|Reviews for It is all over|
| aconsciousjulia chapter 1 . 6/24/2004
tis all i have to say
| Angelic Hellraiser chapter 1 . 1/10/2004
| R. Blade chapter 1 . 7/14/2003
::claps:: bravo. great work. i loved the images that the words made me see. i could picture the whole thing going on. or... this might just be symbolism and not be a dancer dying at all. either way.. nice job. keep going!
| Scars of Fantasy chapter 1 . 6/19/2003
i would say more, but this has left me speechless.
| A.J.Peart chapter 1 . 6/18/2003
Alright, so I missed a day. Are you really surprised? Actually, I was really busy yesterday playing the role of chauffeur for my sister and mom in separate trips. It was thrilling.
Photographs can be good for inspiration; my "Mortal Eyes" was inspired by a picture too; I think it was a man's body from World War II that had been turned to ash or something equally as skincrawlesque. Very pleasant. Anyway, on to the discussion of the poem.
I don't know how much you may or may not have read of his books, but this reminds me a lot of the sort of thing that Timothy Findley would write. Seriously, if you were to recreate this in the form of a short story, it seems like it would be right along those lines. I've even gone to the extent of adding this to me quickly filling "Favorite Stories" list, which I'm running out of room in...that's right...running out...
I'm not going to analyze this line by line 'cause I don't want to; that isn't to say that I can't. There are a lot of things that I could sit and ramble on about, waterfalls for example, but I'm going to just rant a bit about plot typed things instead.
I really think this is a beautifully orchastrated peice, and possibly the best thing I've read from your pen thus far (though I've missed a fair bit).
It's never really about the murder at all, I think, since I don't see it as a murder per se. It's about the sudden realization of a path in life, or a place in society. It's about finding that place and the journey that takes us there.
Your character, let's stick with the name Annie (just to be strange), so Annie is searching for a place to be herself, but as with so many kids, it's terribly difficult to find that place. It's all about conformity. Annie's flesh is "just this side of human, powdered / just this side of enviable;" she's conforming to what people expect of her, and the people are the people that are in her life most.
These guys (putting 2 and 2 together...) in the backseat are there with her because it's like she feels they need to be there in some twisted sort of drive towards finding that place in life. You wrote "she wishes they would all / get out, get out so she can have the / backseat all to herself," which says to me that even she knows that she's on the wrong path. Reminds me a little of my sister, in fact.
What she's doing isn't what she wants but it's what she thinks will get her to where she thinks she's going. She's putting on a disguise to play the role that she's found herself in; she's playing the role of the 'whore' in the backseat, technically, and she hates it.
Dancing isn't dancing at all. The dancing I see as her being herself. Sure, dancing might be involved in that, but the effect of it in the poem I think is that of freespiritedness (if that's even a word) and just being oneself. She want's to escape from the rut that she's in, lying in random backseats with random guys, and to emerge as something better, something truly enviable.
That's where the murder comes in. Here Annie is, 'dancing' or, in my terms, being herself, and BANG! Her whole life turns upsidedown, changed for the rest of her life (cut short?); the whole time caught on camera. The photograph I see as being the staple that says, "Yes, she made it! She's finally a somebody!"
You say, "All that matters now is that she / enchant, sculpt contours / like an archetect of the flesh." I find this to be a very solid statement of what she wants to accomplish in her attempt to break free from this conformality. "Enchanting" and "scuplpting" are sort of these elements of the self that are exressed throught some form of art; you can enchant someone with the words of a poem or sculpt a statue that awes the world. She's trying to change the things that make up her world, her life, and she's doing so by breaking free from her rut and dancing.
The bullet that "kills" her is, as I see it, the reaction of the people who thought they knew her but only knew the Annie that was disguised as the whore. But suddenly she's dancing and not f**king some guy in some car somewhere and this throws them off.
Part 4 is integral in the overall picture of the poem. It's where the whole action of the bullet striking Annie becomes apparent as being futile. Annie is dancing, escaping from the reality that she had created for herself (or had created for her by the people around her); she is like liquid, as you describe her in Part 3. She's becoming one with her nature and with herself, and then as something that no one could have expected: an individual.
Yes, the poem has Annie dead in the end, physically at least. But I don't see any physicality in the poem; it's all metaphor and image, drawing this picture of a girl lying dead for all the world to see, when she's not dead at all.
She wants them to shoot her. That's the key, right there.
Death is a transition in life from one state to the next. The opening line to Part 4: "but we do find her in transition." She has to 'die' in order to live, to be reborn as a new person, a new self. Really, we are seeing the death of the whore, not Annie herself.
Part 5 sums it all up, kind of a short version of what I've ranted about here. This is actually where I got (I think) the start to this rant. Here, you say she's found that the place she was looking for was the "vaneered hardwood her blood now invades." This is just what I was saying about her looking for herself in the wrong place, following the wrong path and playing the role of someone she isn't. And then there it is, she's found it and now she's "becoming" it; her blood is invading the floor, it's not just pouring onto it or staining it. Her blood is going inside the floor and joining with it; she's becoming the floor.
You call her a work of art, so she has scupted herself finally into what she was trying to become. She's smiling in the photograph, so she knows where she's gone and where she's been and altogether knows what the world is all about.
I can seriously see this as a beautiful and highly effective short story, or even a novella (if you were daring). I'll use Findley's novella "You Went Away" as an example, where he basically did the same thing; it starts with a description of a bunch of photos, one in particular of these two people walking under an umbrella and away from the camera. The entire novella is based off these pictures which had no story of thier own, but this is what could have happened. Closes again with the photo of the two people, a mystery left to be explored by the imagination alone, and is very much like this poem. That's one of the main reasons why I like this poem, despite the (possible) errors I've spotted along the way [the "murdermurdermurder" thing NOT included in that bunch of errors, it's obviously intentional].
Anyway, you close with an aside question, "but is it over?" My answer, "no, it's not over, because in truth she never actually died. She simply became someone else, herself. The whore is the one that died, no one else."
Fantabugrantasticulous poem! One of my favs now.
| Split Ends chapter 1 . 6/16/2003
M. The words! I just love the idea of immortalizing a person in a photograph. In a way tis terribly ironical, but that makes it all the better, here. I loved the phrases you used "vain death", the "masterpiece swelling" and all. You concoct these images that are both disturbing and surprising.
Always good to have an element of surprise there, I think. :)
Would this make very much sense to say, that it is an epic poem in very little words?
| JAM Yiska chapter 1 . 6/13/2003
The last stanza and the "But is it over?" is amazing. Great poem!
| Mista Mugs chapter 1 . 6/11/2003
Wow...just 'BOOM" there it is. I really enjoyed this poem...Mayhaps I'm to cynical and sadistic...
| Impressionist chapter 1 . 6/6/2003
...I'm always in awe of you. your ability to put words together into a symphony of imagination...it makes me use big words. ;)
I'm not in a state to say much else...but keep atter. lovely. just lovely. :)
| Obake-chan chapter 1 . 6/2/2003
I'll try to guess which picture(But they took them down; only the top ten and honorable mentions are up there now...)
As usual, like always, pretty pretty. But then again, my head is probably over decorating the image(moonlight and ballroom and fluffy floral foom-foom dancing attire, illuminating everywhere. Ike).
The poems always remind me of something. Something that I enjoy. So tis is all good.
| account inactive00000 chapter 1 . 6/2/2003
This...is...beautiful. The end. Oh the ending...I must go die now...
So pretty. So sad
| charredrose chapter 1 . 6/2/2003
oh... i really, really, really like this... it just has such class and artistry and... wow. goes a bit deeper than we sometimes like to admit. nice, very nice, definetaly a favorite. keep writing!
| Paradoxical Goddess chapter 1 . 6/2/2003
so good. :(
(especially jealous as is in severe writer's block now)
| sexy beast chapter 1 . 6/1/2003
part 5 was gorgeous, the veneered hardwood her blood now invades, the photograph, the smile, have this tawdry, gothic poignancy, such vivid colors paint the scene, such glittering imagery in a smoke enciricled room - the seductive 20's show girl vixen has her final bedding in a sanguinary puddle of love. no shriveling at death your character swells, as you say, transcending life through artistic glory and dramatic fatalism. so enchanting this picture of homocidal minds, beautiful hormones, and celebratory death. a sensual homage to the wicked night life diety, so sensational, garish. impressive.
who knows where the hell those words came from, but they did oh well. if you couldnt tell i rather enjoyed it, to make an annoying understatement. hm , wow.
| lemoncane79 chapter 1 . 6/1/2003
last night we put a
bullet hole in the dancing girl,
a few flashes of chrome in a
i like that part!