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Post by Velata on Mar 10, 2006 18:49:26 GMT -5
... May I...?
Amazing, the next challenge is at hand... so quickly, so suddenly...So interestingly...
All right. I believe I will attempt to write something to meet Corrusader's challenge. This is what I understand: rhyming couplets; each line in iambs; tetrameter in this example. (Do you want us to follow the tetrameter form as well?)
Also: What would constitute as having a "fantasy feeling"?
I'll see what I can do.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ For Ill-formed Quest:
The interesting thing about this poem, of course, is that it follows a conversation. Few poets attempt to complete a poem formed entirely by dialogues. One of the reason is that the context will be obscured - if not lost - without any outward help. In this case, we thankfully do have some external clues as to the proceedings of the poem. This approach certainly makes the poem interesting, but it does become tedious to read the "linear notes" every time. It also prevents the peom itself to stand alone.
Having said that, there are other form and conventional problems that I wish to bring forth to Corrsuader's attention... nothing serious, of course. Just some background information.
Old English was spoken in iambs; this makes the language much more melodic than how it is usually spoken now. Some linguists have taken the time to decipher just which meter was best suited for speech. Their result, after judiciously studying poems of different meters over the ages, was the iambic pentameter. The tetrameter was thought to be too short, and often not enough to fully carry a thought across, and the hexameter was considered to be too long for speaking purposes. Therefore, it becomes rather interesting to see a "conversational piece" done in tetrameter. The sentences do not flow quite as well, and definately not quite as natural.
I understand that Corrusader is not a fan of Shakespeare, however, his plays were written in iambic pentameter, whether they rhymed or not (some of his historical plays were written in rhyme, if I do not recollect falsely). In this situation, perhaps it might prove to be of some inspiration for Corrusader to revisit the English master to see what was done before.
While we are on the topic of meters, I do believe I found a few lines where the meters were a little off. Line 5: The 'a' in "above" is ususally not stressed in speech, and therefore breaks the iambic pattern. Line 6: There are 9 syllables. Line 15: "Betrayal" is funny, because the speech quality makes it a word of 2 1/2 syllables; you'll need 3. Line 16: Same with the world "portrayal". Line 19: Sounds like there are only 7 syllables here. Line 23: There are 9 syllables.
On the stylistics, there are a few sentences that do not make grammatical sense (perhaps due to the meter restrictions mentioned above). Lines 7 & 8 should speak something very profound, and painful to Tarajan, but right now, it sounds more garbled and confused. Lines 11 & 12 also has some grammatical problems so that the sentence(s) do not make literal sense. And line 22 has a semantics-related problem: usually, we free a conscience, not a "conscious".
I hope I haven't butchered the piece up too badly. However, I believe there are rooms for improvement.
Good luck, Corrusader, for I hope to see a polished up version of this piece soon!
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Post by Corrusader on Mar 11, 2006 0:02:13 GMT -5
Ill-formed Quest is meant to be a continuation to the original, an extension, part 2. Because of the cliffhanger/puzzle left at the end of Justice of the night about the zombie lark. Perhaps to future readers I'll show the two poems together and it'll make better sense.
I fixed the problems with the syllables, thanks a lot. I can't believe I missed so many o.O The 'a' in above is weird, because I thought I had it right.. Religion stays above all else Re-li-gion (unstressed, stressed, unstressed) stays (stressed) above (unstressed, stressed) all (unstressed) else (stressed). Do the sentences have to begin with a stressed syllable?
Betrayal and portrayal are funny too because my dictionary said they're 3 syllables. What does everyone else think?
Conscience was the word I was thinking of, thanks a lot.
I wrote in tetrameter because I wanted to be different (heh) but you can choose to do whatever you want. Pentameter is fine. Fantasy feel is pretty much anything that happened in the medival setting. Probably involve quests, magic, and fantasy creatures. I think the medival setting is most important, you don't have to have quests ect.
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Post by Advent Childhe on Mar 15, 2006 16:18:16 GMT -5
Greetings:
Wow. Long time no post eh? Let us get down to business.
Martinis, Shaken Well... this is certainly modern, it give one that sort of James Bond party feeling. Its not just because of the title, I assure you. Its the fact that the piece describes a situation where nothing is as it seems, but every one knows the game that is being played. I believe the first two lines said it best - "Vodka to crystal/crystal clear, like the lies".
There is this tension between the narrator and the other person. It describes, with an elegant metaphore, the age olde game of "getting the girl drunk so i can have my way with her." Ah... but what wonders there are on the surface of things... The metaphores are nice. The man is a manipulative musician; musicians use their fingers and tools to operate their craft. The narrator (vicitim) is an actress... who is in the distress of forgetting her cues... it is an interesting reading in the sense that they are already playing the preformance even before "the curtain rises" which as obvious sensual connotations to it.. but is also... ironic in a way. Overall.. its ambience lends to the reading.
I must here dissagree with Velata on certain points. This is free form, so no garbling to say. Artistic Lisencing is powerful! The free form here adds to the feeling of the proverbial "game". (NB: for more about the Game, please consult Barry) The rythem gets caught near the end, but can be seen as a representation of the Narrator's own incoherence due to influence. This can, in short, be seen as an example of sympathetic narration.... as I call it (grin).
Nightmare was bad.
The idea was good. I thank you, Amit for the inspiration, and I thank Corrusader for the good comments. Diction, flow, and language wise, the poem was probably one of the roughest that I have done. Mind, I was under quite a lot of physical stress during the holidays (grin) pardon me!
(grin) More comments from me later.
For the Riptide Project, Advent Childhe,
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Post by Advent Childhe on Mar 16, 2006 0:38:05 GMT -5
Greetings:
This is my attempt at prose. (sorry Amit)
¡§See¡Klook. Over there.¡¨ The olde man said as he nervously pointed at the two solemn figures beyond the musty glass of the window. They had walked slowly out on to the street and they stood there amongst the currents of the afternoon crowd. The wind seemed to have picked up a bit of speed, and the skies seemed to have darkened in this instant. ¡§You see them? Them¡K with the umbrellas? Huh?¡¨ The olde man continued to point at them.
I nodded to shut him up. The acrid breath of his mouth smelt of cheap alcohol and it was not conducive to my thought processes. The skies have darkened more as I observed the two figures. Around them, the people were looking to the clouds that were gathering above them and they scurried for cover. The winds swept up a few hapless pages of the daily news, and the first few drops of rain met their demise on the streets.
¡§Heh heheh¡K¡¨ the olde man clutched at my arm. His sarcastic laugh sounded like he was choking on some discarded food. ¡§Look¡K they are running from the rain¡K.Heh heheheh¡K if they only knew.¡¨
The rain was a gentle spatter on the street. Within a few short moments, the streets were wet and small pools of the cool liquid collected on sidewalks. A few stragglers ran for cover with their bags over their heads. We all feared for a great storm that seemed to wait beyond these grey clouds above. I removed the olde man¡¦s hand from my shoulder and turned my attention towards the only two figures that were standing in the rain.
The man had opened his umbrella to shelter both himself and the woman he was with. Through the light screen of rain and mist I could see his face. His long face and sharp features gave him an air of power. I could tell that beneath his long coat was a sprite and agile body. However, there was sadness in his eyes. They were as grey as the skies above and they looked into the distance at no objects in particular. Rain bounced noisily off of every surface on the street, but for those entranced by those eyes, these sounds were non-existent. They seemed to look at nothing in our world. They looked to things in the past; they looked to memories filled with regret ¡V events that changed people in ways that they didn¡¦t want to be changed.
The olde man hacked as if his lungs had dislocated within his ribcage, and finally produced some thick yellowish phlegm from his innards which he spat out noisily. It was disgusting, but it did tear me away from that man¡¦s eyes. I closed my own eyes and steeled myself. There were still things that I could not easily fight against. I must keep that in mind.
I turned my attention to the woman. The rain had increased in its intensity and moisture crept upon the glass to obscure my sight. The fog was like a ghost that I cannot be rid of; no matter how much I had wiped the glass pane clean the fog would always return to haunt my visions. Through the incessant screen of vapour I could see her but vaguely. Her blond hair was the only thing of colour that I could see through the mist and the cloud burst. There was a different aura about her, I could sense it. She seemed to be there and not there at the same time. Perhaps it was the mist playing games with my eyes. It could be the horrid odour from my informant that was making me hallucinate. Whatever the cause may be, I could not take my eyes from her. She seemed to be there and not there. She was like a ghost in the rain, but she was the only colour in the rain.
The sudden downpour had turned into a maddening deluge. The once sharp images of the dry street have now been turned into grey and broken outlines of their former selves. The winds whipped the waters everywhere, and the countless shafts of rain struck the wet ground and rebound. There was no other sound than that of the endless blows from the screaming rain. Figures of men moved in the blotchy grey. I could see them move outside of the window, but waves of water stopped me from seeing what really went on.
I ran upstairs to look from the balcony and to escape the ghastly mist that haunted the panes of glass below. The olde man coughed and tried to make me stay. Fool. The cold wind splashed my face as I stepped out of the balcony doors. Through the opaqueness of the rain I could only make out a few movements below. I could not see a thing. Winds blew stinging droplets on to my face and forced me to take cover. I heard, in the midst of the horrible cacophony of rain striking every single surface, gargled sounds of men dying. There seemed to be a change in the sheets of rain that fell from the dark sky. The waves of rain moved this way and that; sometimes straight as a blade, and then serpentine around the tall spires of near by buildings. The rain fell thick and heavy, and every droplet on the skin had hurt. I tried to move from the balcony but the wind blew the door behind me shut. The moment I stood up from the railings I was buffeted by wind and water. I fell backwards and connected with the door handle in a most painful way. Beneath me the sounds of rain and the sounds of screaming had melded into a single pandaemonium. The cold water on my face did not wake me, but put me in a greater stupor. Every rain drop hurt as they hit me; first my arms, then my chest. I turned over on the balcony and looked beneath me. I could hear a window crashing and a violent scream that was cut short. But there was nothing to see. I could see nothing¡K nothing at all.
Then a splash of red.
The wind stopped blowing on to me. The sheets of rain fell naturally downwards. Slowly, the battle din of the storm fell away. The grey clouds receded as spotlights of the afternoon sun shone down to the bodies beneath. As soon as the rain had begun, the rain had gone. The rain had dented every surface, and a few crumpled bodies were strewed at the feet of those two figures. They sheltered themselves with their umbrellas, and looked at the saturated street. They fixed their sights on a single window half a block away. I followed their gaze and I could see what they were looking at. A streak of red flowed from the broken window. They have done it.
I turned to watch them go. The rain had turned into a sprinkle of random droplets in the midst of the afternoon sun. They walked away with their umbrellas in hand; one looking back with regret, the other looking forward, as if in a dream.
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Post by guest on Mar 16, 2006 1:37:52 GMT -5
Hmm.... Advent: what kinds of characters does your post contain? I tried all sorts of different encodings, but still got weird symbols where quotation marks and apostrophes should have been. Story wise, I liked it. It had a nice atmosphere: the sense of foreboding came through really well (I think). There was also a nice cloak of mystery around the whole story. *puts on jackass hat* However, I found the choice of wording slightly crude in a few spots. For example, the old man and his "dislocated" lungs. That word just doesn't seem to work in the context. How about: "The olde man hacked as if his lungs had become loose within his ribcage..."? Or... "The olde man hacked as if his lungs were about to come out...." "Dislocated" just seems like such a precise and mathematical word. "Events that changed people in ways that they didn't want to be changed"? Seems simplistic. Can't really think of anything else offhand though.
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Post by Advent Childhe on Mar 17, 2006 1:11:35 GMT -5
Greetings:
Thank you for your reading.
For me, the word "dislocated" is rather common.... it may not be such a good thing for me in retrospect....but I do take your point.
None of the characters here have a name. Its not the style.
The line about the changes was the one line that I wrote and rewrote a few dozen times. That was the product. I suppose we would just have to take it as it.
I did like the ending though.
For the Riptide Project, Advent Childhe,
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Post by Dragon Of The Earth on Mar 19, 2006 23:55:28 GMT -5
if you explore the beauty of form you must also explore the beauty of formlessness a work possesses character when it does not when possesses a particular form or lacks any altogether
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Post by Advent Childhe on Mar 22, 2006 17:41:27 GMT -5
Greetings:
I have always found it difficult to leave lyrical poetry. In unguarded moments I see it as a weakness in my craft, and I am unwilling to leave the comfort and the safety of strucutre.
Long have I wished to go beyond this, but the attempts have been half hearted... I've not the experience nor the feeling to do this.
"A simple Love song" was the closest that I've gotten beyond normal lyrical poetry... but I still can't fight the classical poet within me.
However, I will strive to break out of where I am now.
See you on the Slowpoke, Chi no Ryu.
For the Riptide Project, Advent Childhe,
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Post by Dragon Of The Earth on Mar 22, 2006 22:16:07 GMT -5
ask yourself what is it that you are trying to break out of and why you might find that it is not a matter of breaking out of something but merely going with one feeling or another indeed I also tried to suggest that lacking form does not necessarily give character
you havent got any reason to be at the slowpoke I am not convinced that I do either but I will see you
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Post by Tim on Mar 26, 2006 11:49:51 GMT -5
Wayward: I don't even know how I inspired your "nightmare", but you're welcome
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Post by Dragon Of The Earth on Mar 31, 2006 23:27:32 GMT -5
to any and all who care to answer
I pose the following question to you
why do you write for crumpled paper or otherwise
what motivates you
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Post by Tim on Apr 1, 2006 9:55:49 GMT -5
I thought I would have an answer as to what drove me. And I asked others the same, though the best answer I feel I can say at this point was actually said to me a while back: I am going to pass on answering this fully. I can't explain my motivation anymore. Right now, it's just there.
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Post by Advent Childhe on Apr 1, 2006 10:21:44 GMT -5
Greetings:
Well, Chi no Ryuu, I belive there are many sources that "drives" me to write. I thank my everlasting muse, Lyn, for sticking with me through thick and thin. In her infinite wisdom and playfulness she wispers in my ear the wonders of the words.
I must admit... much of my peotry are dedicated to girls that I will never see again. Need motivates me. Desire motivates me.
Well... now for my long due comments:
Justice of the Night
This marks the next step of the endless story of Eldon and Tarajan. As a part of the epic saga the piece fits the ambience. It also fits the Terza Rima well, and is a good example of how the form is followed. It is also from this that Corrusader's trend is most clearly seen. Corrusader is wont to use poetry to tell a story, to make poetry prose-like, with all the narrative devices and perks - to describe events of a story arc, and not the trancendental musings beyond. Such is the path of all Epic poetry. I must interject that the last true English Epic was written by none other than John Milton, with "Paradise Lost." Highly recommended.
However, I must raise several issues with this piece. The use of the word "The" must not be overlooked for the sake of form and artistic liscencing. Without proper use of grammar the lines become confusing and the full intent of the message becomes reduced. For those that have never seen nor heard of the Epic story line, "sinister priest" has little or no meaning as there can be many sinster priests that walk the earth. Conversely, "THE sinister priest" says a bit more.
I concur with prior comments made on this piece. it serves only as a part, however integral, of a larger story. On its own, the words do not convey a complete idea.
Diction is an issue in this piece once again. I have mentioned it before and do not need to repeat it. I must also comment on Corrusader's knack for finding the natural syncopation of the words; once again, that is a skill which I lack and for which I am envious of.
Danse Macabre
Great work! I have given my comments about the piece to the author prior and after the work has been completed. There is no need to repeat them here.
I really liked stanza 11.
Ill-formed Ouest
Full-length converstatoins are rarely seen in formed poetry. Shakes pseare wrote his plays in iambic pentamerte because it most closely resembled normal speech. However, the use of dialogue exclusively in poetry is arare indeed. The mere difficulty in keeping track of which line was spoken by who presents a barrier in both the reading and the writing of said piece. in this piece however it was solved by indicating each line. This is a less elegant, but direct solution to the problem.
I must again agree with Velata's deep insights. This piece requires work. It does not advance the plot per se, until the last two stanza. There are many places where the use of correct grammar is required.
Apart from the literary criticisms, the ambience remains with the rest of the Epic. ONce again, this piece is an example of great rhyming.
Keep in mind that grammar and syntax must not be sacrificed due to form.
Perhapes Corrusader can venture into some stand alone pieces?
For the Riptide Project, Advent Childhe,
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Post by Velata on Apr 2, 2006 2:08:02 GMT -5
... May I...?
I will attempt to answer Chi no Ryu's question. My disclaimer warning is that he may not find a satisfactory answer with me... but just an answer.
I do not write becauase I like to write (I prefer reading). I do not write because it is fun (it is most definately not fun). I do not write because it is a necessity (sleep, on the other hand is a necessity, one that few of us are getting enough). And I do not write because I think I am creating pieces of art.
The reason why I write is because I am compelled to write. The reason why I write is because I am lead to put down in words a formless existence working through me. This "thing" calls me and culls me. It manifests itself at night, in my dreams. It whispers in my head to give me visions and headaches. Some of my acquaintances strove to give it a name and a face; a demanding muse named Damien. But I know is that it is not so much a gentle muse as a stern master.
There's no escape... so I write. I am no good without him (if I can call it "him"), but I fear his demanding return. He takes the words out of my hands and make them into poetry... and my will out of my head and make it insane.
I'm presently waiting... waiting for his return so I can perhaps finish that challenge which had been set up earlier. This force was with me when I wrote Danse Macabre, but he wasn't there when I wrote The Choice. You can be the judge of his power...
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Post by Corrusader on Apr 3, 2006 10:28:37 GMT -5
Sorry for the massive delay Childhe,
Like most of your stories, this one starts slow, and remains slow throughout. Except at the ending, then quick as lightning, more action occurred than the rest of the story combined. That reminds me of hunting, where the hunter lay still for hours, watching, then pounces on the prey. I would say it's an original style, but I don't read short stories too much, so what I say counts as little.
Perhaps I already spoke of the risks of such a style, but in lacking of everyhing else, I'll write again upon my opinion and speculation on the style, and how that relates to you.
To write slowly and descriptively, detailing on all that appears, you are playing with the attention span of the reader. I feel that the goal might be to make the reader bored, so the ending actions act as a strike of contrast; so it wakes the reader. The ending is to be so fast and implitive that will leave the reader baffled as to what happened the first time through. The ending is to be interesting and important enough that the reader will want to go back to re-read the story to find out what happened. To figure out through context, and there is a lot of it, what the implications ("Then a splash of red.") are. Perhaps read the story twice, or three times before all its secret unfolds. Read the story over and over again before all the possible scenairos from separate phrases string together to form a coherent story or backstory.
The difficulty is of course that you're playing with the reader's attention span. Unlike the olden days now it's all about instant gratification. Read the same thing three times? Sounds like a waste of time. Descriptive writing for mood and subtletly? Nothing's happening here. Fast endings? I don't get it, this doesn't make sense. I don't read a lot, but I have never heard of literature that you're not supposed to get the first time through. Well ones that's not in cryptic English or non-grammatical poetic structure anyway.
The ending of these stories are like the punchline of a joke, they make or break the story. Writing a line, paragraph, or event that the reader will be very interested in, so much so that it will warrent reading the story multiple times, is a huge challenge. As a result it is very reader specific. Something that appeals to one will almost certainly not do it for another. Remember part of the difficulty is that the reader will have to be so intrigued to read the story again. In casual reading where readership is not garanteed, the task is difficult.
I'll talk about myself to give you an example. I like swords, but there must be something special about it. I like necromancy, but not many do. I don't like guns. I don't like sci-fi. I like romance but it'll be hard use it to warrent re-reading. I like human emotions. I don't like dancing, gymnastic, struggle in sport, or cooking. I like snowfights and tobaggon but those are not dramatic enough to use in such an ending. I like D&D... if you put anything D&D related into an ending I'll definately re-read it. D&D has a natural +4 in appeal to Corrusader.
Not only do you have to balance the reader's attention span, you have to balance subtlety in the story. You would want to make it so that each time the reader read it, some new information will be uncovered, something will make sense, something will click. If that doesn't happen for just once through, you can almost be certain you'll lose the reader. That is even harder than the other challenge, but I think you did a pretty good job of that for me.
In the end, when you write these kind of stories, and no one seem to care or understand or want to read it. Remember it is a hard style to write in, and you are writing for a very specific group of reader.
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