Para ti

[English]

in a Lover
the heart thaws, its seams are ice no more--
all the flurries that once chilled; replaced with
similac and a grin
baring teeth. no more forced smiles.
i can
kiss/serenade, as my child learns her part,
as we sing of
the glare from the lit
leaves.

i used to drain scotch pots,
and lean
as a distilled voice narrates the tale of the night's air.

how
i look up at the rye
where now grey ice sits,
and hold a hand with heat.

[ILLunatic]

ATTENTION English,

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[Split Eight]

in a Lover
the heart thaws, its seams are ice no more--
all the flurries that once chilled; replaced with
similac and a grin
baring teeth. no more forced smiles.
>I get the imagery of something that is being preserved, decaying into a more chaotic state. "Its seams are ice no more"- nothing to hold it together. "similac and a grin baring teeth. no more forced smiles." It's no longer formulaic, pristine, but imperfect and ugly...

'baring teeth. no more forced smiles' was a really cool entendre.

Hostility. The narrator's perspective has become more cynical, and not only is his new view negative, but how things were before disgusts him as well.


i can
kiss/serenade, as my child learns her part,
as we sing of
the glare from the lit
leaves.

>putting on airs for our children, both in the gentle way that you treat them, and the gentle way that you handle the brutality of the world. You nurture them, and perhaps they learn more from how you treat them in light of the truth than how you treat them, period. That sort of eerie knowing that every kid keeps hidden from their parents. And a terse trust.



i used to drain scotch pots,
and lean
as a distilled voice narrates the tale of the night's air.

I don't know what scotch pots are lol. Must be a UK thing. But I see a nostalgic reflection on your upbringing to follow your description of how you are raising your child.


how
i look up at the rye
where now grey ice sits,
and hold a hand with heat.

Endings are a strong suit of yours. Realizing the opener was foreshadowing.

Just gonna list several congruencies throughout your verse to help myself think.


Heat and coldness.
The coldness of a lover's heart, heated. The heat from the lit leaves that you sing to your child. The heat of holding a hand at the very end, and the coldness of the gray ice where there was once rye.

Rye, grain.
Scotch that you sipped, as your father read in a "distilled" voice. The rye under the ice, at the end.

Cyclicality (lel not a word)
Basically, heat to cold, and summer to winter. Love to solitude.


Then, there is only one neutral line- "as a distilled voice narrates the tale of the night air."

I find this particularly interesting, because
1) night air tends to be cold, regardless of summer or winter.
2) a 'distilled voice' implies that it's the end-characteristic of a long-process. Distilled also alludes to the rye, of course.
3) the strong duality of this section with the part where you sing serenades to your daughter, means that maybe she, too, is drinking of the scotch pot and learning her part.
4) drinking can be a coping mechanism, and whiskey used to be used as a way of 'keeping warm in the winter' & while it makes you feel warmth, it only lasts as long as you keep drinking. Drinking also lowers your body temperature.

Overall, I loved the mood. I thought of autumn nights, and growing up and how different we felt from our parents. Then we all seemed to suddenly be adults, and our parents seemed to be just like us. This compounded with the trope of protecting our children from the reality of the world, while realizing that there is no way to stop them from growing up, because we all seek to understand.

This is finally acknowledged, and accepted, in the last line, where you 'hold a hand with heat'.

Life is a series of hardships that we can only get by, and our perception of them doesn't change their reality. We're shaped by them, and more often than not we fail to look at the big picture, because we are only looking at the now.


The piece is a realization of the past, the present, and the future, as well as the good, the bad, and the sublime- that whose description defies all connotation. The ending is powerful because the narrator takes no action in the face of this realization. An existentialist crisis becomes a bow to absurdism????

The harshness of life would drive us apart if it didn't make us huddle together for warmth.

Thank you.

[Mantra]

Opened and bumped.

[Fatrick Swayze]

i used to drain scotch pots,
and lean
as a distilled voice narrates the tale of the night's air.


that distilled line was just chalked full of imagery and just great writing bro. to me this reads very choppy...but i really like that for some reason lol. i feel like it fits with he word choice...like the words themselves molded the flow to fit them and the other way around. you know i saw the title and thought this was going to be in spanish lol. anyway.

replaced with
similac and a grin
baring teeth.

this for some reason i really like... image of a Cheshire cat smiling at me lol...i dont mean no disrespect towards your piece its just that image was dame near instant thought that was cool that i was able to picture something that silly and still stay withing the mood you created. definitely enjoyed reading this bro.

[English]

i know a bit of portugese but no spanish, really. i don't remember why i called it 'for you' but it was probably for someone. i think usted was too formal to use. hit me with a link anytime fat.

split, your feed is extremely thoughtful, and quite perceptive. thanks.