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The Age of Automation.

Submitted by riotface97 on Fri, 2017-07-21 07:38

Face finds traces of haggard,
cloth tentacles, drag across the floor.

The the age of automation, dear,
of senselessness;
binary nightmares and Americanised daydreams.
Fading.

Whack-a-mole employees, their
case numbers dismissed.
Not bureaucracy;
Humanity.
Snake-breeder, apple-thief, Queens face on a paper note?
No.
Probably not.

Analog tv’s finding breaths of multi-dimensional
colour.
Late night drinks at a friends,
late night drinks alone.
By all accounts it doesn't exist.

Hands grasped, sexualised.
Broken bones. Atlas crouched,
flinching.
Poor man’s seeds, infertile lands.
Grow.
They won’t, they won’t, they won’t.

Casting calls relegated
to the classifieds, makeup by the door.
With empty air they’ll reconcile
with whispers.
Pearl earrings locked in your dresser door
mornings promise so enticing.
So false.

Sleight of hand, cards palmed,
deck slipped.
Heavy sighs;
it grows and shrinks
breathing, heaving,
recurring characters.
Cliff-hangers never fixed.
The deluded have their rhyme schemes
let them.

Lyrics wane empty, insignificant. And
face finds traces of haggard,
cloth tentacles, drag across the floor.

And no-one is magnificent.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
I'm not sure about this one. Often, with my work, I'll start out with overt sentiments and abstract them many times over until often they're barely recognisable renditions of the ideas I've started out with. I began writing this piece whilst on a long train journey, imaging a Woman in her late 40s/50s, working a menial cleaning job. I thought about what hopes or aspirations she might have had in her life that no longer felt achievable. I imagined the boys through her adolescence, professing that she was their world, and the disjunct between the possibilities of youth and the limitations of age. I then related it back to my own life, and how, deep down, I too was guilty of believing myself to be the protagonist in a story that knows no leads. All of these sentiments are contained within the words above. Unsure if the style works, but at the time it felt right, so I wrote it that way.
Editing stage: 
Editing - rough draft

Comments

weirdelf

Fri, 2017-07-21 16:00

weirdelf's picture
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Those two sections of phrase lists really work the pacing, I'd even consider making them one liners-

Not bureaucracy;
Humanity.
Snake-breeder,
apple-thief,

Hands grasped,
sexualised.
Broken bones.
Atlas crouched,
flinching.
Poor man’s seeds,
infertile lands.
Grow.

Great imagery, cool language choice. Effective repetition. ... I don't know. There's something bugging me about it I can't put my finger on. Maybe it's me, 6am and on edge... no, it's something missing in emotional tentacles. If you feel anything like what I'm trying to say here I'm sure you'll spot it and fix it.
Not so hot on the title. Certainly remember to fix-
The the

It's good now, I think it could be better than good.

cheers,
Jess
A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'
https://www.neopoet.com/workshop/rhythm-and-meter-poetry

Eumolpus

Sat, 2017-07-22 01:28

Eumolpus's picture

The style works, right out of the milieu of the Beat poets from City Lights- Ferllinghetti,Frank O'Hara, Kenneth, Patchen, Ginsburg, Voznesensky. I don't know to what extent that group reached Australia, but it was a very popular in the 60's and 70's. Besides the style, the "age of automation" was a common theme in those days. Whether you wrote in this style consciously or adopted it because poetry like art movements are global and universal, they influence the culture and they way we write, does not really matter.

I think Weirdelf is one of the most astute among us, I agree with his take on your imagery and language. However in this case I do not agree; I do not personally like the one line to a stanza style of poetry, and prefer your presentation.

One of the things the Beats did was a train of consciousness like

Analog tv’s finding breaths of multi-dimensional
colour.
Late night drinks at a friends,
late night drinks alone.

In that respect the only "criticism" i have about this fine work is it is to me it's a little archaic. We are beyond the age of automation, which is now almost romanticism. We are in the age of genetics, robotics, artificial intelligence, memory transplants, dark matter. Brave New World of Huxley. A little freaky to say the least...and yes, "no-one is magnificent"

.

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

Scatterhatter

Sat, 2017-07-22 02:17

This is great, I don't follow it completely but it holds me interested... Its makes me want to re read.
But your cleaner lady might think everything one is magnificent. She might be happy with her menial job. It could be her escape. Her music blaring in her headphones....
I know you said this poem has warped from from your original thoughts. I like that... abstract meanderings are the best journey!

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