Not For The Thin-Skinned

[flyguy69]

checking to make sure i'm in the right thread this time!



I really like the way you're conveying your words.

Thanks, Sweetie!

I appreciate your thoughts!

 

[annaswirls]

fly,
this is a tough one to read, I think that you are using the inflammatory language to make a point-- a statement-- but it is still tricky. You have to be so careful in using this language-- to keep the rest of it more tender-- ie, if you are going to use "fuck you" it will make you as the writer seem to have the ugly voice instead of those characters who are speaking it. Also, if you get people on the defensive with a stereotype or ugly word "gook" you have to be even more careful (I think) to not appear as being judgemental towards others ie the blind don't see...

I KNOW what you are meaning because I know you and STILL my skin bristled. I know it should bristle, but the issue is, when do you want it to bristle? If it goes up right from the beginning, you have the reader in a state before you even get to the really harsh part.

I know there is nothing really soft in this recount, but consider humanizing the players a bit more, or mention something beautiful in contrast to the ugliness. A hint of the reason behind the ugliness, not as an excuse but more of an explanation?


Be careful to separate yourself from them if you choose to tell the story as an observer. Either that or write it from the point of view of one of the "characters" in this story.

I also do not see the importance of the Oedipus story. It was distracting, and added more disturbing images to distract from the one you already had going.


eek I am supposed to start out by saying three nice things about the poem....

I like the idea of bullets as words for speechless rage... but the blind DO understand fingers-- they DO understand how ugly changes everything... you are not using ugly as a visual discriptor, but behavioral... it is tricky.

I don't know, flyguy, this is a tough one to review.... you picked a very sensitive topic. I do NOT believe it should be prettied up, just softened here and there where the explosive language is not 100% necessary to contrast the intrinsic shock to the story itself. If you want to keep it as is, let me know, and I will review it again from a piece by piece stand point instead of overall.

damn you tackled a tough one.

~anna

This is a drastic rewrite of one I posted earlier under the title "Narrow Eyes," I think.

::
Bullets are words for speechless
rage, universal fuck you
fingers even the blind understand.
The blind don’t understand

how ugly changes everything, how ugly
people get when no words express
how they feel, but they know

when some gook’s had it
up to here with their shit
and barks fuck you in soft metal
sign language.

Oedipus poked his own eyes out
with a pin, ashamed of the ugly things
he’d done. Too late. He’d already seen it

by then; his father dead
by his hands, his mother spread
for his loins. Early blindness
could have spared him the pain.

In the woods of Wisconsin
blindness came early
in November. Passed father to son
it hid the ugly effects of words
fired into the tree tops with lips pursed

like an assault rifle. Hollow-point
gook words that hurt more
on exit, after thirty years
of waiting on a promise
made in the jungles of Laos.

Treed like quarry Chai Vang
found the words he needed
in the lead language
of deer hunters, narrowed his eyes
and told them how he felt.
::

 

[flyguy69]

Thanks, Swirly Girl.

I agree; it is easy to slip over the line in a poem like this and tell folks how they ought to feel about it, and inflammatory language always raises barriers to understanding. I'll reconsider some word choices and step back.

BTW, no one is physically blind in this poem. The blindness refers to their bigotry.

I included the Oedipus story because of his self-imposed blindness, hoping to recapitulate the adopted blindness of predjudice. It does, however, introduce a lot of other stuff, too, and may pull the poem away from the message.

I appreciate your thoughts

fly,
this is a tough one to read, I think that you are using the inflammatory language to make a point-- a statement-- but it is still tricky. You have to be so careful in using this language-- to keep the rest of it more tender-- ie, if you are going to use "fuck you" it will make you as the writer seem to have the ugly voice instead of those characters who are speaking it. Also, if you get people on the defensive with a stereotype or ugly word "gook" you have to be even more careful (I think) to not appear as being judgemental towards others ie the blind don't see...

I KNOW what you are meaning because I know you and STILL my skin bristled. I know it should bristle, but the issue is, when do you want it to bristle? If it goes up right from the beginning, you have the reader in a state before you even get to the really harsh part.

I know there is nothing really soft in this recount, but consider humanizing the players a bit more, or mention something beautiful in contrast to the ugliness. A hint of the reason behind the ugliness, not as an excuse but more of an explanation?


Be careful to separate yourself from them if you choose to tell the story as an observer. Either that or write it from the point of view of one of the "characters" in this story.

I also do not see the importance of the Oedipus story. It was distracting, and added more disturbing images to distract from the one you already had going.


eek I am supposed to start out by saying three nice things about the poem....

I like the idea of bullets as words for speechless rage... but the blind DO understand fingers-- they DO understand how ugly changes everything... you are not using ugly as a visual discriptor, but behavioral... it is tricky.

I don't know, flyguy, this is a tough one to review.... you picked a very sensitive topic. I do NOT believe it should be prettied up, just softened here and there where the explosive language is not 100% necessary to contrast the intrinsic shock to the story itself. If you want to keep it as is, let me know, and I will review it again from a piece by piece stand point instead of overall.

damn you tackled a tough one.

~anna

 

[postobitum]

narrow eyes -

Fly! Whoo, I agree with Anna, let me say the ending took my breath away, I liked the impact of that. All along thinking that there was a war story in the making here (and I guess in a way there is) and then pow! In just a few words I knew exactly what you were talking about. While the content, or the subject really, is disturbing in a visceral kind of "should he be doing that?" sort of way I can still see this as a snap shot from his point of view in that tree, minus the Oedipus parts.

*shivery*

 

[postobitum]

Homemade Ice Cream

The ice cream bucket,
all salty and trying to be freezing,
is the current object of obsession.
Two dozen (well, maybe not that many)
versions of 'no' don't seem to work…
and when the phone rings
I have to hang up on the guy
because he's trying to sell me something
like phone service
(how obvious is it that I am talking on a phone…
a phone with service…idiots.)
So of course the towel is lifted,
ice is scattered because
in her little world she is helping momma.
I can't be too harsh on her
as I sweep aside the ice and salt,
gasping at the instant arctic on my fingertips.
Through gritted teeth I explain
(again, uselessly)
that the ice cream isn't ready yet,
and I guide her back to the bag of fruit snacks
keeping her place on the Spongebob couch
in front of the tube.

And in the brief moments before I hear
(again, ceaselessly)
the back screen door slide on salty cold grit
I wonder if I hurt the telemarketer's feelings.

 

[flyguy69]

I confess, Posty; I don’t know what this poem is saying. You do an excellent job with the bucket and your frazzled nerves, but to conclude with concern for the telemarketer’s feelings seems sort of like a let-down. Your earlier derision (idiots) doesn’t suggest concern, so it just drops into the picture. And it is not compelling enough to carry the weight of the poem. I have some line-by-line thoughts, but really recommend you go back and examine your message first.

The ice cream bucket,
all salty and trying to be freezing, <-- very nice
is the current object of obsession.
Two dozen (well, maybe not that many)
versions of 'no' don't seem to work…
and when the phone rings
I have to hang up on the guy
because he's trying to sell me something
like phone service <-- is it or isn’t it phone service?
(how obvious is it that I am talking on a phone…
a phone with service…idiots.)
So of course the towel is lifted,
ice is scattered because
in her little world she is helping momma. <-- we already know who
I can't be too harsh on her
as I sweep aside the ice and salt,
gasping at the instant arctic on my fingertips.
Through gritted teeth I explain
(again, uselessly) <-- we already know this; maybe a reference to dozens again.
that the ice cream isn't ready yet,
and I guide her back to the bag of fruit snacks
keeping her place on the Spongebob couch <-- good details
in front of the tube.

And in the brief moments before I hear <-- moments are brief
(again, ceaselessly)
the back screen door slide on salty cold grit
I wonder if I hurt the telemarketer's feelings.


Good luck in revision

 

[postobitum]

I know Fly, I know. Like I said I need to get the ball rolling on writing, the mechanics are rusty and resisting me, but I appreciate (indeed, NEED) the critical analysis. Hence, I will work on it and re-submit for the auopsy table!

Thank you!

 

[flyguy69]

::::

elsewhere

 

[wildsweetone]

.....

 

[annaswirls]

elsewhere

inquiring minds want to know... where?


You got over 1,000 posts! When are you gonna get your specialized title?

I am still waiting for someone to use "anna's toy" bit alas! no takers


WSO: I will look over your poem tonight (someone smack my fingers if I start to re-write it!)

 

[WickedEve]

Fly, the poem has some very good writing in it. You've already received some good feedback. All I can offer are similar poems and comments that I received.

Backdoor Folk really didn't get many comments here at lit, but the original version, which first appeared a few years ago on Lotus, was ripped to shreds and nearly caused a board riot. I was practically branded a racist, which is so far from who I am and what I believe. The literotica version of backdoor has been toned down. I had to remove several inflammatory words. I hope I can eventually find the original version for comparison. Does the newer version work? Has it been softened enough? Definitely consider the feedback you've received on your newest poem, but I would proceed with a light touch at first when editing, because I often wonder if I silenced some of what my poem was originally saying.

And Bullwhip Rose has the rather inflammatory shuffalongs. The poem is about a man who was a slave overseer. But it appears that my use of the derogatory term seemed to be coming more from me than the overseer. It may still need an edit. It's difficult to write material like this and not come across in a negative light.

 

[echoes_s]

Okay, can somebody help please? Without re-writing this for me (i.e. MAKE ME WORK), what have I done wrong?



Where the spirit soars
beyondhigh, unfettered by mortal needs,

where the wind lifts the breezesoul
to dance,
to sway through each day,

where the world revolves
she is free to shimmerflutter

stopping only of her own volition,
stopping to appease her every whim,
stopping for the summons of a tortured beingsoul.

Touching each with a bizarre feathered caring
that caresses each soul,
and comforts each torn heart.

Hi wildsweetone, I don't know if you remember me but it seems the ink is now swirling blood red within my mind again so I am going to run with this and see where anything goes, perhaps it will stay this time for a period of duration, even more habitual

stretch your mind beyond word and images that mortalize us and weigh us (and us being human beings) down. Make everything infinate because that is where you want this poem to go or be. Add your own interpretations, but open your mind to endless possibilities...I really hope I am making sense and not being rude or overtly critical. I am out of the loop here so my mind is still scattered with old and new inspiration, different views of how things can be seen in more abstract ways...uhmm, hugs


edit because as you can tell I have forgotten everything

 

[echoes_s]

I confess, Posty; I don’t know what this poem is saying. You do an excellent job with the bucket and your frazzled nerves, but to conclude with concern for the telemarketer’s feelings seems sort of like a let-down. Your earlier derision (idiots) doesn’t suggest concern, so it just drops into the picture. And it is not compelling enough to carry the weight of the poem. I have some line-by-line thoughts, but really recommend you go back and examine your message first.

The ice cream bucket,
all salty and trying to be freezing, <-- very nice
is the current object of obsession.
Two dozen (well, maybe not that many)
versions of 'no' don't seem to work…
and when the phone rings
I have to hang up on the guy
because he's trying to sell me something
like phone service <-- is it or isn’t it phone service?
(how obvious is it that I am talking on a phone…
a phone with service…idiots.)
So of course the towel is lifted,
ice is scattered because
in her little world she is helping momma. <-- we already know who
I can't be too harsh on her
as I sweep aside the ice and salt,
gasping at the instant arctic on my fingertips.
Through gritted teeth I explain
(again, uselessly) <-- we already know this; maybe a reference to dozens again.
that the ice cream isn't ready yet,
and I guide her back to the bag of fruit snacks
keeping her place on the Spongebob couch <-- good details
in front of the tube.

And in the brief moments before I hear <-- moments are brief
(again, ceaselessly)
the back screen door slide on salty cold grit
I wonder if I hurt the telemarketer's feelings.


Good luck in revision

wow, I like how you and Eve do this Flyguy and it takes a lot of work too.

 

[echoes_s]

hand stretched to reach the mind
to touch and soothe
straighten fragmented lines
from curled aprehension
of time

for a moment thought focused,
eyes direct and open
words and sentences
make sense
life alive

It is summer
the sky crayon blue
found only in dreams
clouds could be the nightmare
if you wanted

but not here

An apple tree in full green
brimmed with nogistalgia
trimmed as a rough edge
of naturalness
each leaf

a silent rattle
in babies hands
tiny balls inside
constant flitter
of dark and light shadows

it is time to remove
the garden bench
from my window again
just to watch the outside
once again

and then I lose sight of where I am going with this

 

[flyguy69]

Fly, the poem has some very good writing in it. You've already received some good feedback. All I can offer are similar poems and comments that I received.

Backdoor Folk really didn't get many comments here at lit, but the original version, which first appeared a few years ago on Lotus, was ripped to shreds and nearly caused a board riot. I was practically branded a racist, which is so far from who I am and what I believe. The literotica version of backdoor has been toned down. I had to remove several inflammatory words. I hope I can eventually find the original version for comparison. Does the newer version work? Has it been softened enough? Definitely consider the feedback you've received on your newest poem, but I would proceed with a light touch at first when editing, because I often wonder if I silenced some of what my poem was originally saying.

And Bullwhip Rose has the rather inflammatory shuffalongs. The poem is about a man who was a slave overseer. But it appears that my use of the derogatory term seemed to be coming more from me than the overseer. It may still need an edit. It's difficult to write material like this and not come across in a negative light.

Thank you, Eve. I remember Bullwhip, and my comment back then was that the use of inflammatory language was an essential part of the poem. I was still in the poetic womb for Backdoor, but enjoyed reading it now. I think it works largely because of its storytelling. The ending feels tacked-on, however, and I wonder if original language helped with this.

I am still working on this poem and its final form may not even be recognizable, but I will keep the epithet. It is the crux of the biscuit.

 

[flyguy69]

inquiring minds want to know... where?


You got over 1,000 posts! When are you gonna get your specialized title?

I am still waiting for someone to use "anna's toy" bit alas! no takers


WSO: I will look over your poem tonight (someone smack my fingers if I start to re-write it!)

I can't remember what poem it was! Oh, well. I'm sure it is in happier place now. May God have mercy on its linguistic soul.

1000 posts! Now I am somebody! I wouldn't mind being anna's toy, but am too jealous of the other toys in the drawer. Especially that wobbly purple octopus one.

 

[WickedEve]

Thank you, Eve. I remember Bullwhip, and my comment back then was that the use of inflammatory language was an essential part of the poem. I was still in the poetic womb for Backdoor, but enjoyed reading it now. I think it works largely because of its storytelling. The ending feels tacked-on, however, and I wonder if original language helped with this.

I am still working on this poem and its final form may not even be recognizable, but I will keep the epithet. It is the crux of the biscuit.

Backdoor was revised so many times, that if I can't find the original, then I have no idea if it was better or not. The ending? I need to read the poem again. It is an older poem, and I think I could do a better job revising it now.

 

[flyguy69]

QUOTE=wildsweetone]Okay, can somebody help please? Without re-writing this for me (i.e. MAKE ME WORK), what have I done wrong?

You want it rough, huh? Ok, Sweetie, get to work!

In general it is a little new-agey for my taste. That is a personal thing, but I think it reduces the poem's significance. The poem seems to be about a spirit bird-girl that searches for sad people, then makes them feel better by touching them with her wings. Do you know anybody like that? Has this ever happened to you? Poetry lends itself well to fantasy, but the impact and appeal will be much broader if you address real-world experiences. If this is about you, or something you saw happen, let us see that. Use real-world terms to tell us. You can keep the spirit bird-girl metaphor but to function as a metaphor it needs to be tied to a real girl, too.

That being said, I don't know anything about the actors in the poem, so I never care about them. Who is this girl? Why does she have this power? Who is she healing? What happened to them?

Where the spirit soars
high, unfettered by mortal needs,

where the wind lifts the soul
to dance,
to sway through each day,

where the world revolves
she is free to flutter <-- Up to here you have said really only said one thing.

stopping only of her own volition,
stopping to appease her every whim,
stopping for the summons of a tortured soul. <-- "summons" and "volition" seem to contradict.

Touching each with a bizarre feathered caring <-- let readers decide if it is bizarre.
that caresses each soul,
and comforts each torn heart.

Good luck, WSO.

 

[annaswirls]

I can't remember what poem it was! Oh, well. I'm sure it is in happier place now. May God have mercy on its linguistic soul.

1000 posts! Now I am somebody! I wouldn't mind being anna's toy, but am too jealous of the other toys in the drawer. Especially that wobbly purple octopus one.

Hey! Have you been in my drawers again!?!

sigh..... 1,000 posts, my boy has grown up so quickly! I still remember your first post... as if it were yesterday.... and like a million years ago

oh no here I go, I feel the sentimental fool coming on!

 

[annaswirls]

QUOTE=wildsweetone]Okay, can somebody help please? Without re-writing this for me (i.e. MAKE ME WORK), what have I done wrong?

[COLOR=Sienna. The poem seems to be about a spirit bird-girl that searches for sad people, then makes them feel better by touching them with her wings. Do you know anybody like that? Has this ever happened to you? [/COLOR]

Hey whattya mean fantasy! I am just like the spirit bird girl! Hasn't it ever happened to you? Don't you feel the breeze from my wings?

eh hem



WSO sorry I am hijacking your piece of the thread, I don't know what has gotten into me, I will come back and read that poem again once I have settled down...

 

[WickedEve]

hand stretched to reach the mind
to touch and soothe
straighten fragmented lines
from curled aprehension apprehension
of time

for a moment thought focused,
eyes direct and open
words and sentences
make sense
life alive

The first two strophes are fine, but nothing thrilling, and I'm quite sure why after just one read.

It is summer
the sky crayon blue
found only in dreams
clouds could be the nightmare
if you wanted

The strophe above is where the thrills begin. I'm sure crayon blue has been used to describe the sky. I don't know, but I like it! What I like even more is "clouds could be the nightmare if you wanted." It sounds like something I'd write. You're so brilliant.

but not here

An apple tree in full green
brimmed with nogistalgia nostalgia
trimmed as a rough edge
of naturalness
each leaf

a silent rattle
in babies hands
tiny balls inside
constant flitter
of dark and light shadows

it is time to remove
the garden bench
from my window again
just to watch the outside
once again

I really like the rest of it. I'd concentrate most of the revisions on the first two strophes.

 

[champagne1982]

Okay, can somebody help please? Without re-writing this for me (i.e. MAKE ME WORK), what have I done wrong? <snip>

Hi WSO, I have made some suggestions. Feel free to use or discard as you see fit. Thanks for giving us the chance to look at a work in progress. Now go get 'em!

Where the spirit soars
high, unfettered by mortal needs, Can you give me another reason to soar? High and unfettered are okay but the words don't present as clear an image as exploring the crisp air over wings stretched out to touch the blue might. You're telling not showing and imagery is conveyed more clearly if you can give your reader something to sense.

where the wind lifts the soul
to dance,
to sway through each day, I lose the idea of flight and freedom when you tie my soul down with the word "sway". Can you come up with a better action? Maybe think about soaring in a sail plane. Have you ever been gliding? To rise up in unpowered flight! Ahh.

where the world revolves
she is free to flutter Is flutter the right word? It seems such a departure from your flight. And what is the significance of the world revolving? Are you so high in space that now you see the globe? I'm missing something, but I know you can show me what you mean.

stopping only of her own volition,
stopping to appease her every whim, This is a weak excuse to stop and if you're stopping on your own volition, aren't you already satisfying a whim? And then, you have the tortured soul line plunk down into this playful and free atmosphere... You have to decide a mood, I think, and develop it before you jar us with this pain.
stopping for the summons of a tortured soul.

Touching each with a bizarre feathered caring
that caresses each soul,
and comforts each torn heart.Perhaps, you could have your carefree heart reply with comfort to the plea of the tortured soul. If you want your subject to have a mission, maybe go longer with the poem and explain what your bizarre feathery angel of mercy is seeking.

 

[wildsweetone]

Hi wildsweetone, I don't know if you remember me but it seems the ink is now swirling blood red within my mind again so I am going to run with this and see where anything goes, perhaps it will stay this time for a period of duration, even more habitual

stretch your mind beyond word and images that mortalize us and weigh us (and us being human beings) down. Make everything infinate because that is where you want this poem to go or be. Add your own interpretations, but open your mind to endless possibilities...I really hope I am making sense and not being rude or overtly critical. I am out of the loop here so my mind is still scattered with old and new inspiration, different views of how things can be seen in more abstract ways...uhmm, hugs


edit because as you can tell I have forgotten everything

Hi echoes, Fly and Carrie, thank you so much for your thoughts and comments. I know it takes time to make comments, so thank you. You are much appreciated. I'm printing them off and will spend the weekend working on the poem and see how it goes.

 

[wildsweetone]

echoes_s - I'm not sure if I've clicked in to what you're saying, but here's my thoughts for you to ponder.



hand stretched to reach the mind
to touch and soothe
straighten fragmented lines (fragmented can be straight but broken)
from curled aprehension (apprehension)
of time

for a moment thought focused, (who is thought focused?)
eyes direct and open
words and sentences
make sense
life alive

It is summer (can you show me, instead of stating the fact? - oh i see you do below... is 'It is summer' needed then?)
the sky crayon blue (oh I love this phrase!)
found only in dreams
clouds could be the nightmare
if you wanted

but not here

An apple tree in full green
brimmed with nogistalgia(nostalgia)
trimmed as a rough edge
of naturalness (the word 'naturalness' seems too much. would 'nature' work?)
each leaf

a silent rattle (silent?)
in babies hands (one rattle in several babies hands?)
tiny balls inside
constant flitter (flitter or filter?)
of dark and light shadows

it is time to remove
the garden bench
from my window again (how is the garden bench in the window?)
just to watch the outside
once again ('again' is twice, close together)

and then I lose sight of where I am going with this (maybe bring it back - i.e. the poem seems to go from someone who has a 'broken' mind, through to being able to see clearly. Is the clarity permanent? Or is it a temporary state of mind? If the latter, is it worth showing the return to gradual deterioration?)

 

[wildsweetone]

Hey whattya mean fantasy! I am just like the spirit bird girl! Hasn't it ever happened to you? Don't you feel the breeze from my wings?

eh hem



WSO sorry I am hijacking your piece of the thread, I don't know what has gotten into me, I will come back and read that poem again once I have settled down...

Promises, promises to the settling down part. *wicked wink*

No hurry dear. I'll be around again next week and will peer in when I get the chance.