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'Tis of Thee
'Tis of Thee
The lilt, tilt, lift, fall rhythm of traveling music
unwinds through my head, white-line led up the long,
languid rise from the panhandle to Flagstaff,
down heart-in-your-mouth switchbacks to red rock Sedona.
I'm an American, hooked on highways, horsepower, frontiers.
I journey alone over this thrill-around-every-bend country,
listen to oldies, polka, cowboy stations—
whatever my car radio tunes into.
Windows open descending some mountain, I believe in the land
that unfolds in my headlights, the hope for discovery.
The always-over-the-horizon keeps me engaged in my life story,
a travelogue, gravel-road misadventure I chose to drive solo.
I would not surrender my life now for then,
but I have never felt as much a part of something
as when we were young and together, before the questions
neither could answer, the last disillusionment.
Remember our aqua and cream '56 Ford suspended
dream-like over asphalt? We thought these were our roads,
rock and roll our anthem, speed our freedom
straight through the night from a strange purple sunrise
into the yellow-light desert. We knew little about the nature of spirit:
tried to claim ours from a history of song-and-story adventures.
I still believe though I speak the language of cynics.
It's the voice of the land that beckons, no longer manifest destiny
but the flight of wild geese, persistent grasses, sweep of shadows,
light and dark, the path of the sun—leading to a bittersweet end
at salt water, where gulls cry and the Pacific pounds out its rhythm,
where the way grows narrow and is lost among steep rocks.
But the spirit lifts to a sea-of-gathering: once again, a New World.
Years ago I worked really hard on a sestina which is posted somewhere in this forum. I have discovered no one likes sestinas so I used bits and pieces and lines and ideas to put this together. I'm no longer able to judge the effectiveness of this version
unwinds through my head, white-line led up the long,
languid rise from the panhandle to Flagstaff,
down heart-in-your-mouth switchbacks to red rock Sedona.
I'm an American, hooked on highways, horsepower, frontiers.
I journey alone over this thrill-around-every-bend country,
listen to oldies, polka, cowboy stations—
whatever my car radio tunes into.
Windows open descending some mountain, I believe in the land
that unfolds in my headlights, the hope for discovery.
The always-over-the-horizon keeps me engaged in my life story,
a travelogue, gravel-road misadventure I chose to drive solo.
I would not surrender my life now for then,
but I have never felt as much a part of something
as when we were young and together, before the questions
neither could answer, the last disillusionment.
Remember our aqua and cream '56 Ford suspended
dream-like over asphalt? We thought these were our roads,
rock and roll our anthem, speed our freedom
straight through the night from a strange purple sunrise
into the yellow-light desert. We knew little about the nature of spirit:
tried to claim ours from a history of song-and-story adventures.
I still believe though I speak the language of cynics.
It's the voice of the land that beckons, no longer manifest destiny
but the flight of wild geese, persistent grasses, sweep of shadows,
light and dark, the path of the sun—leading to a bittersweet end
at salt water, where gulls cry and the Pacific pounds out its rhythm,
where the way grows narrow and is lost among steep rocks.
But the spirit lifts to a sea-of-gathering: once again, a New World.
Years ago I worked really hard on a sestina which is posted somewhere in this forum. I have discovered no one likes sestinas so I used bits and pieces and lines and ideas to put this together. I'm no longer able to judge the effectiveness of this version
Re: 'Tis of Thee
I will be back Linda. I just wanted to record some first impressions. It is an absorbing piece and it does have a voice and expressions that will hook readers to reread. Like the playful sonics of L1, a playfulness that could be a feature throughout the poem? The frontier/highway/horsepower line gave an opening on how to read the poem: an individual and American culture filter. You end S2 with a similar filter for reading: the cultural driver to discover. In contrast, my own small country culture feeds on the comfort of familiar rhythms, insular rather than exploratory. The music stations in the poem point towards a nostalgia myth. S3/4 is more personal, relationship grounded through experience to test those myths. S5 a positive, wisdom finding a truer connection with the landscape.
enjoyed the trip
cheers
Phil
enjoyed the trip
cheers
Phil
Re: 'Tis of Thee
My first impression is similar to Phil's in that this poem deserves and needs numerous readings to pin down. A fulsome and emcompassing write.
Dave
Dave
Re: 'Tis of Thee
Thank you Phil and Dave,
I will have to revisit your comments because we are going on a roady to Sequoia National Park--leaving at the crack of dawn. I'm cooking up a storm. Trips were simpler when motels and restaurants were part of the itinerary.
I will have to revisit your comments because we are going on a roady to Sequoia National Park--leaving at the crack of dawn. I'm cooking up a storm. Trips were simpler when motels and restaurants were part of the itinerary.
Re: 'Tis of Thee
Hope you enjoy your road trip Linda. I certainly enjoyed your poem, the fictions pursued, driving in the music of those fictions, but not letting experience disconnect from the voice of the land. Not sure what the title means?
white-line led up the long,
languid rise
Liked the way the alliteration conveyed the mood.
listen to oldies, polka, cowboy stations—
whatever my car radio tunes into.
Nicely carefree (in that context, I feel you were right not to confine the poem into a sestina).
Did you have any particular concerns with the poem?
best
Phil
white-line led up the long,
languid rise
Liked the way the alliteration conveyed the mood.
listen to oldies, polka, cowboy stations—
whatever my car radio tunes into.
Nicely carefree (in that context, I feel you were right not to confine the poem into a sestina).
Did you have any particular concerns with the poem?
best
Phil
Re: 'Tis of Thee
Well the trip was short and intense. A lot of driving but I have always thought getting there is at least half of the experience. It has been so long since I've driven any distance thanks to covid that I felt uncertain behind the wheel for a good part of the trip. Certainly a poem about the giant redwoods will follow but a lot of processing must be done first.
Phil. you ask if there is anything that concerns me--yes there is: the following is loaded with clichés:
So, you ask, why not change them? I have fiddled and fiddled with alternatives but none seem as fitting. It's possible that the ghost of the sestina is asserting itself and I need to step away again. Or maybe in context some or all of them work. Feel free to comment.
Again to both of you Phil and Dave, I am happy you felt drawn to this enough to want to reread, Thank you.
Phil. you ask if there is anything that concerns me--yes there is: the following is loaded with clichés:
but the flight of wild geese, persistent grasses, sweep of shadows,
light and dark, the path of the sun—leading to a bittersweet end
at salt water, where gulls cry and the Pacific pounds out its rhythm,
where the way grows narrow and is lost among steep rocks.
So, you ask, why not change them? I have fiddled and fiddled with alternatives but none seem as fitting. It's possible that the ghost of the sestina is asserting itself and I need to step away again. Or maybe in context some or all of them work. Feel free to comment.
Again to both of you Phil and Dave, I am happy you felt drawn to this enough to want to reread, Thank you.
Re: 'Tis of Thee
IHi Linda,
I wouldn't use the word cliche for all of the language, phrasing or thought that you highlighted. In fact the only phrase that I would label as familiar is bittersweet end (which didn't fit with salt water)
best
Phil
I wouldn't use the word cliche for all of the language, phrasing or thought that you highlighted. In fact the only phrase that I would label as familiar is bittersweet end (which didn't fit with salt water)
Just some ideas.but the flight of geese, persistent grasses, sweep of shadows,
that disinterested path of sun—leading to a salt water end,
where gulls weep and the Pacific pounds out its rhythm,
where the way grows thin and dwindles among giddy rocks.
best
Phil
Re: 'Tis of Thee
Thank you Phil, you got my mind going out the the beaten path it was in I think this might be better:
original
It's the voice of the land that beckons, no longer manifest destiny
but the flight of wild geese, persistent grasses, sweep of shadows,
light and dark, the path of the sun—leading to a bittersweet end
at salt water, where gulls cry and the Pacific pounds out its rhythm,
where the way grows narrow and is lost among steep rocks.
But the spirit lifts to a sea-of-gathering: once again, a New World.
edit
It's the voice of the land that beckons, no longer manifest destiny
but the flight of geese, persistent grasses, sweep of shadows,
the sun's path leading to salt water where gulls wheel to pounding rhythms
of the Pacific and the road dwindles, finally lost among shoreline rocks.
But the spirit lifts to a sea-of-gathering: once again, a New World.
original
It's the voice of the land that beckons, no longer manifest destiny
but the flight of wild geese, persistent grasses, sweep of shadows,
light and dark, the path of the sun—leading to a bittersweet end
at salt water, where gulls cry and the Pacific pounds out its rhythm,
where the way grows narrow and is lost among steep rocks.
But the spirit lifts to a sea-of-gathering: once again, a New World.
edit
It's the voice of the land that beckons, no longer manifest destiny
but the flight of geese, persistent grasses, sweep of shadows,
the sun's path leading to salt water where gulls wheel to pounding rhythms
of the Pacific and the road dwindles, finally lost among shoreline rocks.
But the spirit lifts to a sea-of-gathering: once again, a New World.
Re: 'Tis of Thee
Yes, I agree Linda, I think that gear shifts the write down to the shoreline nicely.
Phil
Phil