- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Outside Looking In
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Click hereFrom this high prison where I have to stay
in cold half-darkness there's the brilliant view
of seething life below, of every hue –
the greens and ochres, and a sky so blue
you'd think it might blot out my constant grey.
Below, lie's course, in contours well-defined,
rolls ever past my eager, tired eyes –
in miniature I watch how life defies
the dirt and poverty, thee heat, the flies –
all I've been left to feed my hungry mind.
Both buoyant feasts and solemn joy unfold
their special strength for anyone to see;
and all the village going on a spree,
apparel wonderful, looks full of glee –
they're living; here I'm only growing old.
Since I can't talk to them I tried to shout –
my words were scattered on the breeze. Below
life just goes on; I cannot let them know
I'm up here trying to contact them, and so
I stay up at my window, looking out...
A washerwoman's at her work today.
She beats the rolls of brightly coloured lawn –
her hair is greyish and her sari's torn;
the day's hard work, though, doesn't leave her worn,
she still can find the energy to play
While I, much younger, simply feel forlorn –
Twelve hours of night, and then another dawn,
this outpost's sadness, and my captor's scorn...
Old washerwoman on the lake, I pray
please help me out – wash my grey life away.
- COMMENTS
From this high prison where forced to stay
in cold half-darkness above brilliant view
every known hue the seething life below
the greens and ochres, a sky shone blue
you'd think it might blot out my constant grey.
and bring a little warmth to my life
...it's better to see the poem as a whole, rather than spend time dissecting it for its "poesie". And what I see here is pathos, pure and simple. Nicely handled!
Perhaps:
Below, life's course, in contours well-defined,
rolls ever past my eager, tired eyes –
in miniature I watch how it defies
the dirt and poverty, the heat, the flies –
all I've been left to feed my hungry mind.
Don't agree with Harry Hill. I was left with the impression that this was unfinished. Desejo's comments are particularly telling and the strained rhyme needs work.It is like a work in progress but we need to be clearer why and where she is prisoner. The Sari says India but the cloth France.
The thought that an Indian washerwoman was washing lawn jarred a little. (Lawn is a French cloth - lawn being a misspelling of Leon or Laeon the town in France where it was invented )