All entries for Thursday 22 October 2009

October 22, 2009

Murdering Ophelia

This week I had to rewrite my first assignment and incorporate random words into it based on the idea of meaninglessness presented in a comic strip yadda yadda yadda. Basically...I vaguely adhered. The initial poem...um, it's right the way down the bottom of the 'blog', titled 'Their Rhetoric' was already fairly obscure so I wanted to basically do a whole rewrite. So, here follows...ANOTHER fairly obscure poem! Yay...

I was interested in the way that literary critics project meaning through history, so I thought that if I associate my poem with a literary history, its abstruse syntax and lack of progression would be inately attributed with a 'meaning'. I was going to go with a more obscure literary history than that of Ophelia (I was toying with playing with the Casabianca legend but I want to devote more time to that and I don't think I can do Hemans nor Bishop justice), but because Ophelia is a character who has herself been distorted both in the play itself and in the cultural shadow of Hamlet's monster I thought that she would be an appropriate victim of a loose betrayal.

So, ignore all that because here is my poem, OEIAphl, illustrated SHOCKINGLY not by Millais but by Mikhal Vrubel. I know! CRAZY, huh?

Vrubel



Emphatically frozen,
ringlets rank his combats.

The gasp of fashion roars
formless that fades-clear mould.

Frailty! Mock still their prince,
dart youth-age cold artillery.

(HE SLEEPACHES. THEY STARTLE.
HE CURDLES. THEY CRADLE.)

Romance binds those flowers
stuck in fainter applause

for that sham-shackle show
hidden, like the ash blooms.

Oh, it showers! It flusters
those reckless libertines.

(CATCH THE CONSCIENCE COMFORT.
SULLY THAT TOO,TOO FLESH.)

Ill aims feign floating up,
outstretching whorish palms

as if placed in perfect
suicidal beauty,

outraged dry. Dramatic
dreams of decay. Oh, rue.

(HE SHOUTS FORTY THOUSAND.
THEY MIST THE PRELUDE.)

Ink drowns sweets to the sweet.
Paler now, ghost ridden

frozen corpsed dalliance
a wistful necro-treat;

the stars are fire. Melt them
the steep and thorny way.

(THEY STARTLE SOME STAR-PICKED
DELINQUENT DREAM. SUFFER

THAT SILENCE. THAT SILENCE.)



October 2009

Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su
|  Today  | Nov
         1 2 3 4
5 6 7 8 9 10 11
12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25
26 27 28 29 30 31   

Search this blog

Tags

Most recent comments

  • Cool for cats. Not so much for dogs. by Inhelm on this entry
  • Are you waiting for the ombudsman? by Inhelm on this entry
  • Indeed. I don't need a parachute Baby if I've got you I don't need a parachute Not at all, if you ca… by Inhelm on this entry
  • I watched "The Undercover Princesses" on playback TV and found it quite entertaining. The princesses… by Sue on this entry
  • I knew you'd disagree, William Grove. Sometimes I feel like your vehicle and it's not an Aston Marti… by Sue on this entry

Blog archive

Loading…
Not signed in
Sign in

Powered by BlogBuilder
© MMXX