[stylist] Poem -

Tue Nov 4 19:26:49 UTC 2014

Hi Shawn,

Thanks kindly for the comments, Shawn.  This one is  one of my favorites 
as well.  Linda cautioned me about being too harsh about my own work; 
especially as I was being kind of humble about using what I referred to 
as heavily literary devices.  I guess what I was saying is that earlier 
in the year, I was writing poems which were really dense, and which 
required a bit of mining to get at. Lately, though, I've been doing work 
in which I strive to use more accessible language.  I still like and 
write the heavier stuff, but I think there's room for the development of 
more than one style.

Anyway, thanks again for the good word.

--Bill

On 11/4/2014 11:04 AM, Jacobson, Shawn D wrote:
> Bill
>
> How amazing that a dream has stayed with you this long.
>
> The idea that we can reach across the void and build bridges to others of good will, be they dream bridges or something more substantial" is one thing I find fetching about the whole science fiction thing.
>
> One thing interesting was that for all the alien beings' strangeness, they were just folk "not saints" just good people.
>
> I really did enjoy it, and now I can't get your dream out of my head.
>
> Shawn
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of William L Houts via stylist
> Sent: Tuesday, November 04, 2014 1:01 PM
> To: Lynda Lambert; Writer's Division Mailing List
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Poem -
>
>
>
>
>
>
> Hi Linda,
>
> Thanks so much for your thoughtful response to my poem, "Alien". I had that dream about eight years or so ago and it's haunted me all that time, as you can see.  Even now, I have the sense that I was granted a peek into the lifeways of some whole other kind of people.  They were so strange, a child might have screamed, but they were so peaceful, it was a great pleasure to visit them, whehter or not they were merely the figments of a dream.  Again, thanks so much for your comments.
>
>
> --Bill
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> On 11/4/2014 3:17 AM, Lynda Lambert wrote:
>> Hi Bill,
>> I enjoyed reading your poem this morning as I sat in the dark room
>> around 5 am. I think the time of day and the aloneness of the pre-dawn
>> reading of it was just the perfect time to encounter this poem. The
>> others in the house this morning are fast asleep, it is just me and
>> the cats here, moving around in the dream of my own reality.
>> It gives me the sense of looking into a surreal painting. You
>> "painted" images such as would be encountered in a surreal landscape
>> painting. From the first words at the beginning of the poem, I had
>> entered into that world as you took me through your experience layer
>> by layer.
>>
>> It begins "in the dream," which is the perfect entrance into this
>> surreal world. You have given us a place to enter into your own dream
>> by positioning yourself (the personna of the poem) in a "canyon of red
>> and earthlike rock." I envisioned standing in Colorado at Red Rocks,
>> or a similar place on earth. Yet, at the same time, you removed my
>> comfort of being in a familiar place when you pair that thought with
>> the reality that we are very far removed from what we are seeing and
>> experiencing as you move forward taking us into your world.
>> There is a strong sense of voyeurism and we continue to watch from
>> that distance in both place and time. Actually, we have entered into
>> timelessness, I felt.
>> The place you describe is both other-worldly yet in some ways quite
>> familiar.  And, I liked the matter-of-fact "voice" as the poet
>> describes the dream/reality of the metaphysical space.
>>
>> I like this poem very much, Bill. You paced it perfectly and have
>> given it breath and livingness.  And, you left me with imagery I will
>> not soon forget and a question that I can continue to think about as I
>> begin this day in November.
>> You pose the question at the perfect place in this poem. And, it is a
>> deep philosophical musing which I liked very much. I think your timing
>> is just perfect in this poem. And, I am left with the continuing
>> thought , "Yet maybe the cosmos dreams us to each other..." as my day
>> begins.
>>
>> I look back once again to the title again and again, "Alien." Just
>> what is an alien?  I think of what this word means and I continue
>> meditating on the thought of who is the "alien!"
>>
>> I am not sure what you meant in your prelude to the poem when you said
>> it is "less literary." Just the fact that it is a poem  (an excellent
>> one, at that) gives it literary clothing.  It is the work of a poet
>> with concerns and something to say that is meaningful and timely.
>> I could go on, but I think this poem holds  the very essence of what
>> "literary"  means, Bill.  No apologies please, for having a thoughful
>> mind and an imaginative spirit in your writing.
>>
>> Lynda McKinney Lambert
>>
>> -----Original Message----- From: William L Houts via stylist
>> Sent: Tuesday, November 04, 2014 2:28 AM
>> To: Writer's Division Mailing List
>> Subject: [stylist] Poem -
>>
>> HI Bards and Poets,
>>
>> Been away for some time, I guess.  Finally surfacing after solving
>> some unusual access problems.  Anyway, hope all here are well and
>> productive, assuming you want to be.
>>
>> As for me, the past few months have been extremely productive. Below
>> is one of my favorites.  It's gone through some revision since I wrote
>> it this summer, and I think this is the vest version so far.  Also, my
>> work over the summer has, by design, been aimed at being somewhat less
>> "literary" in my approach. Comments welcome, as always.
>>
>>
>> --Bill
>>
>>
>>
>>
>> ---
>>
>>
>>
>>
>> *Alien*
>>
>> In the dream, I stood at an
>>
>> uncountable remove, in some canyon
>>
>> of red and earthlike rock.
>>
>> Before me, at twelve unblurred feet
>>
>> were a couple.They were
>>
>> not remotely human, and yet
>>
>> I sensed their minds or something deeper.
>>
>> they'd neither hands nor heads, and the female
>>
>> in her had a kind of hollow
>>
>> into which her mate would go, a pen or roost.
>>
>> They were boxlike, somehow, with short fur.
>>
>> And here's the great reveal:
>>
>> they knew I was there, and didn't mind.
>>
>> They were peaceful and decent in the most ordinary way:
>>
>> not saints, yet sacred, earnest folk,
>>
>> bearing gravity's grip without complaint.
>>
>> I might go or remain, they seemed to say,
>>
>> and all would be well. They were light years
>>
>> away, I think, and suppose they were real enough,
>>
>> convincing as thunder or suns.
>>
>> How could you know such things, you say.Poetry's fine,
>>
>> but we dwell on a rock among rocks
>>
>> in the black unhomely cold.
>>
>> Yet maybe the cosmos dreams us to each other
>>
>> I venture, across the stellar gulfs
>>
>> that we might abide for dreaming seconds
>>
>> in the presence of friends both strange
>>
>> and utterly dear; neighbors or kin like us:
>>
>> adrift on rocklike rafts in a dark and motherlike sea.
>>
>>
>> WLH
>> 8/14
>>
>>
>>
>> _______________________________________________
>> Writers Division web site
>> http://writers.nfb.org/
>> stylist mailing list
>> stylist at nfbnet.org
>> http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
>> To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for
>> stylist:
>> http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/llambert%40zoomin
>> ternet.net
>>
>

-- 

"Oh, Sophie!  Whyfore have you eated all de cheeldren?"