deepundergroundpoetry.com
manon
(from: Manon of the Spring)
when you see her, you must fall in love with her,
if you are a man. if you are a writer, you must
write about her.
in these hills above Provencal, she tends goats. I come
here to hunt, & I have watched her. from my hidden
place behind the rocks, I’ve watched her bathe in the
stream. when she emerges from the water, crystal gems
drip languidly from her alluring form.
she dances naked as the goats graze, oblivious to her joy.
the wind strums the thin branches of the trees as if they
were cello strings, & the stream makes the noises of
chimes as it flows. birds unseen warble their timid songs.
these are her symphony & her choir.
I, in my secret perch, am enthralled by the immaculate
art of her. the flames of wickedness that I was born with
surge within me; their rage tells me I’m a man.
such pastoral elegance, beheld by nature & my vile
interloping eyes, must not be infringed upon, & I am too
noble, or perhaps too cowardly, to approach. if I love her,
the word will never pass my lips, but lie in sleep beside
my cruel, unworthy kiss.
she dances with a passion that is magnificent & outrageous,
that must surrender its essence only to poetry. and I have
written it as I have seen it.
a woman like this will not live her years among the goats.
she will one day be the comfort (amatory beauty that makes
me weep) in a man’s bed.
she has much to learn. but I will not teach her…
Published 8th Sep 2015
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comments 8
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8th Sep 2015 8:03pm
love this John especially these lines..
"such pastoral elegance, beheld by nature & my vile
interloping eyes, must not be infringed upon, & I am too
noble, or perhaps too cowardly, to approach. if I love her,
the word will never pass my lips, but lie in sleep beside
my cruel, unworthy kiss."
something about a cruel kiss makes my knees weak ;)
masterful inking..
with love Crim
"such pastoral elegance, beheld by nature & my vile
interloping eyes, must not be infringed upon, & I am too
noble, or perhaps too cowardly, to approach. if I love her,
the word will never pass my lips, but lie in sleep beside
my cruel, unworthy kiss."
something about a cruel kiss makes my knees weak ;)
masterful inking..
with love Crim
8th Sep 2015 10:07pm
You picked a fine film to be inspired by and you do it justice. "Manon of the Spring" and "Jean de Florette" are both French classics. Emmanuelle Beart is radiant... Excellent work from an unexpected "source."
8th Sep 2015 10:19pm
8th Sep 2015 10:50pm
Noble writing! "the wind strums the thin branches of the trees as if they
were cello strings" that is beautiful.
"I, in my secret perch, am enthralled by the immaculate
art of her. the flames of wickedness that I was born with
surge within me; their rage tells me I’m a man" Brilliantly written. It sings of an natural beauty, earthy and untouched. Much enjoyed it! blue angel
were cello strings" that is beautiful.
"I, in my secret perch, am enthralled by the immaculate
art of her. the flames of wickedness that I was born with
surge within me; their rage tells me I’m a man" Brilliantly written. It sings of an natural beauty, earthy and untouched. Much enjoyed it! blue angel
9th Sep 2015 3:50am
9th Sep 2015 6:52am
Ahhh, JohnFeddeler, luv ~ :-*
Your poetry is shifting, changing, somewhat is afoot. This is the thing that is striking me most when I visit you these days, luv... :-*
Some days, it seems to me your poetry exudes almost unbearable melancholy and others, while echoes of that remain, somewhat else bestirs. I admit, you have me at a loss with the ineffable beauty you are penning; sometimes, I almost comment, but withhold, do not for there is betimes an almost sacrosanct quality, yes, a sacredness these days, luv...
I feel aught I might say would be, somehow, wrong.
This poem, for instance, there are lines which stand out to me, lines I would latch onto yet, somehow, I find myself incredibly reluctant to disturb them.
So, thus:
a woman like this will not live her years among the goats.
she will one day be the comfort (amatory beauty that makes
me weep) in a man’s bed.
And, thus, at the last:
she has much to learn. but I will not teach her…
I will only say this. These stood out to me with a sharp twisting ache, poignance distilled, luv. :-*
Tis beyond time, luv, if you haven't already, to seek a publisher...
Your poetry is shifting, changing, somewhat is afoot. This is the thing that is striking me most when I visit you these days, luv... :-*
Some days, it seems to me your poetry exudes almost unbearable melancholy and others, while echoes of that remain, somewhat else bestirs. I admit, you have me at a loss with the ineffable beauty you are penning; sometimes, I almost comment, but withhold, do not for there is betimes an almost sacrosanct quality, yes, a sacredness these days, luv...
I feel aught I might say would be, somehow, wrong.
This poem, for instance, there are lines which stand out to me, lines I would latch onto yet, somehow, I find myself incredibly reluctant to disturb them.
So, thus:
a woman like this will not live her years among the goats.
she will one day be the comfort (amatory beauty that makes
me weep) in a man’s bed.
And, thus, at the last:
she has much to learn. but I will not teach her…
I will only say this. These stood out to me with a sharp twisting ache, poignance distilled, luv. :-*
Tis beyond time, luv, if you haven't already, to seek a publisher...
Anonymous
- Edited 25th Sep 2020 3:45am
9th Sep 2015 7:14am
<< post removed >>
10th Jul 2016 5:50am
She has much to learn,but I will not teach her.........love from afar.Innocent,but lonely.Nice touch
