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Herr Blodhemn

  • Last seen on Feb 13 10:19 AM 2006. Member since February 14, 2006.
  • I have 3 poems

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  • on Aftermath. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Third) by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, on April 4, 2004
    This is a poem about war and its consequences. Hence the name: Aftermath.

    I really don't think I need to explain the metaphor of summer fields being mown and dry leaves (corpses) scattered all over.
    It's pretty obvious, to me at least. We mow the fields, and then come the crows and the winter (death and decay) sets in.

    The last part of the poem states that things are never better after a war, only worse. And next time the harvest is not as pretty and pleasant as it was before "the mowing".

    The entry about poppy seeds seems intriguing. But I think it has something to do with the Opium wars. But I have my doubts..

    This is all my opinion, at least.

    It might very well be about the cycle of life/death.

  • on Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening by Robert Frost, on December 28, 2003
    I don't think it's about suicide.

    But stopping to live in another sense.

    He wishes he could stay there more to enjoy the wonderful forest before he is forced to go back to his town, and the problems that exist there and don't exist here, in the woods.

    He takes a short detour on his way home, perhaps, to enjoy a few moments of silence, but his horse reminds him of his earthly obligations... he has promises to keep, and many miles before he sleeps.

    Maybe he finds serenity in death, but he doesn't contemplate it, he just accepts the fact that he's alive and has many more miles to go.

    I think the first time that line is repeated, it's in a straightforward sense, and he has many miles to go before reaching home.

    The second time, however, I think he means he has many more things to do before he can finally enjoy this forest without having to worry about his earthly, mundane problems.

  • on Hendecasyllabics by Alfred Lord Tennyson, on December 15, 2003
    A wise man once said (don't remember who said it though):

    "Don't mind what the critics say, no one has yet built a statue for a critic"

    I hope poor Alfred will take comfort in that, at least... If he ever bothers to come back from the dead to check his page in oldpoetry.com from his gravetop computer.