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Array ( [sid] => 69232 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => In Loving Memory Of J Gatsby [time] => 2004-10-28 16:48:48 [hometext] => Originally, I had intended to title this poem Revision, based on the assumption that the poem is about my re-assessment of the Great Gatsby after having re-read the book as an adult... well, as adult as I can be... [bodytext] => Somewhere behind us,
In the vast obscurity
Lay the dreams and ideals
Of lives we thought we could build

Where in large fields
Under the darkness of our own tragedies
Lay the tombstones that mark the casualties
Of those who dream with care

I stood at the foot of Gatsby
And took the numeric measures
That had always failed to capture
The gravity and sincerity of another's passion

Later that night
I sat at a table with Gatsby
Another ungracious guest from across an
Endless tract of pages, and failed to hear his offering

Far too early
I saw the death of Gatsby
From just beyond that hedge, and blinded
By the safety of narration, saw the loss of just a man

I revisited
My friend J. Gatz
After sixteen years, less the numeric
Measures which had always failed to see the truth
And found the inheritance
Waiting there for me

Somewhere, back West
In a dark field of the Republic
As the pages of Gatsby turned on,
Under the night... [comments] => 3 [counter] => 288 [topic] => 55 [informant] => ucka [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 3 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => dedicatedpoems )

In Loving Memory Of J Gatsby

Contributed by ucka on Thursday, 28th October 2004 @ 04:48:48 PM in AEST
Topic: dedicatedpoems

Somewhere behind us,
In the vast obscurity
Lay the dreams and ideals
Of lives we thought we could build

Where in large fields
Under the darkness of our own tragedies
Lay the tombstones that mark the casualties
Of those who dream with care

I stood at the foot of Gatsby
And took the numeric measures
That had always failed to capture
The gravity and sincerity of another's passion

Later that night
I sat at a table with Gatsby
Another ungracious guest from across an
Endless tract of pages, and failed to hear his offering

Far too early
I saw the death of Gatsby
From just beyond that hedge, and blinded
By the safety of narration, saw the loss of just a man

I revisited
My friend J. Gatz
After sixteen years, less the numeric
Measures which had always failed to see the truth
And found the inheritance
Waiting there for me

Somewhere, back West
In a dark field of the Republic
As the pages of Gatsby turned on,
Under the night...

Copyright © ucka ... [ 2004-10-28 16:48:48]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: In Loving Memory Of J Gatsby (User Rating: 1 )
by faith_my_eyes on Thursday, 28th October 2004 @ 04:51:11 PM AEST
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It's as if Nick wrote this one... interesting write. I haven't read it for a couple of years. My perspective has changed greatly since then- wonder what I would think now.

Re: In Loving Memory Of J Gatsby (User Rating: 1 )
by Merry on Thursday, 28th October 2004 @ 06:20:38 PM AEST
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A beautifully crafted write - interesting how persepctive changes - like subtle lighting it has such dramatic effect.
Glad to see you posting again - your work is a great asset to YPDC

merry

Re: In Loving Memory Of J Gatsby (User Rating: 1 )
by northcoast on Friday, 12th November 2004 @ 09:14:10 AM AEST
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Familiarity with this author's earlier work only makes the comfortable rhythms of the current work more impressive. The meter rests easily under the text, supporting the words and helping them toward their intended target.

Parts of the poem could be improved if the author would say a little more. Perhaps the mind of another reader is satisfied by "those who dream with care," but this reader is looking for a little more description. Why are the careful dreamers the ones with tombstones? Why not those who dream with reckless abandon? I'm also wondering about "the inheritance" finally found after 16 years. I like the image of a lost inheritance and I'm assuming the death of J. Gatz is responsible for evoking this metaphor, but perhaps some hints at a kind of familial connection between author and his subject would help to substantiate it. Or, is it possible that the initial has already made this subtle connection?

My biggest wish for this poem is that it wouldn't end so soon. I'm captured by the happening of author's epiphany, his newfound appreciation for the long, lost Gatsby, but I want to know more about its content. Is it to be found in the first two stanzas? If so, could their freight not be drawn to mind again at the end somehow?

The bulk of this review has been critical in response to the expressed preferences of the poem's author. Only a poem this good, this enjoyable, this intruiging is worthy of criticism. Let the others out to pasture, but I'd like to keep this one for a while.

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