He’d whisper sweet nothings to trees Hoping the roots would remember his name I watched him drop pieces of himself like bread crumbs His lantern limbs quivering
I don’t think he ever really knew how lovely he was And on a sunny day when the pavement was sweating Out onto the roadside Everyone else found out too
I don’t think I’ll ever forget him because he was like a dream catcher So quiet and magical in the way his eyes turned green in the dark And blue in the winter Like he stored the world’s secrets behind his cuckoo spit heart
There is so much at work in this and I don't know where to begin except to say that I was hooked with the title, and drawn in through the entire poem itself. Is there one part I like better than the other? Yes. No. Um. Yes. I mean, I like all of it, at different times and for different reasons. I've drank vodka "do dna" or "to the bottom" with Russian friends, and it was the taste of love...and songs, and something that turned into a really serious group hug. The poem title revived that memory for me; I want to meet the one who whispers sweet nothings to trees, hoping that the roots would remember his name. WOW! WOW! WOW! Michaeld Ondaatje once said quite a lot about poetic truth, and this poem illustrates that, perfectly. This is just swimming with gorgeous images.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my poem and write such a beautiful comment. My only regret is that I took so long to reply. Mainly due to personal interference's in my daily life. Anyway time for my response.
I love the story you told me, the whole poem is balanced on the idea of nostalgia so I'm thrilled to see how it invoked that response from you. I'm so glad you liked the imagery, I often feel as though it is too obscure and flits between grey areas too often for people to relate to it. If I may, I'd like to perhaps incorporate your memory into a poem at a later time, it's a beautiful image of tenderness and nostalgia and I'd be honored if you'd let me.
Oh, I completely understand how personal interference from that every-day life stuff gets in the way, especially if it's demanding!
I'm glad that my comment had a positive effect. Feel free to incorporate the memory I related. It's a fairly common "vodka experience" and so a lot of people will probably relate to it.
What I like about this poem is the fact that the imagery is specific, but anybody with a brain will get it. I think you were successful in what you were putting out there, and you put a few humdingers in there, starting with the title and ending with the last line.
It did, in fact it sparked off a lot of nostalgia for me personally which in turn inspired me to write a lot of other poems which I might post later. Well, I have a lot of experience with vodka, often I end up writing a lot of poetry when slightly intoxicated.
Thank you so much, I'm glad that my poem was successful in intriguing people like yourself.
I think that's what happened to me...lots of personal nostalgia, some of which was accompanied by cringes or at least bemused laughter. I have experience with vodka in Polish, Russian, Czech and Ukrainian...the Russian and Czech memories are pleasant...complicated but pleasant...the Polish memories are...well...ambiguous...we'll just leave it at that: one of the people responsible for that memory leaves me shaking my head in wonder.
I know what you mean, reminiscing about old times and friends. Sometimes it's sad since some of those people aren't in your life anymore but that's just how things work. I have dabbled in mostly Russian and Polish vodka, not so much Czech or Ukrainian. I know what you mean, it's strange how certain foods, music or drinks bring back the nostalgia and then when you reflect on those times they seem to slide past your retinas and you're so immersed in it all that its breath taking. c:
I love the way memories are fluid and seem to have their own distinct lives that are separate from your own. Especially memories involving people who have shaped you. My strongest memories are actually of those who've shaped me or who have led to the inspirations I commonly feel now. Funny how a lot of them are Russian and Czech for me.