The first rain
Of the fall
Crept in stealth
Just at dawn
In a tap
On the glass
What I felt
On my bones
Was a flow
Anapest
Of wet life.
by Santiago del Dardano Turann
The Tea Cup Hills steam up, the mist swirling above endless green. I walk the quiet trails forever thinking of the bodies piling up in ...
2 comments:
Santiago was born in April of 1968 in Cincinnati, Ohio, and grew-up in rural Butler county. He has worked retail and blue collar jobs his entire adult life and does not have a college degree. Since beginning to submit poetry in August of 2007 his work has been accepted by 38 journals.
What first struck me about this poem was, of course, the rhythm. The simplicity of the language struck me as well. I'll admit, I had to look up anapest, which led me to a wikipedia entry and a reading of Yeats. I would have liked this poem even better had it replaced the Anapest line with something else. Reading the word "anapest" took me away from the feeling that the rest of the poem had so well created. The poem could be improved with the removal of this self-referential element. Anapest could be replaced with something that connects "flow" to "of wet life." Flow is an overused word, which, without a subsequent clarification, loses some of its effectiveness.
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