I am happy to say that I was talking to the poetry editor of Takahe magazine at a poetry reading last night, and asked him about his definition of "previously unpublished". I've now established that it's OK for me to submit poems that have been on my blog. Some journals won't accept them. Since Takahe is the only literary journal that has ever published my poems, I now know I can post my poems here and still have at least one possible place to submit them. (Being on the staff probably helps - I do the accounts).
This poem was inspired by a number of things I saw in one particular week. I thought the fence photo showed the name of the fence strainers, but when I checked it didn't show up. Strainrite is the brand name.
(Poem taken down for publication reasons)
31 comments:
That is one horrific scarecrow. I wouldn't like that in my visual range.
Good poem, I like the imagery.
It was quite a cool scarecrow a couple of years back before the face got all ripped. I have some photos of it somewhere, I think.
This is a really unique perspective on the fence. Nice work.
Great opening line followed by an equally delightful poem.
I like the line about the hillside paired with woman's confidence. Fences keep things out, but also in and safe.
I like the poem especially the opening but don't like the scarecrow at all! Wouldn't want to stumble across that on a dark night!
Excellent, excellent poem.
This is a great poem. I thought it could go even further with the idea of separation. I love the lettuce in the moonlight.
"a woman's confidence"
Just such a perfect line. Having gone over and under many a barbed wire fence, I get that.
I have to agree with Cynthia.
a woman’s confidence.
is a truly perfect line. It took the poem to another place and touched the spot in all women that does warn to look over your shoulder when you feel unprotected.
I like the title and how the fence divides the paddock and the garden, the contrast of what we see now and what is being planted in the dark that will grow and feed us in the future. Very nice!
My favourite part is your description of the hillside as guard to lens, string, pocket knife, and a woman's confidence. The metaphors are all wonderful, I really enjoyed reading this.
Being a girl who loves safe fences...I must say I adore this poem! Bravo.
"It guards lost things
in its long grass skirts –
a ball of string, a pocket knife,
the lens cap for a camera,
a woman’s confidence."
These lines make the poem, all else revolves around them. Well done!
this is really great - "who doesn't love a wall" or fence, in this instance? It made me think of the outdoor horse paddocks at the stables where I ride. The horses won't come within inches of the electric wire. Your photo is great too: so creepy looking.
Lovely poem and very scary scarecrow. Like the bike :)
That's a terrific poem. As for the scarecrow? He scares me!
Concur with the others about the catalogue that sets up that great line "a woman's confidence." All that ordinary, concrete detail, and then that really big, billowy, ineffable noun. Yes.
so, since I'm arriving so late to PT this week I suppose it's only natural that I'm feeling a bit redundant in my praise.
but, wow, there is something really provocative about the idea of a fence guarding the lost "woman's confidence" and the word interplay between "paddock and garden" creating such a great contrast that really somehow resonates with me.
You had me with the title and kept me fascinated all the way. I loved the build up to "a woman's confidence".
Lurvely. A wonderful read. Thanks for the info on what "previously unpublished" might mean. I've always wondered. My solution is to clearly say when submitting that the piece has been on my blog.
I love this - the way the woman is the fence between the description of the strainer and the garden in the moonlight. The planting lettuces in the dark is the line I loved the most. I've often looked at fence strainers and thought they'd make a good poem. Couldn't top this one! (Wasn't the fence strainer invented by a NZer?)
i love this...
what a great perspective!
YES! That image of a woman planting lettuces in the dark...that leapt out at me too. Good poems, to me, either tell stories ( often just a glimpse, an image) but sometimes they START stories in our heads...this one does. Why was she planting in the dark? Was she escaping from something? Was she thinking about something else? WAs she wallowing in private happiness or a lonesome sadness?
Liked it very much Catherine and look forward to more.
Great imagery. I did not find the scarecrow..well..scary. I felt it suits the poem and real life is like that. Er...people without their masks.
gautami
Meditating for being one with you
I figured you were psychic last week. :-)
I really like this poem as well, especially with the photos to accompany it.
I have been perusing your blog - fantastic photography of the 'ordinary things'. Love your poem. The picture with the scarecrow is my idea of a fantastic garden :) Here via Michele's today! Oh yes, love the Corgis!! We have bronze pigs in our mall - not sure what they're signifying! :)
Nice imagery--and I like the picture of the camming device on the fence--I've wondered about using stuff I've put up on the web for publication, but have always assumed that anything I submit, if it was on my blog, would only be partial and would be reworked for publication in print. Michele says hi
I have to admit that I liked the beginning much better than the end -- maybe a bit fresher? But that scarecrow is creepy, that's for sure.
I, too especially liked "a woman’s confidence"--even more because of the lead "in its long grass skirts –" and the separation of those two lines by what I initially read as more masculine artifacts (well, maybe not the lens cap--but they are, as Jim said, concrete. I felt a crispness with the bs and ps and mostly single syllables in them)
And the ratchet-device photo is nice! Keeps me wanting to chat on about all the imagery and ideas.
Love your poem. As others have said, the list of things being protected by the fence is wonderful and the idea that the fence is straining (from the brand of the ratchetty-thing) is unsettling.
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