Guest guest Posted March 9, 2006 Report Posted March 9, 2006 Kerrie, These are very powerful. It took me quite a while to understand the 2nd one, but to me it is describing how KOs feel they are not seen or heard. Sylvia > > I'm not sure if anyone else here likes poetry, but it was often times > the only thing that kept me sane growing up. It was my outlet as I > wrote kind of in code that nada could never break (b/c you know she'd > read my stuff!). > > Anyway, here were a couple of poems that I always liked that I > remember reading from my college Lit classes. One is about childhood > abuse and alcoholism and the other seems more like a KO position or > even a BP's position though I think more a KO or codependant. Hope > you like them! > > My Papa's Waltz > by T. Roethke > > The whiskey on your breath > Could make a small boy dizzy; > But I hung on like death: > Such waltzing was not easy. > > We romped until the pans > Slid from the kitchen shelf; > My mother's countenance > Could not unfrown itself. > > > The hand that held my wrist > Was battered on one knuckle; > At every step you missed > My right ear scraped a buckle. > > > You beat time on my head > With a palm caked hard by dirt, > Then waltzed me off to bed > Still clinging to your shirt. > > > > > Not Waving But Drowning > by Stevie > > Nobody heard him, the dead man, > But still he lay moaning: > I was much further out than you thought > And not waving but drowning. > > Poor chap, he always loved larking > And now he's dead > It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, > They said. > > Oh, no no no, it was too cold always > (Still the dead one lay moaning) > I was much too far out all my life > And not waving but drowning > Quote
Guest guest Posted March 10, 2006 Report Posted March 10, 2006 Sylvia, I'm glad you liked them. To me, the second one reminds me a lot of my queen nada where image is everything. Must keep up a perfect appearance and smile and act as though nothing bad happens behind closed doors. That carried over into my adulthood until I was in my early thirties and I didn't give a crap anymore if people thought I was waving when infact I was drounding. I just let loose and was free to deal w/my issues. This is totally opposite of the FOO- great image, poor substance. That's my take on it in so far as why I liked it- b/c I had to hide a lot of my feelings and really felt kind of dead inside until just recently in so far as being able to have a right to even emote differently. Your take on it w/the KOness is very true, well I mean in so far as how I see it too. No one sees the inner turmoil or really understands to the same degree as other KOs. But this is such a popular poem that I have a feeling there are more out there that can relate than statistics show. K > > > > I'm not sure if anyone else here likes poetry, but it was often > times > > the only thing that kept me sane growing up. It was my outlet as I > > wrote kind of in code that nada could never break (b/c you know > she'd > > read my stuff!). > > > > Anyway, here were a couple of poems that I always liked that I > > remember reading from my college Lit classes. One is about > childhood > > abuse and alcoholism and the other seems more like a KO position > or > > even a BP's position though I think more a KO or codependant. Hope > > you like them! > > > > My Papa's Waltz > > by T. Roethke > > > > The whiskey on your breath > > Could make a small boy dizzy; > > But I hung on like death: > > Such waltzing was not easy. > > > > We romped until the pans > > Slid from the kitchen shelf; > > My mother's countenance > > Could not unfrown itself. > > > > > > The hand that held my wrist > > Was battered on one knuckle; > > At every step you missed > > My right ear scraped a buckle. > > > > > > You beat time on my head > > With a palm caked hard by dirt, > > Then waltzed me off to bed > > Still clinging to your shirt. > > > > > > > > > > Not Waving But Drowning > > by Stevie > > > > Nobody heard him, the dead man, > > But still he lay moaning: > > I was much further out than you thought > > And not waving but drowning. > > > > Poor chap, he always loved larking > > And now he's dead > > It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, > > They said. > > > > Oh, no no no, it was too cold always > > (Still the dead one lay moaning) > > I was much too far out all my life > > And not waving but drowning > > > Quote
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