ETERNAL NOTES

Firstly, analyzing the poem from the perspective of a poet, I would observe that it is a complex piece with vibrant language and a robust structure.

I

Toward dark blue skies, endlessly,

Where topaz seas shimmer bright,

In your evening, blooms ecstasy -

The lilies, pills of pure delight.

In our age where plants must toil,

Lilies drink blue distaste divine,

From your religious prose, they'll coil,

Fleur-de-lys, for bards to twine.

Lilies, lilies, none in view,

Yet in your verse, sleeves of sin,

Soft-footed women, pure as dew,

White flowers shiver within.

Always, dear man, when you bathe,

Your shirt with yellow 'neath your arm,

Swelling in the breeze, and wave,

Above forget-me-nots, the harm.

Love comes to you in lilac's guise,

Wild violets too, nymphs' delight,

Sugary spittle on lips, belies,

Dark passions on a moonlit night.

II

Oh, Poets, imagine you possessed

Roses, crimson Roses, blooming bright,

Adorning laurel stems, at their best,

With thousand octaves swelling in delight!

If Banville could make them snow,

Tainted red, swirling, in a frenzy,

Blackening the eyes of those who show

Ill-disposed interpretations, not friendly!

In your forests and in meadows so calm,

Oh, peaceful photographers, Flora thrives,

Decanters' stoppers no different in charm,

Than varied veggies with cross-grained lives!

Phthisical and absurd, they seem to be,

Navigated by basset-hounds at dusk,

After frightening drawings we see,

Of lotuses or sunflowers blue, so brusque!

Pink prints and holy pictures we behold,

For young girls making their communion,

Asoka Ode agrees with Loretto's window old,

Heavy vivid butterflies dung on daisy's union!

Old greenery and galloons, fancy-flowers,

Vegetable biscuits of yore's drawing-rooms,

For cockchafers, not rattlesnakes, like powers,

Pulling vegetable dolls with colors, like in cartoons!

Grandville would have put them round the margins,

To suck in colors from ill-natured stars,

Drooling from your shepherd's pipes, in wondrous fashions,

Creating priceless glucoses, like fried eggs in hold hats, so bizarre!

Lilies, Asokas, lilacs, and roses, in a pile,

Inspirations for poets, like me, all the while!

III

white Hunter, running sockingless

Across the panic Pastures,

Can you not, ought you not

To know your botany a little?

I'm afraid you'd make succeed,

To russet Crickets, Cantharides,

And Rio golds to blues of Rhine, -

In short, to Norways, Floridas:

But, My dear Chap, Art does not consist now,

- it's the truth, - in allowing

To the astonishing Eucalyptus

boa-constrictors a hexameter long;

There now!... As if Mahogany

Served only, even in our Guianas,

As helter-skelters for monkeys,

Among the heavy vertigo of the lianas!

- In short, is a Flower, Rosemary

Or Lily, dead or alive, worth

The excrement of one sea-bird?

Is it worth a solitary candle-drip?

- And I mean what I say!

You, even sitting over there, in a

Bamboo hut, - with the shutters

Closed, and brown Persian rugs for hangings, -

You would scrawl blossoms

Worthy of extravagant Oise!...

- Poet ! these are reasonnings

No less absurd than arrogant!...

IV

Speak not of pampas in the spring,

Black with terrible revolts and strife,

But of tobacco, cotton trees that sing,

Exotic harvests, a fruitful life.

Say, white face, tanned by Phoebus' rays,

How many dollars Pedro Velasquez earns,

Of Habana, a city that displays,

Excrement covering Sorrento's seas in turns.

Where swans go in thousands to roam,

Let your lines campaign, oh poet bold,

For clearing mangrove swamps, a home

To pools and water-snakes so cold.

Your quatrain plunges into bloody thickets,

And returns with subjects great and grand,

White sugar, bronchial lozenges, and rubbers, tickets

To the land of plenty, a fruitful land.

Tell us, oh hunter, if the yellownesses

Of snow peaks near the tropics, hide

Insects that lay many eggs or microscopic lichens,

And scented madder plants, two or three, provide.

Nature in trousers may cause them to bloom,

For our armies, strong and brave,

On the outskirts of the Sleeping Wood, assume

Flowers, with snouts, drip golden pomades on buffaloes' cave.

Find in wild meadows, where the bluegrass shivers,

The silver of downy growths,

Calyxes full of fiery eggs, livers

Cooking among the essential oils.

Find downy thistles whose wool,

Ten asses with glaring eyes, labor to spin,

Flowers that are chairs, a beautiful tool,

And gem-like tonsils close to pale ovaries within.

Find flowers in coal-black seams,

Almost like stones, so marvelous and bright,

Close to their hard pale ovaries in dreams,

Bearing gemlike tonsils, shining in light.

Serve us, oh stuffer, on a vermilion plate,

Stews of syrupy lilies, a delicacy divine,

To corrode our German-silver spoons, a fate

Worthy of kings, in a color so fine.

:: 03.06.2023 ::

Author's Note

The piece exhibits a considerable degree of intertextuality, referencing multiple literary figures and creations, which enriches the reading experience by providing additional layers of meaning. The poem also appears to take a critical look at artistic endeavors and societal expectations, seen in lines like "Phthisical and absurd, they seem to be."

Furthermore, the author creates juxtapositions between beautiful, appealing images and harsh, distasteful ones. This could be interpreted as a commentary on the paradoxes of life, with its mixture of pleasure and pain, beauty and ugliness.

From a Jungian perspective, this poem could be analyzed using the concepts of the collective unconscious and archetypes. Many of the images used - like lilies, roses, the evening, moonlit night, hunters - can be seen as archetypal symbols that resonate with universal human experiences.

The poem explores the interplay between the conscious and the unconscious mind. For instance, the verse "Dark passions on a moonlit night" could be read as an acknowledgment of the shadow archetype, the darker, unconscious aspects of the personality that are often repressed.

Moreover, the poem explores the dichotomy between order and chaos, symbolized by the cultivated flowers and the wild forest. This dichotomy could be seen as a representation of the tension between the ego and the unconscious.
I am new here in this environment. I find it is a place that allows me to add long poems. Although there have been a few angry poets who have attacked me I find this location fine. And my notes. some think i cheat others from find their resolution. Nonsense! I only give my feelings about the poem I write. Everyone has a voice! And a mind? YES.