The Med is a graveyard.

[JamesG]

I haven't posted, or indeed written anything, for a while, but this came to me unbidden today

All feedback welcome


The Med is a graveyard.



Crying underwater, salt mixes with the fresh,

an unholy alchemy, dissolving with the rest.

My body drifts

weighed down by the cloth I hold,

in my hands a funeral wreath,

a birthday suit, sodden, full of light.

The weeds, the sea-weeds

caress my puckered skin

they wrap me in their bladderwrack adoration

Gently flagellating, parting like the sad

Magician’s curtains, to reveal a host,

a flock of ragged tourists, floating just above the

grey, grey dance floor, dismal toes describing

arabesques through the silt of a thousand expeditions,

clasping their dreams to their chests like children.

Sometimes, just clasping,

their children.

Milk eyes stare in blank accusation

of my misremembered life

I never knew the sea, the sea

had so much hope and misery

buried deep down where

the salt and fresh collide.

[JohnS]

I haven't posted, or indeed written anything, for a while, but this came to me unbidden today

All feedback welcome


The Med is a graveyard.



Crying underwater, salt mixes with the fresh,

an unholy alchemy, dissolving with the rest.

My body drifts

weighed down by the cloth I hold,

in my hands a funeral wreath,

a birthday suit, sodden, full of light.

The weeds, the sea-weeds

caress my puckered skin

they wrap me in their bladderwrack adoration

Gently flagellating, parting like the sad

Magician’s curtains, to reveal a host,

a flock of ragged tourists, floating just above the

grey, grey dance floor, dismal toes describing

arabesques through the silt of a thousand expeditions,

clasping their dreams to their chests like children.

Sometimes, just clasping,

their children.

Milk eyes stare in blank accusation

of my misremembered life

I never knew the sea, the sea

had so much hope and misery

buried deep down where

the salt and fresh collide.

Hi,

I'm sure someone more qualified than I will be along to give you a more informed critique, but in the meantime I have a few comments:

I don't get the salt mixing with fresh, or colliding, situation which seems to be crux of the poem. 

I've read the poem a few times and whilst it reads well, I think, I'm struggling with some of the detail. This body sinking into the sea is holding a funeral wreath and also, it seems, a cloth. I had assumed the body was enclosed in cloth, but the next few lines reject that impression - birthday suit, puckered skin.

The description of the seaweed and the sea floor with the tourist bodies is very effective.

I'm clearly too thick to grasp the meaning, but I hope some of this helps.

[JamesG]

I haven't posted, or indeed written anything, for a while, but this came to me unbidden today

All feedback welcome


The Med is a graveyard.



Crying underwater, salt mixes with the fresh,

an unholy alchemy, dissolving with the rest.

My body drifts

weighed down by the cloth I hold,

in my hands a funeral wreath,

a birthday suit, sodden, full of light.

The weeds, the sea-weeds

caress my puckered skin

they wrap me in their bladderwrack adoration

Gently flagellating, parting like the sad

Magician’s curtains, to reveal a host,

a flock of ragged tourists, floating just above the

grey, grey dance floor, dismal toes describing

arabesques through the silt of a thousand expeditions,

clasping their dreams to their chests like children.

Sometimes, just clasping,

their children.

Milk eyes stare in blank accusation

of my misremembered life

I never knew the sea, the sea

had so much hope and misery

buried deep down where

the salt and fresh collide.

Hi,

I'm sure someone more qualified than I will be along to give you a more informed critique, but in the meantime I have a few comments:

I don't get the salt mixing with fresh, or colliding, situation which seems to be crux of the poem. 

I've read the poem a few times and whilst it reads well, I think, I'm struggling with some of the detail. This body sinking into the sea is holding a funeral wreath and also, it seems, a cloth. I had assumed the body was enclosed in cloth, but the next few lines reject that impression - birthday suit, puckered skin.

The description of the seaweed and the sea floor with the tourist bodies is very effective.

I'm clearly too thick to grasp the meaning, but I hope some of this helps.

I doubt it has anything to do with your intelligence and more with my wilful obscurity :0)

The poem was inspired by a thought that came to me, as they do, of whether it is possible to cry underwater, and thinking about how salt tears would dissolve or dissipate in a greater body, like a river flowing into the ocean. However, I guess that would be the other way around, as that would be fresh water into salt. That then fed into my own thoughts surrounding the many migrants that have died, men, women, and children, crossing the Mediterranean in the hope of a new life, which I guess creates another reading of the metaphor for the salt and the fresh.

[wasellajam]

Hi, James, welcome back! Please don't forget to leave some feedback for others.
You've got some great images here, some notes on my read:

I haven't posted, or indeed written anything, for a while, but this came to me unbidden today

All feedback welcome


The Med is a graveyard.



Crying underwater, salt mixes with the fresh,

an unholy alchemy, dissolving with the rest.

My body drifts

weighed down by the cloth I hold,

in my hands a funeral wreath,

a birthday suit, sodden, full of light.
Here I have a nude, dead body holding the wreath, a strong image. I'm lost on the "cloth" and how it's held.

The weeds, the sea-weeds
Now I see I have resolved L1 as "salt" being tears and "fresh" meaning lake or river incorrectly, we're in the sea. "Med" in the title is Mediterranean? Both sear and tears are salty, where is the fresh water?

caress my puckered skin

they wrap me in their bladderwrack adoration

Gently flagellating, parting like the sad

Magician’s curtains, to reveal a host,
"The weeds...curtains" a clear, interesting image, "bladderwrack" is new to me, thanks.

a flock of ragged tourists, floating just above the

grey, grey dance floor, dismal toes describing
Not a fan of the double grey or dismal toes.

arabesques through the silt of a thousand expeditions,
Lovely line.

clasping their dreams to their chests like children.
I'm not buying "like children", do they cherish their dreams while they're young?

Sometimes, just clasping,

their children.
I think these 3 lines could use a tweak, I could do without the comma after clasping.

Milk eyes stare in blank accusation

of my misremembered life
I'm taking milk eyes as children, these lines sitting well.

I never knew the sea, the sea

had so much hope and misery
hope and misery, ugh. Also, I'm not getting much hope anywhere in the poem.

buried deep down where

the salt and fresh collide.
Nice circle if I had made sense of the first line.

This poem was fun to read, I hope my notes help in some way, thanks for posting it.

[JamesG]

Hi, James, welcome back! Please don't forget to leave some feedback for others.
You've got some great images here, some notes on my read:

I haven't posted, or indeed written anything, for a while, but this came to me unbidden today

All feedback welcome


The Med is a graveyard.



Crying underwater, salt mixes with the fresh,

an unholy alchemy, dissolving with the rest.

My body drifts

weighed down by the cloth I hold,

in my hands a funeral wreath,

a birthday suit, sodden, full of light.
Here I have a nude, dead body holding the wreath, a strong image. I'm lost on the "cloth" and how it's held.

The weeds, the sea-weeds
Now I see I have resolved L1 as "salt" being tears and "fresh" meaning lake or river incorrectly, we're in the sea. "Med" in the title is Mediterranean? Both sear and tears are salty, where is the fresh water? 
Yeah, I am aware that this "salt and fresh, doesn't entirely make a whole lot of sense. I may have to rethink and reword it. The original idea came from the idea of mixing salt tears with fresh water, which doesn't really work if the subject is already in the sea (the Med)

caress my puckered skin

they wrap me in their bladderwrack adoration

Gently flagellating, parting like the sad

Magician’s curtains, to reveal a host,
"The weeds...curtains" a clear, interesting image, "bladderwrack" is new to me, thanks.

a flock of ragged tourists, floating just above the

grey, grey dance floor, dismal toes describing
Not a fan of the double grey or dismal toes.
I'll look at this, although I am a fan of repetition

arabesques through the silt of a thousand expeditions,
Lovely line.

clasping their dreams to their chests like children.
I'm not buying "like children", do they cherish their dreams while they're young?
I guess that isn't clear; it is meant to be as if they were clasping their hopes and dreams as if they were children to their breasts.  

Sometimes, just clasping,

their children.
I think these 3 lines could use a tweak, I could do without the comma after clasping.
Yes I would agree

Milk eyes stare in blank accusation

of my misremembered life
I'm taking milk eyes as children, these lines sitting well.

I never knew the sea, the sea

had so much hope and misery
hope and misery, ugh. Also, I'm not getting much hope anywhere in the poem.
 
Not too sure about that "hope and misery" bit, seems a bit obvious 
buried deep down where

the salt and fresh collide.
Nice circle if I had made sense of the first line.

This poem was fun to read, I hope my notes help in some way, thanks for posting it.