Remember the Monday post a week ago? Remember how I said I was posting the first of three parts of my poem, “Bracken Forest"? Remember that I explained great admiration for Dylan Thomas’ poem, “Fern Hill”? Today’s post continues my homage to Mr. Dylan’s poem (and to his poetic opus, in particular “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” with its powerful final line, “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Much as I admire the latter poem, I’ve chosen my echo poem, “Bracken Forest,” and continue the parallel but reversed-mirror with “Fern Hill.”
For continuity, I have included the first part of “Bracken Forest,” posted last week. Part 3 will be available soon, most likely next week.
Bracken Forest, Parts I & II
With Deep Bows to Dylan Thomas (1914 – 1953)
I
When I was trembling old near the willow’s shade
All winds gone down – All shouts and star-climbs done
Once honored, then a discarded blunt blade
bracken ferns turned brown before the frost
jester in black-flecked peaked hat and gown
kept by the Horse Prince hated by the town
Lady’s Slipper crouched in fire grate ashes
Three sisters dancing down the falling stairs
Silver-haired I and burdened – true-blood-mad
Moping gardens’ skirts – drooling damned man
Elegant time a mercy raging by
Twelve white elects strip furies from my roots
Bloated fish bellies drowned my unlimbed lyre
I am too raving wild to raise disputes
Salt-pepper wolves howl treble clefs three times
Midnight crushes one note with each clawed step
II
Moon long since high – me uncoiled from the burn
Soot and ashes speckled my mourning cloak
streamed purple through ten hundred torch-lit ferns
Ten gray whippoorwills and me clutched our nests
Below, fired weeds too far distant rivers
Pebbled ears, coined eyes, and sleepless shivers
Killing spoiled cherubs won’t keep the long sun
nor archangels snorts, or prelates’ plainsong
Soundless claps from miles of copper-clad ferns
Broiling with Lord- ridden horses through fog
Behind them silver foxes rode rare steeds
that chased flying cattle to winter barns
where bracken bedding’s fluffed up and kept warm
But some have druthers to wait out the storm
Cows don’t go gentle no matter their time
One death-head for each rode closely behind
I wore black widow’s weeds herding those kine
Background
If you remember last week’s post, recall that the type of echo poem that I am experimenting with is not the kind of verse enjoyed in the 16th and 17th centuries in France, England, and Italy particularly in pastoral poetry and drama. Back then, the echo technique repeated the end of a line or stanza thus simulating an echo. The repetition usually included the entire chosen phrase or line while changing the meaning. Neat trick, eh?
Just to refresh. The approach that The Chairman and I used to post our series of “Echo Poems” earlier this year was to alternate writing a poem and sending it to the other. The receiver wrote the echo poem. Another round, and another, could be engaged; however, this was not our habit.
Exploration 1: Do you think there is a point to writing echo poems?
Exploration 2: Can you spot some of the inverse parallels between Dylan’s poem and the one in this post?
Exploration 3: Describe the place and time “Bracken Forest” takes place.
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