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radiance, glorious and cold and blistering all at once, like a star behind the eyes
Saturn Devouring His Daughter (Lorelai's Song) / Discussion
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This is the discussion related to the wiki page Saturn Devouring His Daughter (Lorelai's Song).
it's an obvious thing, but what i most enjoy about this piece is the melding together of flesh and metal, artificiality with viscerality. this feels like a very condensed, sharpened version of the trans-as-machine metaphor that defines so much of sma. nice work.
poet
Ouh, this is lovely. It is a cycle, a feverish rinsing repetition, flowers blooming to unbloom and bloom again, but far stranger in beauty. Flowers are so often pretty, plain yes-that-is, a pass-over of indeed, it'the garden is lovely, dear. This is oh! my. The response to seeing a wild animal and all the emotions and how gorgeous and the teeth and claws. All of it. Been debating whether to do some poetry set in fictional universes but always felt that I shouldn't due to arbitrary self-imposed rules. You have broken me free.
My favourite stanzas happen to be back-to-back:
She is only self-made in the way any
piece of art may be, brushstrokes painted
by hands foreign, the artist the conduit
of the zeitgeist, true agency questionable.
When the sun rises, she is Saturn herself,
perfumed in stinking iron and
saline and ethanol vapor,
lips whet with the blood of a new sacrifice,
streaked down her chin in reverence,
her beauty only at expense, cost
just palatable enough to bear,
just enough to not be sickened at the sight,
bile rising in the throat and lungs constricted,
eyes averted so as not to see
her own reflection in those
silky brown irises.
Because she was strong,
she could take it.
Why couldn't they?
Coconut-pandan gelatin dessert on a bed of mint leaves. Divine.
-Styg
What is life if not the contrast between what has been and what will become?
there is an iron core o this piece, one you rotate aroun dwith hawkeyed vision and drelict hunger. o piere this core you had to grapple with something devilish and intense and I am more than here fo it, holding your haand and always there to pick you up when it knocks you down. love you girl
I watch the yonder hills
See foodwrenches toil in dust
Let their cacophonous calls
Rend our bodies to rust
I hate to rehash what's already been said by the people above me but, uh, I love this piece to bits. The seamless interplay between the mortal and the divine, machina and flesh, it feels so raw yet artificial.. just wow. i'm on my knees, i'm trembling, your work is breathtaking.
I love the fervor this poem brings to the table. This fervor tries but ultimately fails to hide the dread that weaves in and out of this piece. And I loooove the italics dialogue the piece uses, it creates such a certain energy. To me, this piece is less about the act of transitioning (which the piece is still strongly about), but anger over those who get what's theirs and then pull the ladder up from behind them. They subject themselves to the tools of the machine (or are already part of the machine itself, as stanza two may imply) and when they come out the other side they eventually become Saturn either because they are disgusted by those who could not "bear the cost" so then the unnatural order is restored because while there are always glasses-wearing girls in waiting rooms there will always be Saturns. It's bleak. It's not something I agree with, I suspect you don't either. And obviously I might be putting everything in a perspective you didn't consider at all - at the very least it does not feel like a celebratory piece. But it is a powerful piece of verse that I've really enjoyed thinking about.
Love how raw the anger present here is. It's powerful, it's permeating, yet it's not overbearing. It's constant, it pushes at the walls, through flesh and chains. Such an interesting feel, and so effective at characterizing it in what is a pretty short poem. It's great.
+1~
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