Yes, I can see my untitled poem has a lot of problems. I've done a first quick rewrite (note: a couple more since I first wrote this paragraph) and want to see if I'm on the right track. I feel there are some great images and metaphors waiting to get into this one, but they are just out of my reach. I already feel closer to the subject emotionally after the rewrite, so maybe I can go on with it.
Under that I will post the other poem I mentioned. I'll have to go and find it in my files. I haven't looked at it since before summer, but it's short! And one reason I didn't want to workshop it: I considered it finished.
(1) (Okay, the truth, too cliche, sentimental? Still working on it. Other titles, anyone?)
Summer's End ("Remnants of Summer"?)
The end of August is tinder dry. Your steps raise clouds
of golden dust that follow you to the house, hiding
your shadow. On the porch, sun-faded towels
are laid out to dry, and kid's sandals are matched in pairs,
two half-hearts, good luck charms for our marriage.
Inside, I watch from the window. The oak table
is scattered with lined paper and yellow pencils.
I clear them for summer's last supper. We focus on fish
and rice; the children leave to grieve the start of school,
though sparks of excitement crackle in the air.
High pitched voices vanish, and in the silence, we see
the day is dissolving to dusk, and we are alone,
together. We carry glasses of wine out to the thinning
pale grass, to hail the last full moon before harvest,
to breathe in the blue haze of Russian sage.
The moon drops lustrous pearls in our pools
of blushing wine. Iridescent wings stitch
seams of shelter in the descending fabric of fall.
The force of the evening pulls us toward each other.
Your blood stirs, my breath catches.
Alternate last line: "We toast to the rest of our lives."
(2)
Alternate last line: "We toast to the rest of our lives."
(2)
Holding On
July, the leaves are dense with chlorophyll,
a deep mid-summer green, and plums in hand
are sweet. My husband and I keep vigil:
We watch my swelling belly, firm and round,
a melon ripened while the fetus grows,
my sugared blood sustaining our shared bond.
My partner and I are forty and we know
the season soon will turn, descend to fall.
Now I want to feel the jutting elbows
and knees, blanketed in creamy wax, caul
encased and safe--away from the knock
at the worldly door--inside, behind snug walls.
The last time I'll be pregnant, I balk:
I'm five days overdue and culpable;
I've suspended earthly time, I sleepwalk...
A one way voyage through the birth canal--
our cleavage, breath from breath, will be final.
........................................................................
I notice fall descends in both of these--I'm repeating myself!
You could name the first one Summer Sandals, or not it's just a suggestion.
ReplyDeleteRuth, I gave my comments to you on the phone. I really don't have anything else to say. I'll be interested in which poem you chose. Debbie J
ReplyDeleteRuth,
ReplyDeleteI'm really glad that you are sharing your poetry with us. It's such a joy to read it. I'm glad that you are feeling closer to it. This poem sounds great "leave to grieve" and the images are generally working well. One image I couldn't picture was the sandals in the shape of hearts or are the charms something else? This poem does tend toward sentimentality, but not in a cliche way. Sentiment is fine as long as it is grounded in sensory detail. For that reason I like "Your blood stirs, my breath catches." better than "we toast to the rest of our lives, because we can relate to those feelings more than we can to a generalized sentiment of "the rest of our lives." "The force of the evening pulls us toward each other" sort of has that lack of grounding too, which makes us less effective. Its not the evening that is pulling them is it? Unless it is a world with different rules than our own. What is really happening there? How can you show us using sensory detail? Ruth, you said this poem had problems. It is beautiful already, don't forget that. These comments are not meant to discourage. I hope they are just food for thought.
Your second poem is also so visceral and had great imagery. You say it is complete. You should send it out!
Hi, and thank you, everyone, for your comments. I sent out the first one, and then of course wanted to change it, but kept myself from sending in a another version. It is a "workshop" so it is appropriate to submit something that needs work.
ReplyDeleteThe only problem is now, thanks to your comments, I am tempted to change again before the workshop. Maybe I'll try a few alternative versions, and then compare them to the workshop comments.
Thank you for your helpful insights.
Hi again, I made a few changes, not much, to "Remnants of Summer" which is the title at this point. If anyone gets this far in the comments, I'd appreciate some feedback.
ReplyDeleteLast stanza, 3rd and 4th lines tweaked:
The moon drops lustrous pearls in our pools
of blushing wine. Iridescent wings stitch
seams of shelter in the falling fabric of dark.
The force of advancing autumn pulls us close.
Your blood stirs, my breath catches.
Or maybe "silk" instead of "fabric", "night" instead of "dark" in any combination in the above stanza.
And "beef/bread" instead of "fish/rice"? Or "fish/bread"?
Also, earlier, "blue haze" instead of "purple haze" because that is apparently some kind of drug, which changes the towels to "sun-faded."
.............................
I want to get past this since I have another rough draft to post of something that may just be too weird...I'd like to get opinions to consider whether it's worth pursuing.