As Gabriela Struggles to Apply Significance: A Response
Eileen,
Having read your poem, 'imbibed' it even, I am presented with myriad questions. What was the intention? Is it something of manifold meanings?
The old civilization, the beauty transcendent, this marble columned and cultured jewel. Such was Rome resplendent; but in the same instant she is a victim of her own decadence: excess. Her failing was found in the bitter dregs. 'Ill-designed' were these capsules and cases and 'ill-intentioned' what they wrought in the heavy-handed and flushed countenance of her demise. It is ironic considering the Roman revels themselves that the very downfall of the city would be through an alcohol-encouraged barbarity.
This fact seemed to me the fulcrum upon which the body of the poem turned, but I wonder at your own thoughts, your own singular notions that color the words. Is this the story of civilization? Gabriela seems like so many, in that she is doomed to the same wheel, the same cycle and inevitable conclusion. She seems to lament this fact, wistful but not hopeless. In becoming the poet, she perceives the cycle, but is at odds to break it through her actions. Indeed, she 'exhales' and manifests those who came before, those few 'rebels' who beat their hands bloody upon the face of history.
It reminded me of a lone woman standing in the sea with her arms spread wide, as if she might by the slightness of her body alone bid the tide cease its motion. History catalogues the death and barbarity, the rude travesty of mankind like a bruise. There are many forms of 'alcohol', many forms of deception, whether they are disguised or quaffed by someone full-knowing. I, myself, have always been of the opinion that there is nothing in alcohol that was not already in humankind; the drink does not change so much as expose what lies beneath the surface.
And the question remains poignant, the answer elusive. What is it that remains of any great empire, western or eastern, save the broken fragments of turriculae? The pottery is often the first thing exhumed, often a testament to an invasion and that self-same cycle of civilization, the rise and fall. Broken shards, broken dreams... lives broken in the beating tide.
Having read your poem, 'imbibed' it even, I am presented with myriad questions. What was the intention? Is it something of manifold meanings?
The old civilization, the beauty transcendent, this marble columned and cultured jewel. Such was Rome resplendent; but in the same instant she is a victim of her own decadence: excess. Her failing was found in the bitter dregs. 'Ill-designed' were these capsules and cases and 'ill-intentioned' what they wrought in the heavy-handed and flushed countenance of her demise. It is ironic considering the Roman revels themselves that the very downfall of the city would be through an alcohol-encouraged barbarity.
This fact seemed to me the fulcrum upon which the body of the poem turned, but I wonder at your own thoughts, your own singular notions that color the words. Is this the story of civilization? Gabriela seems like so many, in that she is doomed to the same wheel, the same cycle and inevitable conclusion. She seems to lament this fact, wistful but not hopeless. In becoming the poet, she perceives the cycle, but is at odds to break it through her actions. Indeed, she 'exhales' and manifests those who came before, those few 'rebels' who beat their hands bloody upon the face of history.
It reminded me of a lone woman standing in the sea with her arms spread wide, as if she might by the slightness of her body alone bid the tide cease its motion. History catalogues the death and barbarity, the rude travesty of mankind like a bruise. There are many forms of 'alcohol', many forms of deception, whether they are disguised or quaffed by someone full-knowing. I, myself, have always been of the opinion that there is nothing in alcohol that was not already in humankind; the drink does not change so much as expose what lies beneath the surface.
And the question remains poignant, the answer elusive. What is it that remains of any great empire, western or eastern, save the broken fragments of turriculae? The pottery is often the first thing exhumed, often a testament to an invasion and that self-same cycle of civilization, the rise and fall. Broken shards, broken dreams... lives broken in the beating tide.
posted by David Humes at 1:26 AM
1 Comments:
Hi David--
This is fascinating. Good questions, couched in poetic prose. I'm not sure if you realize, but you do know Eileen is something of an internationally acclaimed activist for Filipino arts and voice, right?--and Filipino history is checkered with imperialist abuses. I would revise/go over it once more here at the blog, and if I were you and then just go ahead and email a copy to Eileen (ertabios@aol.com) and see if/or what she responds. She's very generous in her views and communications with poets and students.
Best Wishes,
Chris Murray
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