[stylist] Poem - "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" - Finalish Draft

[William L Houts]

Brigit wins the race, hooray!


--Bill




On 7/9/2015 10:11 AM, Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter via stylist wrote:
> As to the asterisks, I will argue in favor of it for just a minute. Lots of
> poets, and even prose writers, are playing with visual elements nowadays in
> their writing. While it can be irritating or difficult for JAWS users, it's
> quite popular these days. In particular, writers are trying visual ways to
> convey something as opposed to placing in narration.
>
> For example, instead of writing dialogue like, "Oh, no," then adding tag
> saying they said slowly, a writer may write dialogue,
> "O-H N-O," the dashes representing the drawn out syllables when saying oh no
> slow.
> Or simply writing it, "Ooooooh noooooo," which I find equally irritating to
> read with JAWS, grin.
> But my point is that when it comes to the artistry, using visual means in
> which to convey something, or for symbolic reasons or just for a visual
> element, is very common.
>
> I write this way often, but as a screenreader user, I totally understand how
> it's distracting, or in many cases, you don't even know, like with bolding
> or italics, unless you know to check.
>
> So, I guess, to each his own, smile.
>
> Bridgit
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Jackie
> Williams via stylist
> Sent: Thursday, July 09, 2015 11:23 AM
> To: 'Writers' Division Mailing List'
> Cc: Jackie Williams
> Subject: Re: [stylist] Poem - "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" -
> Finalish Draft
>
> Bill,
> Is this the right word? Untellable.
> I would benefit from you writing a note after your poems that says: "About
> this poem," which suggests the motivation and meaning of the poem as Poem a
> Day always does with their poems. I usually do not read it until I have
> given a try at understanding, but then, when I read it, the meaning shines
> through.
> I have to tell you that your introduction to your poems fascinates me as
> much as your poems themselves. Example: today, I was kind of appalled at how
> clunky it was, and set out to break its crooked bones so I could reset them
> again with, it is hoped, more
> patience and expertise.
> Incidentally, I agreed with Chris's comments about your short poem with all
> of the astericks. With JAWS it interfered with any understanding even with
> many readings.
>
> Jackie Lee
>
> Time is the school in which we learn.
> Time is the fire in which we burn.
> Delmore Schwartz	
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of William L
> Houts via stylist
> Sent: Wednesday, July 08, 2015 10:07 AM
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List; kempiro at yahoo.com
> Cc: William L Houts
> Subject: [stylist] Poem - "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" - Finalish
> Draft
>
>
>
>
> Hello Friends,
>
> Here's an almost complete revision of a poem I posted here maybe eight or
> nine months ago.  I received a number of comments, almost all of them useful
> and to the point, then set it aside.  Sometimes I do that, just let things
> age for a while so I'm not quite as ego-driven about the damned thing.  A
> good thing, too, because when I looked at this one today, I was kind of
> appalled at how clunky it was, and set out to break its crooked bones so I
> could reset them again with, it is hoped, more patience and expertise.
> Anyway, here it is; comments welcome as always.
>
>
> --Bill
>
>
> ---
>
> *Close Encounters of the Third Kind *
>
> /"Encounters"/crucible heart:
>
> Not that truth incarnate ark,
>
> singing, bringing our captured crewmen
>
> to earth again, forty years after abduction,
>
> but coming home wise if staggered
>
> white with untellable answers.
>
> No: it's that terrible, gorgeous scene
>
> in the embattled countryside home
>
> where the starfolk lay their light-siege,
>
> sending scorching demands through the vents:
>
> O remember that five note song,
>
> that call from the small black-eyed
>
> seraphs, so trumpet bright and fierce,
>
> setting mother and child at odds,
>
> his toys themselves climbing to life, crying
>
> come,O come, you brother, you son
>
> while mother must not, must not lose her Barry
>
> to stark ferocious angels,
>
> who brook no mere mother's rage, their sage enchantment
>
> voiced five tone bright, their scorching light
>
> surging through cracks as Barry
>
> is birthed through the dog door, earth to mystery air,
>
> loosed from house and awakened toys
>
> to sky home, a child's top flying,
>
> while thwarted mother shrieks below,
>
> until they land at the tower,
>
> release a boy joyous for secrets,
>
> for mother, for deep aching earth.
>
> Years later he'll tell of singing blue spheres,
>
> of star folk free as light,
>
> and of rooms where time itself dozed,
>
> benign as an uncle.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>


-- 


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