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The confession of Joseph Barclay

Note: Fledgling audio recording's here, I will try to post a more refined reading, it is what it is, this is rough folks - first attempt (second attempt):

https://soundcloud.com/user528181418/the-confession-of-joseph-barclay-ta...

"Da Rosa, nada digamos agora" - Umberto Eco

The last century, has come, has gone,
come with me now, I will sing
its song.

For we dream a dream vested in youth,
that personification, is personal proof.

Thrown a touch aloof, little by little,
perceive: the fog scale grows,
thin from gossamer thread in valleys,
to cream fat thick, in the land below.

I watched and wept, as it seeped slow
deep into the sinful secrets I'd buried there,
the earth let slip up by degrees, aired
them slow, grief by grief

State by state, by Philo, by love of
knowledge led, we have been drawn to here,
and by darkling Sophos led,
to ignore that audible voice, once
contained within such screams, humanity
lost, in the cracks of conscious veneer
allotted in between layered, mannered decor

Were we bequeathed the sky,
that fell in full promised downpour?
In sheets of impeccable thick staccato,
the cats hide, and the dogs crane for,

howling the rain into being with canine incantation,
all creatures are drenched equally,
all windows are riddled with enjoining columns,
of pure, linguistic flow, that terminate up in the sky.

Or did we, voice by voice, join the throng
the congregation, slowly die.

Phillip, I lost you long ago,
you talked in tongues at my window.

All is puddle ankle deep, puddle leak booted cold,
scurrying, clamouring, slamming of doors,
pulling of shutters, windows restrained,
and the drains, the drains, laugh deep loud implores,

for the last laugh is spilling on man.
The tanks thunder with bulging pipes,
an elemental organ bourbon, is playing through air,

and the the dreams and prayers of the people flow forth,
in sound released, down to the slaking earth.
They know that somehow far below,
the singing wells of deep await.

And I have waited , sunk in sink holes
deep of stink that pride cannot follow,
you would deplore my sunken thought
and urge me to that life you knew

How to lead, without the sallow grief,
that guilt impedes, golden mouthed
would have talked through all smog
brought about by the imperfect remedies
of man.

And when I buried you deep, in that
smokey loam of the debauched, you
would laugh at my deceit, and say
that imperfection was not mine;

not mine alone to own, but all mankind
must follow the only truth it can,
and concede to the simple damnation
that follows all we know of a man.

Dig too deep under stone,and you will find,
beneath all the livid mercurial frieze of
humanity, there :
he lives and breathes, entwined.

.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
This is a song of experience - it's about a relative of mine, who lived and died in the Glasgow of the nineteen-sixties. It also incorporates observation, connotation, and a number of "obscure" allusions. If, you would like me to cite my inspirations, please feel no impediment, or risk of any snobbish resort, and allow me to explain, by way of questioning. Someone, very astutely observed that I may have been reading Pound lately - and that's true. I also have a deep love of Elliot, and the imagery, and historicity concatenated within the "Four Quartets" - I am no analogue for, nor could even hope to emulate my heroes, but I find, in this voice of imagined perception, that I may illuminate something, of someone, seen long ago.
Editing stage: 

Comments

"Da Rosa, nada digamos agora"
Sorry for my ignorance ...
But I don't understand the first line and as it's the first line it's probably important to the whole poem.
Do you mind explaining it to me?

Living in the "back woods" of Levendale, I've been away gather timber for the last couple of days, at an old property called Tyger Point (interesting spelling) last known sighting of the legendary, probably extinct Tasmanian Tiger. We try and choose old dead limbs, and wood, or invasive, introduced species (the oak and the blackberry from the old country, are a pest for example!)

Anyway - the phrase, comes from Umberto Eco and Foucault's Pendulum, and has been variously translated - but the translation that I like best - is "there is nothing hidden beneath the rose" - the rose, having so many esoteric meanderings throughout literature, don't get me started on Yeats.

Another book, that is fascinating and difficult, and also- if you are like me - will take you years to "come to terms with":

https://cpl.catalogue.library.ns.ca/Record/460481/Excerpt

I'm not going to work on this one too much more, I feel I've dug myself into enough of an existential hole, navigating my Uncles, meandering thoughts. Feel free to make suggestions/changes though - and i'll be happy to re-visit - or just leave as is.

Thanks for the question, I hope you've encountered Foucault's Pendulum before - certainly a rewarding endeavour.

Take care,

Chris.

Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

author comment

Again you inner ear finds the music of words that transcends,the reader just is mesmerized with these images. A lot of the substance illudes us though. I can't say how to tie it up

I guess we can start with Phillipe. Who talks in tongues. Tell us about him

Thanks as always for sharing your gift

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

Was really Phillip. Phillipe just sounded more exotic. He was a good friend of mine, who past away some 25 years ago now, back in the UK. We were very close, he had literary, pecuniary, and comic pretensions (although - he was famously funny) - and also famously drunk..he would literally sneak around the back our old house, having pinched a folding ladder, then scramble over the small ledge, and ivy - a drunkenly talk (in tongues to my mocking ear) - imploring me to come out upon drunken adventures throughout the villages on our bikes. Quite a character.

Again, in deference to you, and with obscure references in mind - this one may get mothballed, although I do like it, I think it requires more attention to bring clarity, or at leas,t craft craftier allusions for people to follow - yet which are, at least achievable, it may have to wait for another time.

Thanks for your kind words as always.

Chris.

Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

author comment

my condolences,
and excellent poem.

Mr Wolf!

The dark songs normally spring up through the earth, when I'm away from home too long, various reasons for that. But necessary nonetheless, the light and the dark and all that.

Thanks man, appreciated.

Take care.

Chris.

Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

author comment

Sorry it took a while.
Read for the words, without first deep reading the poem. I prefer to do it this way so that I don't force my own interpretation. It also gives me a great feel for people's work and I love this.
Reading your 'Last few words' was like recognition after doing the reading.
Bloody fine work mate.
https://soundcloud.com/neopoet/the-confession-of-joseph-barclay
I've also posted it to our Neopoet.com Facebook page, hope you don't mind, I'll just delete it if you do.
https://www.facebook.com/groups/1737302023208400/permalink/1921690621436...

cheers,
Jess
Neopoet is a workshop. Poets take the time to read and think about your work and offer suggestions.
There is no obligation to make any changes however please acknowledge critique and comments.

Couldn't be more stoked! And fine to add to facebook page. absolutely.

About to jump in the car and head for the hills so i'll have a listen to your bourbon tones.

Cheers.

Chris.

Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

author comment

Got a comment on SoundCloud inviting you to a contest

odekajigagy at 2:52:

L0ving the song here! I c0uldn't help but thinking it will d0 well in this music c0ntest we are h0sting for fell0w artists to gain review for their track. Please take a lo0k at the page if interested' s co f e n . com/ en / contest ' ----g-e-t---r-i-d---o-f---s-p-a-c-e-s-----

cheers,
Jess
Neopoet is a workshop. Poets take the time to read and think about your work and offer suggestions.
There is no obligation to make any changes however please acknowledge critique and comments.

Image with a little more gravitas..less small town cake competition. Fame and fortune beckons.. ;)

Thanks Jess.

Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

author comment

responses like the below:
She'll be right, happy to let it be..

n THE VILLE (feat. TeeJay, OG BigCat, and DJ Marty)
Loving the song here! I couldn't help but thinking it can be doing well in this music contest we are h0sting f0r fell0w musicans to receive review f0r their s0ng. Please take a l00k at the page if int…
Posted 11 hours ago11 hours
on The confession of Joseph Barclay
L0ving the song here! I c0uldn't help but thinking it will d0 well in this music c0ntest we are h0sting for fell0w artists to gain review for their track. Please take a lo0k at the page if interested'…
Posted 12 hours ago12 hours
on T2
Loving the track here! I c0uldn't help but thinking it should d0 well in this music c0ntest we are hosting to help fell0w artists to obtain review for their music. Please take a l0ok at the page if in…

Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

author comment

I listened to this and the hairs started to prickle on my arms.
I then read it.
I haven't read anyone else's comments yet, I'll go back to do that.
It is extremely odd, sitting here in my Yorkshire farmhouse kitchen, with the door open and summer wafting in and out, listening to your voice take me back in time. Listening to a poem that was written and recorded on the other side of the world.
Once I got my head around it, I thought about the poem itself. Long - yes, imagery - laden, sad - yes, uplifting - yes.
There was a missionary Joseph Barclay in the late 1800s. (I only know because I googled him), so although I know this was about your friend, there are quite a few parallels, as JB the missionary could speak in many languages and presumably traded in the lives, loves, flaws and deceits of humanity.
I love the rain that drenches, I love that pang of guilt for the imperfections that are not just yours, but all of ours.
The more I read, the more I find.
I will revisit.
jx

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Don't forget to offer critique on poems you read.

As mentioned previously, I think, I have a binged on Elliot,and recently fell off the wagon, neck deep in the four quartets, then the 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' - then thinking of my uncles strange odyssey through Glasgow - he's the real Joseph, it was an encomium (although more dark confessional) for him and a memory of a friend. It was quite an experience writing it!

Sometimes I find it's just an interesting experience to see where the language, combined with the memory, and the expression takes us regardless of the form, which will. naturally appear in there with anyone who habitually writes verse, sometime the 'sounds' from the unconscious speak to us musically, before understanding arrives. Ted Hughes put it better, but I can't find the quote!

The image of your kitchen sounds nice and cosy - and possibly warmer than here (-9 the other night brrrr) surreal, yes - I came to Australia to get warm :)

Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

author comment

The love song of J. Alfred Prufrock is one of my favourite poems of all time.
Am working on measuring my life out in G&Ts though.
Jx

------------
Remember we are a workshop site.
Don't forget to offer critique on poems you read.

could be reduced to a taking of toast and tea! I think he's hilarious, moving and ultimately, well obviously just human. I'm moved so much by that piece. Also, I think in the Wasteland and other poems, I think (correct me) he talks of only hoping to emulate those that came before, sorta what all poets can hope to do, it's honouring the oral tradition - to me anyway. Did you hear Anthony Hopkins read it? Here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PLNsPhKlucY

Starts apace, then slows to the points of acute awareness of age and fragility, masterful. And don't get him started on Thomas..wow.

Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

author comment

Thank you. Jx

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Remember we are a workshop site.
Don't forget to offer critique on poems you read.

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