ext_37027 ([identity profile] asakiyume.livejournal.com) wrote in [personal profile] sovay 2015-08-05 11:29 am (UTC)

I really love the poem, and just as much, I love what you say here, which, though it's prose, is so powerful and so beautifully expressed that it has the effect of poetry.

Their lure is the storyteller's: they know the truth of things ... The deceased is never unknown to them: they know all our life stories. They know what really happened. They tell the dead true.

And this: [They] will tell you the story of the world until you die of it. --They're like a heroin-strong (and heroin-deadly) dose of Songs of Experience, then. By train of thought, I'm reminded of Dallben aging in a night after reading The Book of Three.

You say here that you imagine the bronze siren as offering you a choice between the panpipes (which to me look a bit like a small book or even a piece of bread, though I know ancients didn't have bread in this shape) and the pomegranate, but in your poem I get the sense that the listener is being pressed to take both. As a choice, what do you see it as being between? I understand the pomegranate as death and (from your poem) relief, but what do the pipes offer?

ETA: Never mind: I see it now, rereading: story, through song. (I am slow sometimes)

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