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Shelley (Masters workshop)
The original
Ozymandias
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
My version.
Ramses the second.
He’s buried in the sand yet rising tall.
Unmovable, unstoppable, a Master of us all.
The legends hold us rapt and won’t let go.
Our books, our films, in some their dreams will show
just how he holds, though millennia dead.
Millennia dead and we know that he said-
“Look on my works and despair.”
It’s written in the stone, it’s written in the air.
His face is Empire.
His body grips the Earth.
None in remembrance length can surpass.
The grains wide about are filled with a mass.
Witness the knee prints of ghosts in the sand,
then look to his eyes and their cold reprimand.
Comments
China Blue
Fri, 2015-06-12 12:14
Wes
As always you have nailed this piece
It may seem weak to you but that is part of our discussion
There is something about the one line
"witness the knee prints of ghosts in the sand" the imagery in this one line alone is strong
the entire poem raises the arm hairs
Chrys
Let your mercy spill on all these burning hearts in hell(Leonard Cohen)
alidzain
Fri, 2015-06-12 12:58
Wes
I second chry's view. I don't think this is weak poetry.
Alid
wesley snow
Fri, 2015-06-12 16:39
Wow.
I'm bowled over. I thought the only thing cool about the poem is that it took an opposite perspective of Shelley's.
I kind of threw it on the page in a fit of righteous indignation Ramses must feel after five freaking thousand years just sitting there.
You try doing that (he said to me).
Thank you.
W. H. Snow
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley
Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
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judyanne
Sat, 2015-06-13 06:39
can I suggest
instead of simply 'his body grips the earth' something like 'his body grips the deserted sands' - to get the feel of desolation that Shelley brings? Just a thought, otherwise I love your rendition....
( you'd be using the word 'sand' twice in the poem if you did that - but I'd then suggest you drop it in the first verse- 'he's buried, but rising tall' ....)
Lol - when the workshop was first announced I looked at Shelley and this very write - but you got in first.... and you did a much better job of it than I would have
Love judy
xxx
'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)
Rula
Fri, 2015-10-23 15:02
Thank you for
introducing Shelley's
and thank you for sharing yours.
❤❤❤❤❤❤
Please follow me on Instagram https://instagram.com/poetry.jo?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=
wesley snow
Fri, 2015-10-23 19:26
You're welcome.
But what are doing over here? This is closed. Not that I don't love hearing from you anywhere.
W. H. Snow
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley
Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
http://www.neopoet.com/mentor/about