[Maryann Corbett]

Moving Inland

The dulled beats, the dunes,
what the night creaks say:

Over, now, over,

have dunned us to silence;
have always been asking us
where we were going:

there's nowhere to go.

Winds wake us, wild
in the the night, saying:

shiver, now, shiver;

like moon-frosted dune-rake,
we're thinking of moving
inland for the winter;

there's nothing to do.

A question of seabirds
the wind took, says

gone, now, forever;

is asking us where
we were thinking of going
and why we are leaving.

We never will know,

only: dunned by the dull beats
(for waves will have answers),
like dunes in the moon-rake
we wind-waken, shivering;
shifting and settling,
silently moving inland.

We've no choice but to go.

[Jennifer Reeser]

How elusive a schooner of a poem, enjoyable for its casual aimlessness and obvious love of language for language's sake, the overall syntactical procrastination, exaggerated as it is with the re-arrangement of that motif: dune, moon, rake. Almost like a children's counting-out chant.

S5 -- wonderful, all those w's.

The moon-frosted dune rake is an arresting image, though I think "frosted" might make this less than it could be, derivative in light of its surroundings. Were this mine, I would strive for something less predictable.

You have a nice complexity going on there in the punctuated white spaces of gone, now, forever; / is asking us where

I distrust the speaker's coherence in the penultimate section, following the waves/answers line, though the flow and phrasing remain pretty for me.

Overall, this is a magnificent job of matching form to feeling, tone, texture and message, with weary watercolors.

[W.F. Lantry]

It's unusual these days to find a poem that speaks almost effortlessly and gracefully of what we used to call 'the human condition,' but this one does that for me.

The gentle delicacy I found so attractive here must have taken a significant amount of work. I found this elegant piece admirable.

Thanks,

Bill

[Cally Conan-Davies]

It's like a dream. Dream's sound and sense.

It's felt below consciousness, in the blood. It feels like consciousness dissolving and merging.

It makes me list and sigh.

Cally

[Petra Norr]

A lovely seaside lullaby, and especially song-like at the end. Cally described the poem well, and I found that when I read it things started surfacing in my mind, floating in like driftwood - everything from parts of children's books to aspects of prehistory. I take a special delight in poems that do that; it's an associative flow that accompanies the read. Once again: a very lovely poem.

[Martin Elster]

This is a berceuse, no question. One of my favorite poems for sound I've read lately. It's hypnotic like the ocean waves. The short anapestic lines have an interesting flow. I know who the poet is and this poem is quite representative of his/her style. (I remember when it was workshopped.)

[Tim Murphy]

Man, I missed this one. Has to be Wendy.

[Janice D. Soderling]

I haven't seen Wendy workshopping and I think that was a criterion--wasn't it?

This is a community celebration, so send poems that have been workshopped on the Sphere. What we'd like to see are your original poems workshopped on the Sphere in the past year.)

[Cally Conan-Davies]

I'm surprised some think this is a Wendy! It doesn't sound like Wendy music to me at all, but another music altogether.

If it turns out to be Wendy, I'll be doubly surprised!! Because the moment I entered the music, I was sure it was ... are we allowed to say, yet?? Anyway, it's someone with one of the most memorable 'voices' on the Sphere.

[Petra Norr]

I think this was written by a man who likes music.