Emina Smajevic
Mar 21, 2014

A flock of swans

Poem Body

Of everything a man is able to have
My hand has been a flock of swans

And the time of cabal is the same as
the time of humiliation

I guess
Deserts will again
Always lonely
Remind of some
Mysticism

Because I am the breath from the start
till the end of a stream

What I've always been

Alone

About This Poem

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Country/Region: Sarajevo Bosnia&Herzegovina

More from this author

Comments

R

raj

11 years 1 month ago

There almost always is an element mysticism in your poems as in this one too, which needs more than one read.

Honestly, i was not familiar with the word cabal and found the dictionary meaning as "a secret or exclusive set of people" which made me connect more with your poem. I liked the short stunted structure or shall i say architecture of this poem which I believe you have used to create an ebb and flow effect of a breath and the stream. It did create a sense of "craving" . Did I read it right?. thanks for the innovation even though this may have compromised with the meter / free flow, again I think because you did not want it to flow smoothly but preferred the stunted rhythm.

Regards,

E

well I guess this has a sense of ''craving''
it's about myself, who I am and what the world is now or has always been, who knows

''Of everything a man is able to have
My hand has been a flock of swans''

this is something I believe
what I have that is truly mine
is only what I do
and I like to remind myself all the time
that a human hand can actually be as perfect
as a flock of swans is
but don't get me wrong it's not about goodness or religion or anything like that
it's about knowledge, humans, hearts
things we feel strongly about

''And the time of cabal is the same as
the time of humiliation''

you say the word cabal is weird to you
I can connect it with lie, conspiracy, fraud
all in glittering papers
so it makes you think it's good
but it makes the world unnatural
humiliated I say

''I guess
Deserts will again
Always lonely
Remind of some
Mysticism''

it's like resting in silence
thinking
being indifferent
inviolable
calm

''Because I am the breath from the start
till the end of a stream

What I've always been

Alone''

every human is a separated world
no matter how much we interfere
there's always something about ourselves
nobody knows

I hope this explanation won't make it harder to understand lol
I know I'm difficult
but I'm easy to feel
don't bother yourself raj much
just enjoy
:)

R

Many thanks for explaining the essence of this poem which truly makes more sense now that what I had only partly conceived...and now i find that it has even more depth to it...and I do agree with what you have said which is so very true...

every human is a separated world
no matter how much we interfere
there's always something about ourselves
nobody knows

yes like the figure in the picture sitting by the typewriter ...

weirdelf

though I must say that the use of the word mysticism defeats the mysticism of the poem.

Far the best line of poetry I have read in a while is
My hand has been a flock of swans

See what you think when I read it. Please excuse my mispronunciation of your name, I need to use it in the reading, if you send me a correction I will correct the recording.

http://vocaroo.com/i/s0G5rF6i1PIq

I suspect I read this all wrong somehow. I am missing something. I know the word mysticism irks me, it should be, not stated. Give me a few hints and I will try to do better.

Esker

Esker

11 years 1 month ago

crushed cigarettes and old forgotten cologne...
this house abub with the hue of activity and actions
the spring cloying in its moisture damp at the
eaves and heaped in its glistening snows
fresh with animal tracks
and black shadows freed of snows and
hot sunshines embrace..

listening to americana beauty lana del ray
and reading this....phone charging
laundry going round in the basement
the television on the ground floor the
fight channel and Bunni on her laptop
the kids heading out to the bar dressed
in their finery...far flung and high strung
the twenties and the late teens...

heading months away from fifty..a magic
age...travels and wanders..battles
the grim reminders winding me up..
stretched out on the laptop..hipster
sweater..black rimmed dollerstore
glasses....found some fave books
trinkets and pens...an old pair of jeans
with cargo pockets fastly filled with
papers....half smoked cigarettes from
three different packs...

delving under the room light..the music
echoeing..the kids in the pick up with
cherry bomb exhaust heading off..

the little rooster and his hip chick..
and this old cat perusing
aching shoulder tuned up with
tylenol three's a happy chagrined
wolf...

your writing i like very much
your distant land..its mountians
the use of desert motif and meanings

i remember "the little prince" and reading
of jim morrison and the desert times for
creative mad souls
the lost aircraft

mysticism and magic with its meaning
less and more to me of late
symbolisms and term use
words
short stepped like poetry
like my black and white olivetti
with new ribbon..

i remember swans.. a single swan
on a black river this time of year
black and whites on a thirty five
millimeter roll.....

words are magic
poetry is a tonic
the rush of day is ending
dreamtimes arriving soon
weekend for this poet
madman

i just like what i like
like this spring
before the rush of rains
the leaving of the calm
the business

for now i read your works
and enjoy your poetic
words..

thank you emina

alone is beautiful
sculpted
the resistance shaping
drives..wants and needs

alidzain

You made me glad that I am here. People like you, Jayne, Shayne, Raj and Ian made me want to write even more when I read your works, even though I am still very much an amateur when it comes to English poetry writing. Thank you for being an inspiration. Love this.

Alid