10-22-2013, 05:17 PM
Hi Todd,
Initially i thought that perhaps you had jumped the gun by going straight into the editing process but now actually I think not and i am glad you did.
I did go away and have another play with the line shuffling thing (quite extensivly !), but the end result was that i decided that am happier to go with the 1st draft than with any of the later productions. So the exercise was still a worthwhile thing to do because I have now tried some of the other options and decided that the initial approach was best anyway.
Below is the 2nd choice for a draft, not much to call between them (just an addition to the last stanza). Believe it or not I did completly dismantled the poem and tried a couple of radical changes neither of which I liked.
See below for a sample of some of the stanza changes that were rejected.
2nd draft (think I prefer without the additions but will be interested to hear your views)
The mother tree lives in the wild woods,
on the ridges of the Tian Shan mountains,
where Eternity is firmly planted
in each unique apple seed.
In the beginning
the sound of falling apples
was echoed in the thunder clouds
gathered over the pommice pits .
De-fleshed a core of potential
is tossed aside by tourists,
rough strewn between the rocks and roots,
amongst the leafy shadows that rustle underfoot.
Others have fallen on foreign shores;
they die of dehydration
in worm infested papaya sheets.
Golden streams trace the forest floor,
trampled by an army of willing arms
that wait on the descent to do the trade.
Once firm flesh is pierced and cut.
Crushed, the goodness oozes out;
piquant it drips from parted lips,
concentrated drops of guilt.
A wooden migration that illuminates
the trail from here to there.
“Here” is Alma-Atta.
where the mountains are snow covered,
and the final event is a mobius strip
of pale, blushing blooms tinged
with the scented ferment of declining wealth.
The air, crisp and clear, crunches with sound
pregnant with life as the harvest
beds itself in with frog popping fruit drops.
Into the foothills of civilization
Ambassadors are sent,
three eared hares
that offer the logged logos.
From the fecund heart,
thickets of outstretched limbs
radiate out in all directions.
Soon the mountains of Tian-Shan will shake
to the sound of green shoots
bursting though Eden’s gates.
Abandoned stanza options
Life branched out along
an ancient trade fair way,
the girth of the Eastern globe.
Significant to every step,
the apple tree
sends ambassadors
into the foothills of civilisation;
three eared hares,
that dance with outstretched limbs
logged logos from the Father’s arms.
Family branches of immigrants,
subtle shades of the perfect blue print
are planted on some distant shores.
Where embossed impressions,
left by three eared hares, with tales
of fruit wood migration,
illuminate the trail from here to there.
Feel more comfotable with what is down so far and ready to edit the crap out of it...or perhaps it needs to sit for a while?
Lead on, I think you are doing a fantastic job.
Initially i thought that perhaps you had jumped the gun by going straight into the editing process but now actually I think not and i am glad you did.
I did go away and have another play with the line shuffling thing (quite extensivly !), but the end result was that i decided that am happier to go with the 1st draft than with any of the later productions. So the exercise was still a worthwhile thing to do because I have now tried some of the other options and decided that the initial approach was best anyway.
Below is the 2nd choice for a draft, not much to call between them (just an addition to the last stanza). Believe it or not I did completly dismantled the poem and tried a couple of radical changes neither of which I liked.
See below for a sample of some of the stanza changes that were rejected.
2nd draft (think I prefer without the additions but will be interested to hear your views)
The mother tree lives in the wild woods,
on the ridges of the Tian Shan mountains,
where Eternity is firmly planted
in each unique apple seed.
In the beginning
the sound of falling apples
was echoed in the thunder clouds
gathered over the pommice pits .
De-fleshed a core of potential
is tossed aside by tourists,
rough strewn between the rocks and roots,
amongst the leafy shadows that rustle underfoot.
Others have fallen on foreign shores;
they die of dehydration
in worm infested papaya sheets.
Golden streams trace the forest floor,
trampled by an army of willing arms
that wait on the descent to do the trade.
Once firm flesh is pierced and cut.
Crushed, the goodness oozes out;
piquant it drips from parted lips,
concentrated drops of guilt.
A wooden migration that illuminates
the trail from here to there.
“Here” is Alma-Atta.
where the mountains are snow covered,
and the final event is a mobius strip
of pale, blushing blooms tinged
with the scented ferment of declining wealth.
The air, crisp and clear, crunches with sound
pregnant with life as the harvest
beds itself in with frog popping fruit drops.
Into the foothills of civilization
Ambassadors are sent,
three eared hares
that offer the logged logos.
From the fecund heart,
thickets of outstretched limbs
radiate out in all directions.
Soon the mountains of Tian-Shan will shake
to the sound of green shoots
bursting though Eden’s gates.
Abandoned stanza options
Life branched out along
an ancient trade fair way,
the girth of the Eastern globe.
Significant to every step,
the apple tree
sends ambassadors
into the foothills of civilisation;
three eared hares,
that dance with outstretched limbs
logged logos from the Father’s arms.
Family branches of immigrants,
subtle shades of the perfect blue print
are planted on some distant shores.
Where embossed impressions,
left by three eared hares, with tales
of fruit wood migration,
illuminate the trail from here to there.
Feel more comfotable with what is down so far and ready to edit the crap out of it...or perhaps it needs to sit for a while?
Lead on, I think you are doing a fantastic job.