The amateur historian: The amateur historian (ancient history) in me---admittedly a rank amateur---suggests that your poem is the verbal equivalent of the Gordian Knot.
With no respect to Stephen: With no respect to Stephen implied or expressed, I think the assertion would be better phrased as, "Guns our tools. In the wrong hands, they assist in killing others." Well, couldn't someone kill a person with a hammer, or a pipe wrench? Yes---but guns are created and manufactured to fire a lethal projectile into living flesh and cause either damage or death. Hammers and pipe wrenches are not manufactured to that intent. Or, like orange juice and, say, poison: a person could choke to death on orange juice, but the jucie was not manufactured for that purpose; poison is manufactured with the sole purpose and intent to bring life, in some form, to a sudden end.
In my opinion (and I can speak for no other person), assault weapons should be entirely banned; possession of them should be criminalized; and ordinary guns should be owned only by those who can pass the most rigorous and demanding background check. Yes, gunlovers will cry loudly about second amendment rights (does anyone else ever speak so much about other amendments), but the Founders were not able to foresee the "arms" would become, and what the "right to bear" them would allow. In just the same way that the Founders could not foresee or admit the reasons to end human chattel slavery, so their perspective, given the era in which they lived, was narrow. Hindsight is always more clear than foresight. The Founders could not foresee, and probably could not have predicted, factorized mass production, so the proliferation of guns and firearms would not have seemed to them the kind of problem it is now.
Although written well, this: Although written well, this was---from the standpoint of content---very difficult for me to read. My own parental problem was not exactly like yours: my parents often "set me up" to fail, or sabatoged my efforts to succeed---mostly socially. Just after I turned thirteen, my paternal grandmother took me aside, apologized to me for my parents' attitude towards me, and insisted that none of it was my fault. So reading this spoke to those old scars that I still carry around, and reminded me of how alone I felt, especially during my adolescence.
I think this series can do a lot of good to and for those who find themselves in similar situations. Knowing that you have shared these experiences from your past will help those who are experiencing their own difficulties, and will help those who, like me, simply cannot forget those circumstances no matter how much they wish to do so.
I thank you for the courageous act of posting this, and I thank you for privileging all of us at postpoems to be permitted to read about these aspects of your past.
Thank you. And no, I didn't: Thank you. And no, I didn't mind bearing the brunt (although I did not think of it as a brunt at all). I am going to see the new Little Evan now.
Not at all, my friend! I took: Not at all, my friend! I took it as a compliment. :) Sometimes I have a mischievous streak in me and like to play little pranks like that anyway. Knowing me, and the place I was in then, I may have even titled this Caligula to get someone to stop and think needlessly in circles! Hope you don't mind bearing the brunt of it, should it be that was the case! Always appreciate your commentary, it's actually helped motivate me to write more. By the way, Dear Little Evan, #3 just posted. It was maybe the hardest one to write yet. Let me know what you think when you get the time.
Respectfully,
Evan
Thank you, sir, for the: Thank you, sir, for the reply. I hope my comment did not seem like a criticism: I thought, instead, that I was either missing some detail, or just badly misreading the poem. I have loved ancient history---the Roman empire and, within it, the early Christians---and during my last two undergrad years, I spent a lot of time reading about the first five emperor, Augustus through Nero. So your poem definitely caught my eye.
Powerful mood shift: I didn't anticipate the suggestion of a distanceless, soulful connection, albeit in a bittersweet moment, to shift into such a lonely drag through a fog. From gentle to heavy, and very well written.
Detachment may reduce sadness, but also all but eliminates joy. I hope you will reattach yourself, despite the difficulties life surely does offer.
Starward, I'm pretty sure I: Starward, I'm pretty sure I was shit-faced hammered drunk when I wrote this and was reading about the Roman Empire. No real connection other than that. Or maybe there was and I just can't remember...?
This poem is so bleak it gave: This poem is so bleak it gave me a chill while reading it, and I had only to look out my window (although in January, not November) to see a real-time analogue to what you have described. Just as much poetic skill is required to describe this aspect of reality as it does to describe a sunny, warm day; and you have deployed your words powerfully and succinctly.
As for whether it appeals to several, or many, others . . . mass appeal does not validate or invalidate a poem. I don't know if you are familiar with the Poet, Wallace Stevens, who, during his lifetime, was a lawyer andi insurance company executive, more well know for his expertise on surety bonds than on poetry. His poems were considered difficult and lacking in much appeal, yet he was deeply and consistently appreciated by a "chosen few." During the eighties and nineties, I had the thrill to watch Stevens' star ascend while, correspondingly, Eliot's star had begun to descend. And now, forty-four years after receiving that advice to read him, I am still reading him.
By the way, your poem reminds me of Stevens' great, but very short and very chilling poem, "The Snow Man." I do not make comparisons to his work lightly; and I mean it as a compliment. Both you and Stevens capture, in ordinary words, the very chill of a bleak landscape. Your words not only have their sounds, they also convey what it feels like to be cold, just as Stevens' snowman poem did in 1921, and continues doing so to this very day. I think you should be very pleased with your accomplishment in this poem. And I am very impressed with it, although I may prefer to read it again when a bit of warmer weather has arrived in our region.
I wish you the utmost success: I wish you the utmost success with constructing and then publishing the book. I am sure it will help others---to either put their own difficulties into perspective, or to avoid causing such difficulties to others. My own experience reminds me of the very last line of Annie Proulx's inimitable short story, "Brokeback Mountain," which asserts that what cannot be fixed must be endured. In my day, I was unable to fix the bullying---bullying done hatefully by peers, and with more of a false "good nature" by teachers and parents---and so had to endure it. Your book, and whatever you share of it on postpoems, will very likely help others to fix situations so that they do not have to endure the sometime horrific difficulties of those situations.