for Celebrated Man2/12/2007 c1 
7The Breakdancing Ninja
[Behinds closed eyes] *behind.
It's weird, but when most people describe death, they discolorize everything or make it wilt or melt or something like that. What THIS poem does with death is it synthesizes it through things that can't and will never be alive. It also takes away ownership. Like, because you are not alive, you cannot squat on the plot of land that used to be your life.
It's everyone else's now. To take, shape, form, create.
And I think that's the hapless tragedy of this poem (not tragedy, as in, the poem made a mistake, but the actual sadness in this poem). We don't feel sorry that he's dead, we don't know him-and THAT'S the sad part.
Like every generic funeral, you have your beginning, middles and end, all black, flowers, photos, casket. Most of which do not move, as the poem explicitly states.
The only place he is still alive is in the photo where he "smiles" and "lies" (as in, supinely, not as in, fibbing) and behind his own eyes in a lonely world-these two places are things people cannot change. His physical image and manifestation can't be reconfigured, because he is and was. Everything else can, though. His memories, everything.
It's sad, but it's sort of like a birthday party with no food and no people-you celebrate in a world all your own. It's creepy how this poem is -called- "The Celebrated Man", because nothing about the poem celebrates, the topic isn't something to celebrate, and none of the descriptions even INFER that any celebrating or recollection of what a great man he was is going to ensue. We just know that nothing moves, nothing belongs to him, and all that moves doesn't invite.
A dismal poem, simple and unadorned, but I enjoyed it again, even on its second read.
7The Breakdancing Ninja[Behinds closed eyes] *behind.
It's weird, but when most people describe death, they discolorize everything or make it wilt or melt or something like that. What THIS poem does with death is it synthesizes it through things that can't and will never be alive. It also takes away ownership. Like, because you are not alive, you cannot squat on the plot of land that used to be your life.
It's everyone else's now. To take, shape, form, create.
And I think that's the hapless tragedy of this poem (not tragedy, as in, the poem made a mistake, but the actual sadness in this poem). We don't feel sorry that he's dead, we don't know him-and THAT'S the sad part.
Like every generic funeral, you have your beginning, middles and end, all black, flowers, photos, casket. Most of which do not move, as the poem explicitly states.
The only place he is still alive is in the photo where he "smiles" and "lies" (as in, supinely, not as in, fibbing) and behind his own eyes in a lonely world-these two places are things people cannot change. His physical image and manifestation can't be reconfigured, because he is and was. Everything else can, though. His memories, everything.
It's sad, but it's sort of like a birthday party with no food and no people-you celebrate in a world all your own. It's creepy how this poem is -called- "The Celebrated Man", because nothing about the poem celebrates, the topic isn't something to celebrate, and none of the descriptions even INFER that any celebrating or recollection of what a great man he was is going to ensue. We just know that nothing moves, nothing belongs to him, and all that moves doesn't invite.
A dismal poem, simple and unadorned, but I enjoyed it again, even on its second read.
12/4/2006 c1 7Ssinjin Nilah
Hello!
I thought your imagery especially in this was beautiful and moving. the picture produced in my mind's eye really made me feel sorry for the so called Celebrated Man. words like the black oak, and dirty glass, etc worked to produce this.
your repetition is effective as well, by using the same sentence structure after another, and the use of the word move really helps the poem flow.
I think if there was a pattern, and if the second verse had four lines like all the others, this would help make your poem better.
good job, I really enjoyed this.
7Ssinjin NilahHello!
I thought your imagery especially in this was beautiful and moving. the picture produced in my mind's eye really made me feel sorry for the so called Celebrated Man. words like the black oak, and dirty glass, etc worked to produce this.
your repetition is effective as well, by using the same sentence structure after another, and the use of the word move really helps the poem flow.
I think if there was a pattern, and if the second verse had four lines like all the others, this would help make your poem better.
good job, I really enjoyed this.
9/24/2006 c1 1JDWrites
Sad. Very, very sad to me. Then it's also a sort of relief. Like he's not supposed to be there. He's someplace else...but we're not shown that someplace and it's sad in that sense, not that he's gone, but that we can't see where he went. Maybe I'm just ranting and I don't know what I'm talking about. I tried to disguise my poem about death but somebody (TODD!) had to go off in his review and tell everybody exactly what I meant...but I love him for it. Haha...anyways, this is a good poem but that last line, I dunno, whenever I read it out loud it just seems a bit awkward.
You say at the beginning of the last stanza that nothing moves, so when you say he doesn't move it's like it's a little redundant. But that's okay I guess. It was like I was there, like I was sitting on the floor watching everyone moving around me and then...time stopped...and everyone was gone. Like in those creepy old movies...like in The Shining...what a cool movie that was.
I liked it though, I think it's special. Like it has it's own touch of brillance that comes from the heart of a poet. Not just a writer, a POET.
Gaki
1JDWritesSad. Very, very sad to me. Then it's also a sort of relief. Like he's not supposed to be there. He's someplace else...but we're not shown that someplace and it's sad in that sense, not that he's gone, but that we can't see where he went. Maybe I'm just ranting and I don't know what I'm talking about. I tried to disguise my poem about death but somebody (TODD!) had to go off in his review and tell everybody exactly what I meant...but I love him for it. Haha...anyways, this is a good poem but that last line, I dunno, whenever I read it out loud it just seems a bit awkward.
You say at the beginning of the last stanza that nothing moves, so when you say he doesn't move it's like it's a little redundant. But that's okay I guess. It was like I was there, like I was sitting on the floor watching everyone moving around me and then...time stopped...and everyone was gone. Like in those creepy old movies...like in The Shining...what a cool movie that was.
I liked it though, I think it's special. Like it has it's own touch of brillance that comes from the heart of a poet. Not just a writer, a POET.
Gaki