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Lincoln Cathedral at dawn.

Night that burns through the dark
Like cheap wine conquers dusk
A cadence ripple that scarce touches
The surface of evening and rings out
To the sheer edge of an older plane

Twin towers now gather light
About the skirts of a cathedral: Lincolnshire
And it’s here we sit, you and I
In the buzz din of wheat fields my dear

Where the drum heart of beaten time
Outlasts the bell-clutch of that evening cloak
Where all words fail to grasp this thin
Fabric of chimes passed

And we – sitting under a Barbican tree
Foundlings in our own church, a field
Wakefully watch the softening spectra
Of light unfold

Hence see: those austere towers
Disappear, as the galaxies explode
And expound a greater light
Then, all that is holy, supposed right

Illumine our place and its regal right
To await dawn,
In this simple field
And its butter churned light of mercy.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
From a photo and memory of Lncolnshire cathedral at dawn. Some adjustment, for the placement of subjects and sensations.
Editing stage: 

Comments

Good word-craft. As with any good poem, you evoke many different visions with the readers. There are some that will say that it is a love or romance poem and there are those that will say that it is political. However it is called, it felt as though it was rhythmic and had an almost rhyming feel to it. ~ Geezer.
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yes, it's not really a love poem, or maybe a love poem to a very particular part of the Lincolnshire, where the fields are flat as a tack, and you can sit and watch the lights of the twin towers of Lincoln cathedral, which is a remarkable place at the end of the Roman "Foss way" road. Even if you're not particularly - or at all religious, there is/was a very special atmosphere in those ancient fields.

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

There is something there
that made me read the poem many times.
Maybe because I don't understand it
but feel the mood going straight through my heart?
Maybe it is enveloping my shoulders
atmosphere of a city?
Or perhaps leaps in space and time?
Symbols of the irreplaceable past ?

IRiz

Yes, it is the city and cathedral viewed from a fair distance, and yes, it's a memory also viewed at some substantial distance, but in a daydream like reverie..I guess.

thank you, glad you found something touching in it.

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

I very much sense the transcendent transfer of faith from the night, in the glory of dawn, to the poet and his companion. It is a rare work.
The cathedral image reminds me of the sun soaked paintings of Rouen Cathedral by Monet. The moral imperative of the poem, a spiritual awakening which starts with the church but ends with the ecstasy of knowing the real church is within you and the landscape you find yourself at dawn.

The more I read the poem, the more I am moved by its superior stance and most of its imagery. I am also get more focused on certain aspects which I consider should be tweaked. The more I read the poem the more I feel the first stanza clouds with too much abstraction. I want to understand it's relationship to the rest of the body, I cannot. I love the first line but really don't get the second. I don't really get "older plane", an abstract geometry.
The second stanza gets me right in there. I thing 'my dear' very much needs a comma. I would indeed review the entire body for subtle punctuation issues.
The third stanza is just fucking brilliant.
The fourth..I want to like Barbican tree, but after looking around it seems there is no such thing and so I am a bit confused how you are using it. Not being British the whole Barbican garden/wall thing is unknown to me.
The rest of the poem follows in heightened and a passionate logic and imagery rarely seen today.

The poem is painted as an impressionist. The brush strokes are evident and in multi colored hues. Very much enjoyed reading.
..

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

Consider it tweaked, just briefly (as i'm walking)..

Barbican tree.. Just the arches formed by the natural shapes of the branches..an image..a church constructed from one's surroundings..

The last stanza is a reference to Heaney and his land/connection with it..

Also..an older plane, literally referring to the vast flatness of Lincolnshire, and the large wheat fields that were once paced by Romans, who built their famous straight roads all over the place (the Foss way into Lincoln being one of them) - later Vikings tracked across that region heading south I believe, many armies, the slow beautiful construction of Lincoln cathedral is visible from twenty or so miles away at night, due to this immense flatness - these great geometric "older planes" meaning plains - strechout from the sheer, huge vertical cathedral walls.. i may alter this a bit.

And yes, the comma may come later..:)

Thank you, as ever.

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

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
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