can see you have some great advice on this one and Nicole is a great asset to the site ... wonderful critique and its something we all strive to do give good critique but like anyone we have to learn and the best way is by doing .... love and hugs Jayne x x x P.S I have pressed flowers in a poetry book by samual taylor coleridge ;) lol

Nicole Michaels

16 years 4 months ago

What page?

I enjoy a tactic called the "found poem." Are you familiar? A headline, a snippet of conversation, a situation. I can see you writing a poem about the flowers in your coleridge book.

Seren

16 years 4 months ago

Dear Nicole

No I have not heard of it but i would love to"found poem" you have me intrigued now lol ... I am a sponge i only started writing 10 mths ago ... I am from a country town in NSW Australia so our resources are limited to the net sometimes ... I am a singer/teacher so I am not adverse to teaching or being taught ... everytime I go to the city I visit a few vintage book shops and pick up more books by my favourites or ones I had developed since I have been here ... you might be right about those flowers , they have a heavy story that goes with them not sure how I would write it to be honest kind regards love Jayne-Chloe btw my daughter loves your hat wants one just like it lol horse riding is in our blood as is the country

Kailashana

16 years 4 months ago

Good morning all, I just

Good morning all, I just reviewed the old with the new. Excellent coaching, Nichole, always a valued asset here. I suppose that's why there are teachers in all phases of education...from Kindergarten on... And sometimes we find a teacher that takes us through a quantum leap of insight. Nicely done everyone. Thank you. ~A

Nicole Michaels

16 years 4 months ago

My privilege

This is a great place to exchange ideas, and it's my privilege to show up.

Orphani

16 years 4 months ago

In reading this I found it

In reading this I found it exquisitly beautiful almost as is in form. possibly loose to loosened a word preened out here or there. but not "fresh love" in this context. Love to me is beyond the ability to be anything less then fresh already, to say fresh love to me is like saying hot fire. If it's fire it's hot. If it's love it's already fresh intrinsicly and absolutely. "I wrote my love for you" change of emphisis perhaps - for you, i wrote my love I love this poem(freshly) B

seabhac

16 years 4 months ago

Loosened ...perfect exchange

Fresh love ...hmmm see your point but there are many kinds of love and in an old relationship of a lifetime of years love is not always fresh , infact can be stale but faced with being apart it is still love two people who cannot live without one another. To retain the freshness of love is a gift indeed. Are you so head over heels Barry in your present love? Lovely to see this pure side of you ..ha ha Thanks the suggestions you have made they all made sense and maybe I'll come back and prune the words later. Freshly cut best wishes to you Seabhac

Orphani

16 years 4 months ago

Our disagreement stems from

Our disagreement stems from our differant understanding of the word. Love to me is not defined by a feeling, it is perfection and the state of perfection we simply tap in to it and it infuses us into the universal truth to wich we are apart. I am very jelous, and I guard the word with a peevishness.Perfection can not be less then perfect or it ceases to be. The sun can only shine less bright through factors not associated directly with it like clouds or the earths angle to it ,but never because the sun shines less bright. I can accept the sun in a metaphor as shining less bright. when it comes to love I get fanatical.Fanatical love?Hmmm.Ask Anna.Decorate lightly around my word. B

seabhac

16 years 4 months ago

There is no disagreement just michevious fun

I festoon the word with a wreath of sun ripened flowers and in fact believe real love has no bounds on any dimension. But I am a playful imp who likes to goad a little and your response on confirming your delightful state was wonderful... Hugs and laughter Seabhac

Nordic cloud

16 years 4 months ago

the leaf, the flower, the tree, nymph, spirit, art,

Oh this flower, this pressed to the bosom flower, this pressed in life's mangle flower, this flower with the name gardenia, this flower that symbolises love, this perfume lingering in the memory, this wizened frond of life's delicate sensations, this forever fragile thing called ecstasy, within the dried skeleton of the leaf, the flower, the tree, nymph, spirit, art, you touch the quick of life's intent. Love Ann of Norway

seabhac

16 years 4 months ago

pressed in lifes mangle...

What a great image. I so love your poetic replies Ann and feel honoured that this write struck music in your soul. Are the tree nymphs still leaving footprints in the Norwegian snow? Warm wooly hugs Seabhac

Nordic cloud

16 years 4 months ago

Not to mention footprints

Oh the trees, the trees today, as I slid along the ski track and looked at their part-dressed state, with snow blown sides and lumps caught in them, there were forms like hats, like apes, like Christmas gnomes, like lambs, like woollen sweaters, like monks and nuns, like so many things that I was in awe of the open air exhibition of nature's unlauded art. Others perhaps flew past and didn't notice my imaginations dance playing in the trees, the falling, so slowly falling, snowflakes playing the floating wind chimes of the rows of trunks inaudibly; only the moose, standing silent watching us, was perhaps the one to hear their charms and the hills like unshaven undulating swathes of water colour washes, sung their lullabies in the softness of the misty sky. The highest trees like a mirage rising up and hanging in the air like theatre drapes, their spectre-like whiteness unreal, their base not there, just a blue grey darkness of nothingness. Yes the nymphs of magic fairy-tale thoughts were out on the wing, mesmerising me if not the other passers by. Oh beautiful Winter, love from Ann and thank you Seabhac. Well done getting into the spotlight.

Seren

16 years 4 months ago