Not For The Thin-Skinned

[annaswirls]

oh well this is a double post, I put it in the construction thread

Thank you Tzara, wildsweetone and RainDude. The longest poem I have ever written.

I am thinking of my words, something like, what is it you want to say, just say it! Only nicer I am sure.



i.
No one taught me how to lay concrete
but I watched from the hayloft
holding wet washcloths
on sticky kitten’s eyes
while father scraped his hoe
along the bottom of the wheelbarrow.

I watched from the side
when Darren used his fingers
to free gravel caught in the gears
and held clean washcloths
to soak the blood,
brought pills for his pain.

Nana said
Soak it in Epsom salts
I suspected anything could be fixed
with Epsom salts and wet washcloths,
from broken fingers
to yellow puss
crusted over, glued shut.

The women taught me,
this is how to fix a broken cake,
scrape powdered sugar
from the sides of the bowl,
fill the holes with icing,
use a knife to even ridges.

We wipe counters
before it hardens fast.

Today I do not call for the men.
Alone I feel their presence
as I patch cracks in the steps
that lead to my house.

They nod as I scrape excess cement
with the edge of my trowel
and pull it smooth,
wiping the metal face clean
before going inside
to ready the chicken for roasting.
Vegetables,
washed and peeled.


ii

Roma is silent
except for the sound of obstructed breath.
I pretend to sleep and he tells her
More tongue, less teeth,
yes, like that.

Under the blanket
my fingers move in slow circles
that quicken when Roma gets it right.
His instruction turns to praise of Jesus
oh God. I hold my breath,
bite my thumb.
My toes, numb from the tightening
of restrained expression.

Roma too is silent as she walks
on sock feet to the bathroom
for a white towel and cold water.



iii.

Our husbands and brothers have gone to work.
We are the day people left to tend to things.
Mothers jog with strollers,
elders limp on hip replacements
to move the sprinklers from one side
of the yard to the other.

Strange men come to our homes.
They hang our awnings, clean gutters,
connect jumper cables.
They come with trucks.
I feel them watch me,
certain one will point out
what I am doing wrong.
But they don’t.

The bearded roofer I saw pissing
in the Mahafferty’s shrubs stops
to inspect my work.
He asks, Are you alone?
And I have no idea how to truthfully
answer that question.


iv
I tell my sister this story and she asks
What are you trying to say,
'I figured it out myself?'
You need something more.

Okay, you tell me what Nana taught you in the kitchen
that you put to use in bed,
because I know sister you are right,
I need a stronger finish.
I want it to scream out but it just fades.
Something has to snap.

Maybe the way you rolled the dough
between your palms into twisted pretzels,
or how on butchering day
the new sausage slipped between
your hands and coiled into the metal pan.

God, it would be so easy to just invite
one of the workmen in
to be able to end it
with the breathing techniques
used while birthing my sons,
only this time to relax the muscle
and take it in through the pain.

I still remember how to escape
to the dreaming place we went to
as we dried dishes after Easter
or any given Sunday while the boys
and men passed the sports section,
split the comics. I dried the same plate
in a slow circle, lost in the blur of future gardens.

And now I am here,
caught between gears
with a washcloth and cold water
to wipe the cement from my thigh
before it sets.

 

[wildsweetone]

i've been fiddling with line breaks in this one to see if they make any difference.

(i)
We’d take the pain
if we could, the skinned
knees and deaths of friends
that rattle our babies. We’d take
their pain and swallow
it whole. When they’re dying
inside, we’ll throw ourselves
onto the swords that will slice
our souls but will keep
our babies innocent, unaware
of the deep amber glow
of the sun through the bottom
of a bottle.


or

(ii)
We’d take the pain if we could, the skinned knees
and deaths of friends that rattle our babies. We’d take
their pain and swallow it whole when they’re dying
inside. We’ll throw ourselves onto the swords
that will slice our souls but will keep our babies
innocent, unaware of the deep amber glow of the sun
through the bottom of a bottle.


i can't see the woods for the trees with this.

maybe a slight rewording...

(iii)
We’d take the pain if we could, the skinned knees and deaths
of friends that rattle our babies. When they’re dying
inside we’ll throw ourselves onto the swords
that will slice our souls but will keep our babies
innocent, unaware of the deep amber glow of the sun
through the bottom of a bottle. We’d take their pain
if we could and swallow it whole.


any thoughts would be appreciated

 

[Guest]

I like (i) but you know me - always grasping the short one. Whatever you choose, WSO, I like it.



p.s. reading it aloud helps me - even record it and listen to it - a bit like holding up a drawing to the mirror, faults jump out.

 

[TheRainMan]

I am working with this piece, and would greatly like to hear any thoughts or reactions or comments or suggestions anyone has, of any variety. Just straight forward, large or small, positive or negative or neutral, and no matter how harsh. Remember what thread this is.

Anyone who takes time out of their day to toss their thoughts here, thanks in advance.




Things I Do and Don’t in La Jolla Until She Wakes


i.

The sun pulls its counterpane of water
over its head to sleep. And still,
they don’t lock church doors in La Jolla.
Back east, salvation closes at dusk.

Perhaps one night I’ll see a crack
and decide to look for my soul.


ii.

As children, we snapped together
like jigsaw pieces who’d been
in opposite corners of the box too long,
and now I don’t remember
how to feel whole before she wakes.

I want to be that fuller man—

and that desire keeps me from mischief,
from carving tits in wet cement
or exploiting the trust of those open doors
and stealing the mass wine.
And it keeps me fairly productive,
for an insomniac at night,
sitting by the ocean with Time magazine
so I don’t stare off at the Philippines.


iii.

Seals have taken over the beach.
Not those sleek torpedoes
with skin like silver glad rags
trained to balance balls and hit the sky
like a ship, on cue. These are fat,
not fond of commotion or entertainment.
They let me read and think in peace.


iv.

It seems a wild-haired scientist
(why do they always have crazy hair?)
now believes that time might not be
a continuous phenomenon after all.
It just might be one big mighty blob
taking up all the room, much like
a lazy seal. Not moving, sluggishly
distended all over the place,
before first dawn and after doomsday.

If that’s true, if everything is everywhere
it will ever be at once, it would solve
the puzzle of my early morning body.

Finally, to sleep and open my eyes
to the sweet citrus of her hair,
the bronze breakfast of skin.


v.

I love the idea of being everywhere
simultaneously. On Finn St.
with her and a bucket of pennies
from Halloween, pushing our faces
flat on a bakery window

and here, thinking of her waking,

and in her arms
as sea lions spread sloth
across their wide berth like time.

 

[annaswirls]

I like (i) but you know me - always grasping the short one. Whatever you choose, WSO, I like it.



p.s. reading it aloud helps me - even record it and listen to it - a bit like holding up a drawing to the mirror, faults jump out.

I want to second Tess-- sorry I did not see this before-- I like the shorter line breaks in this as well I love the last lines in this poem, such an original image

 

[annaswirls]

wow Patrick, I really enjoyed the images here, the time travel mind walk...

I do have some suggestions, just personal preference with no backing whatsoever, but you asked for it, my friend.



Things I Do and Don’t in La Jolla Until She Wakes


i.

The sun pulls its counterpane of water
over its head to sleep. And still,
they don’t lock church doors in La Jolla.
Back east, salvation closes at dusk.

Perhaps one night I’ll see a crack
and decide to look for my soul.


ii.

As children, we snapped together
like jigsaw pieces who’d been
in opposite corners of the box too long,
and now I don’t remember
how to feel whole before she wakes.

I want to be that fuller man—

oh this is so good, perfect as is


and that desire keeps me from mischief,
from carving tits in wet cement
or exploiting the trust of those open doors
and stealing the mass wine.
And it keeps me fairly productive,
for an insomniac at night,
sitting by the ocean with Time magazine
so I don’t stare off at the Philippines.

if the cement is wet, you are not carving, are you? seems there is a more accurate word. and why tits? seems like a hard word for what you are trying to say. Same with "stealing" Maybe I am partial to the better man, but I think less contrast might work. Why not have him drink the wine (stealing implied, but it is used, not sold, spilled, used to pour blood on a statue etc) Why not have him shape breasts with the wet cement?

iii.

Seals have taken over the beach.
Not those sleek torpedoes
with skin like silver glad rags
trained to balance balls and hit the sky
like a ship, on cue. These are fat,
not fond of commotion or entertainment.
They let me read and think in peace.

I do not know what silver glad rags are. Made me thing of those Don't get mad, get Glad! trash bags. Silver lame'?

I love the contrast between the trained seals and the way they live there on the beach, and the parallel- the well trained man...


iv.

It seems a wild-haired scientist
(why do they always have crazy hair?)
now believes that time might not be
a continuous phenomenon after all.
It just might be one big mighty blob
taking up all the room, much like
a lazy seal. Not moving, sluggishly
distended all over the place,
before first dawn and after doomsday.

I am not crazy about the second line here. Maybe somehow get your internal dialogue embedded, smooth the transition? Get rid of it? Like the "Back east, salvation closes at dusk" it is too easy.

I think you could stand to lose some of the science talk as well. It has been a while since scientists have questioned the continium of time-- it seems as if you are saying he just came up with that general idea- you might just skip to the blob (which is a very very cool image, and what the heck is that stuff called? there is a name damn, I remember discussing it with my husband and my friend was like- you guys are so weird )

maybe something like this:

It seems a wild-haired scientist
now believes that time might be
one big mighty blob taking up
all the room, much like
a lazy seal. Not moving, sluggishly
distended all over the place,
before first dawn and after doomsday.



If that’s true, if everything is everywhere
it will ever be at once, it would solve
the puzzle of my early morning body.

Finally, to sleep and open my eyes
to the sweet citrus of her hair,
the bronze breakfast of skin.

I love these six lines


v.

I love the idea of being everywhere
simultaneously. On Finn St.
with her and a bucket of pennies
from Halloween, pushing our faces
flat on a bakery window

and here, thinking of her waking,

and in her arms
as sea lions spread sloth
across their wide berth like time.[/QUOTE]

I was going to suggest reordering the second sentence (on finn st) but reading it now, the order makes sense, to make the two parts parallel. It works.

Nice write Mr. Man! I love the idea of being everywhere at once too. I am shaking your hand

 

[Sara Crewe]

Things I Do and Don’t in La Jolla Until She Wakes


i.

The sun pulls its counterpane of water
over its head to sleep. And still,
they don’t lock church doors in La Jolla.
Back east, salvation closes at dusk.

-Counterpane seems like an overly dramatic and uncommon word. I don’t think I like it because it draws too much attention to itself.

Perhaps one night I’ll see a crack
and decide to look for my soul.


ii.

As children, we snapped together
like jigsaw pieces who’d been
in opposite corners of the box too long,
and now I don’t remember
how to feel whole before she wakes.

I want to be that fuller man—

and that desire keeps me from mischief,
from carving tits in wet cement
or exploiting the trust of those open doors
and stealing the mass wine.
And it keeps me fairly productive,
for an insomniac at night,
sitting by the ocean with Time magazine
so I don’t stare off at the Philippines.


-Carved is the wrong word there. I would say that you mold or shape cement. You cannot carve cement unless it has dried. And yes, I enjoyed saying that immensely.

-I think I might have stepped ‘the mass wine’ up to ‘the blood of Christ’ and don’t ask me why I like the drama there and not at the top.

-Is the word ‘for’ the correct connector in front of ‘an insomniac’? As it is it implies that insomniacs are not usually productive and my brain didn’t agree with that premise. Feel free to disagree with my brain, however…




iii.

Seals have taken over the beach.
Not those sleek torpedoes
with skin like silver glad rags
trained to balance balls and hit the sky
like a ship, on cue. These are fat,
not fond of commotion or entertainment.
They let me read and think in peace.


-I had to check the gladrag reference. Doesn’t make it wrong but I thought I would pass on that it didn’t mean anything to me before I looked it up.

-Do you need commotion and entertainment? I think you made the entertainment part clear earlier in the stanza.



iv.

It seems a wild-haired scientist
(why do they always have crazy hair?)
now believes that time might not be
a continuous phenomenon after all.
It just might be one big mighty blob
taking up all the room, much like
a lazy seal. Not moving, sluggishly
distended all over the place,
before first dawn and after doomsday.

If that’s true, if everything is everywhere
it will ever be at once, it would solve
the puzzle of my early morning body.

Finally, to sleep and open my eyes
to the sweet citrus of her hair,
the bronze breakfast of skin.

-I usually like alliteration but I don’t like bronze breakfast I think because both words start with ‘br’ . It crosses the sound line for me.


v.

I love the idea of being everywhere
simultaneously. On Finn St.
with her and a bucket of pennies
from Halloween, pushing our faces
flat on a bakery window

and here, thinking of her waking,

and in her arms
as sea lions spread sloth
across their wide berth like time.

-This is a totally nit picky personal preference thingy but I didn’t like being left with the big fat sea lion image as your final image. I know. Nothing like saying something that might be hard to switch.



I remember the poem and it’s good. All that stuff was just picking ‘cause you asked.

 

[ishtat]

Small points

I will not repeat what Anna Says as I agree with most of her comment.

Keep "counterpane" .It's right in meaning and the 3 syllable word balances well the short words in this line

Consider dropping some of the conjunctions perhaps, especially in lines 13 through 20. It might give a more reflective quality.

"Ship on cue" jars a little to my ear but I note that OED and Websters have differing secondary meanings so that may be why.

How about 'a scientist believes' and drop the rest of the first 2 lines in iv.they don't work for me

Otherwise I like a lot especially the beginning and the end.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

I am working with this piece, and would greatly like to hear any thoughts or reactions or comments or suggestions anyone has, of any variety. Just straight forward, large or small, positive or negative or neutral, and no matter how harsh. Remember what thread this is.

Anyone who takes time out of their day to toss their thoughts here, thanks in advance.




Things I Do and Don’t in La Jolla Until She Wakes


i.

The sun pulls its counterpane of water
over its head to sleep. And still,
they don’t lock church doors in La Jolla.
Back east, salvation closes at dusk. Here I'm a bit confused. the blanket of water made me think afternoon showers, then I read dusk and wonder if it is water or night that is pulled. Water = night?

Perhaps one night I’ll see a crack
and decide to look for my soul. (beautiful)


ii.

As children, we snapped together
like jigsaw pieces who’d been
in opposite corners of the box too long, Opposite corners makes me think of boxing
and now I don’t remember doubled when I hit the word boxing.
how to feel whole before she wakes.

I want to be that fuller man— Beautiful.

and that desire keeps me from mischief, Interesting irony: desire restraining mischief
from carving tits in wet cement
or exploiting the trust of those open doors
and stealing the mass wine.
And it keeps me fairly productive, The absence of the and here would make the transition
for an insomniac at night, stronger I think.
sitting by the ocean with Time magazine <- seems heavy handed, but that could be
so I don’t stare off at the Philippines. just me. I like the ambiguity of Philippines.


iii.

Seals have taken over the beach.
Not those sleek torpedoes
with skin like silver glad rags
trained to balance balls and hit the sky
like a ship, on cue. These are fat, Does a ship hit the sky that way? or push into
not fond of commotion or entertainment. it? something jars in that image. it seems it
They let me read and think in peace. could be worked to greater advantage.


iv.

It seems a wild-haired scientist
(why do they always have crazy hair?) hehe
now believes that time might not be
a continuous phenomenon after all.
It just might be one big mighty blob
taking up all the room, much like
a lazy seal. Not moving, sluggishly
distended all over the place,
before first dawn and after doomsday.

If that’s true, if everything is everywhere
it will ever be at once, it would solve he blinded me with science (purty)
the puzzle of my early morning body.

Finally, to sleep and open my eyes
to the sweet citrus of her hair,
the bronze breakfast of skin. elegant alliteration


v.

I love the idea of being everywhere
simultaneously. On Finn St.
with her and a bucket of pennies
from Halloween, pushing our faces joyous
flat on a bakery window

and here, thinking of her waking,

and in her arms
as sea lions spread sloth poor sea lions. (thought they were seals?)
across their wide berth like time.

I love the elegance of the winding here between ideas. I'm a bit confused about what time it is in the poem and I suppose that's the point that time is everywhere simultaneously. I almost want more instances of that to make it a wider streak.

For me the seals/ sealions dilute the piece. It is as though the narrator wants to dally and is telling us he's being a fuller man by denying himself juvenile pursuits. The thing stopping him from becoming a fuller man is his will? It seems so, but then it also seems that seals and sealions are too dull to offer him much chance for mischief. (True also of the Time magazine, which I detest for personal reasons, the magazine, I mean.) I want it to be his desire, his will: not something as dull as lack of temptations. Maybe I'm reading it wrong. Just my .02 CAD.

Carved cement was fine for me by the way: i saw a boy with a stick, bent over drying sidewalk, making two circles with nipples and giggled.

 

[TheRainMan]

thank you all so much. anna, Sara, ishtat, cherries (and also those who chose to send me their thoughts privately). you've all given me a lot to ponder.

i will try to answer your suggestions. some i find excellent and in need of addressing, some i find off base . . . isn't that what workshopping a piece of writing is all about? you gets ideas, then make decisions.

that is just what i had in mind when i started this thread (as PatCarrington) --for those of you who have never read the beginning of this thread, it is a good example of workshopping, if you have time to go back. -- the poem there "His Dresden Boots," was shaped into its final version on this thread, and has appeared in many top-flight print and web journals since.

i never did thank publically (i don't think), all those who helped me with it -- 1201 and jthserra and all the others, so i do that now.

 

[TheRainMan]

it's too large a task to address each and every thought that was made, to state what i think was incorrect about them the ones i will not use. (i'd be glad to do that in a PM if anyone wishes).

but on the bigger ones --

yes, i think that 'carved' is the right word. cement is very stiff when hardened but still wet, and a stick is just what i had in mind, as cherries_on_snow imagined.

hey Sara -- i found a place for the word 'carved'!! . . . private joke . . . and it makes perfect sense that you don't like it.

anna - "glad rags" are stylish dress. (as in the beauty of trained seals as opposed to sea lions).

i think "counterpane" works, both for the image of the sea as the sun's quilt as it's head is covered, and also for the syllabic rhythm that ishtat mentioned.

. . . cherries -- "counterpane of water" = the Pacific Ocean = dusk as the sun goes 'under' it. . . and a ship does not hit the sky, a seal does, as a torpedo hits a ship.

those sleek torpedoes trained to balance balls and hit the sky like a ship

and the man in the poem is just a regular guy. all regular guys group sea lions and seals under the generic term 'seals', i think. (though they know a sea lion when they see one and a seal when they see one).

ishtat -- you have to read "ship, on cue" with the pause where the comma is.


after considering everyone's thoughts, here are the changes i have decided needed to be made (for those interested in the small, tedious job of editing):

1. tense change in first line ('pulls' to 'has pulled' to clarify the time issue.)

2. removal of conjunctions in section ii., as was suggested by more than one person

3. changed "stealing" to "drinking" there, as anna suggested. 'stealing' is indeed implied, and "drinking" is just better there.

4. added the word "relaxed" in section ii. it improves the reflective quality, and reinforces the last two lines of the stanza (which are also slightly altered).

5. removed the second line in section four (why do they always have crazy hair) -- that was definately an unwarranted author intrusion into the poem.

...and that's it -- at least for now.

thank you all so much!


(take 2 ... more than that, really)


Things I Do and Don’t in La Jolla Until She Wakes


i.

The sun has pulled its counterpane of water
over its head to sleep. And still,
they don’t lock church doors in La Jolla.
Back east, salvation closes at dusk.

Perhaps one night I’ll see a crack
and decide to look for my soul.


ii.

As children, we snapped together
like jigsaw pieces who’d been
in opposite corners of the box too long,
and now I don’t remember
how to feel whole before she wakes.

I want to be that fuller man—

that desire keeps me from mischief,
from carving tits in wet cement
or exploiting the trust of those open doors
and drinking the mass wine. It keeps me
fairly relaxed and productive as well,
for an insomniac at night.
I sit by the ocean with Time magazine
so I don’t stare off at the Philippines.


iii.

Seals have taken over the beach.
Not those sleek torpedoes
with skin like silver glad rags
trained to balance balls and hit the sky
like a ship, on cue. These are fat,
not fond of commotion or entertainment.
They let me read and think in peace.


iv.

It seems a wild-haired scientist believes
that time might not be
a continuous phenomenon after all.
It just might be one big mighty blob
taking up all the room, much like
a lazy seal. Not moving, sluggishly
distended all over the place,
before first dawn and after doomsday.

If that’s true, if everything is everywhere
it will ever be at once, it would solve
the puzzle of my early morning body.

Finally, to sleep and open my eyes
to the sweet citrus of her hair,
the bronze breakfast of skin.


v.

I love the idea of being everywhere
simultaneously. On Finn St.
with her and a bucket of pennies
from Halloween, pushing our faces
flat on a bakery window

and here, thinking of her waking,

and in her arms
as sea lions spread sloth
across their wide berth like time.

 

[annaswirls]

Rainman, with all due respect, I think that it is not a good idea to even try to address every suggestion. I personally prefer when a poet simply thanks people for their suggestions and puts up the edit. People can see what you changed, what you did not.

Of course, it is your poem, and every single decision is yours and yours alone, but to call people's suggestions "incorrect" is in bad form, in my opinion. I think you are a good man, respectful, intelligent, considerate, gracious, generous not to mention sexy...but saying things like this does not display these good qualities and could be misread very easily.

I think that you think going through people's suggestions will somehow help them, but I do not see it that way. For example, you may think that carved is the right word, and maybe it is for your poem, but your telling us that it IS the right word is not going to change my mind, and I am guessing no one elses mind either. Of course, as I have said before, your choice is the right choice for you, but it does not mean it is right.

Gosh I do hope this is not coming across as defensive, because that is not my intention.

I am going against my own advice by stating why I disagree with you but here I go. Since you brought it up:

I completely disagree with your observation of how an average man would speak, re:seal vs sea lion, the two animals are different, and the writer was referring to the same specific animal, I do not understand why he would call them by two different names. If there were seals AND sea lions I can understand that he might group them under one category but not vice versa.

For example, a man might call black legged kittiwakes and Bonapart's gulls both SEAGULL because that is a more general category that the average man uses. But it would be very unlikely that he would call the SAME bird a kittiwake in one breath and a seagull in the next. It is not logical.

I do not care how you use it in the poem, it is your poem, but your argument as to why you plan to use both does not seem logical. Either he cannot tell them apart, and so uses the same word for both, or he would have a preferred term.




love the edit by the way, it is great to get to see the process

it's too large a task to address each and every thought that was made, to state what i think was incorrect about them the ones i will not use. (i'd be glad to do that in a PM if anyone wishes).
.

 

[TheRainMan]

Rainman, with all due respect, I think that it is not a good idea to even try to address every suggestion. I personally prefer when a poet simply thanks people for their suggestions and puts up the edit. People can see what you changed, what you did not.

Of course, it is your poem, and every single decision is yours and yours alone, but to call people's suggestions "incorrect" is in bad form, in my opinion. I think you are a good man, respectful, intelligent, considerate, gracious, generous not to mention sexy...but saying things like this does not display these good qualities and could be misread very easily.

anna,

i certainly meant no disrespect to anyone. you know me better than that.

i thanked everyone for their help . . . perhaps the phrasing using the word "incorrect" was poorly chosen. if it was, i certainly apologize. what i meant was "incorrect, in my opinion" -- and i assume the "in my opinion" part is understood . . . especially when ideas are being exchanged and debated.

i consider every suggestion made by every single person when i put a poem up and ask for opinion. you have seen me do that, time and time again.

anyone who i upset, i apologize. that was certainly not my intent.

 

[TheRainMan]

If there were seals AND sea lions I can understand that he might group them under one category but not vice versa.

in the poem, there ARE sea lions and seals.

the sea lions on the beach, and the seals the man in the poem refers to (in Seaworld or wherever they are).

and I mistakingly call sea lions seals all the time. i don't know why, but i know others who do it too.

on that beach, when i was in California, every single person called the sea lions "Seals." !!!

even at Seal Beach, CA. they named a town after them! . . . they're sea lions, if my info is right (never been there.)

 

[annaswirls]

anna,

i certainly meant no disrespect to anyone. you know me better than that.

i thanked everyone for their help . . . perhaps the phrasing using the word "incorrect" was poorly chosen. if it was, i certainly apologize. what i meant was "incorrect, in my opinion" -- and i assume the "in my opinion" part is understood . . . especially when ideas are being exchanged and debated.

i consider every suggestion made by every single person when i put a poem up and ask for opinion. you have seen me do that, time and time again.

anyone who i upset, i apologize. that was certainly not my intent.

yeah, it is just semantics, I know-- I dont think anyone would be upset, I do know you would not do that purposefully, that is why I gave the string of compliments

I just think that if a poet disagrees with an invited suggestion, that they only need to not take it, I don't really see the point in telling someone who has made a suggestion that they are wrong, even they say "in my opinion, you are wrong" I dunno, just a pet peeve of mine, I suppose.

 

[Tzara]

I just think that if a poet disagrees with an invited suggestion, that they only need to not take it, I don't really see the point in telling someone who has made a suggestion that they are wrong, even they say "in my opinion, you are wrong" I dunno, just a pet peeve of mine, I suppose.

This is the "not for the thin-skinned" thread. Perhaps that should apply to both the author and those commenting.

You do have a point, though. Poetry isn't mathematics and suggestions almost by definition can't be "incorrect." They can be "not useful" to the author, who after all has his or her own conception of what they want to say and how to say it, but they aren't incorrect. There is no ideal poem whose wavering shadow we see on the walls of Plato's cave. At least not in my opinion.

Which could, of course, be incorrect.

 

[clutching_calliope]

.....

 

[Sara Crewe]

This is the "not for the thin-skinned" thread. Perhaps that should apply to both the author and those commenting.

You do have a point, though. Poetry isn't mathematics and suggestions almost by definition can't be "incorrect." They can be "not useful" to the author, who after all has his or her own conception of what they want to say and how to say it, but they aren't incorrect. There is no ideal poem whose wavering shadow we see on the walls of Plato's cave. At least not in my opinion.

Which could, of course, be incorrect.

I have all the ideal poems. I am just not showing them to anyone. No, really I do. They are in my backyard with the aliens and the lost city of Atlantis.


Rainman, Rainman, Rainman ...you cannot carve wet cement because it is not solid . It says so right here in my Sara Crewe dictionary. And, yes it was written by me.

Counterpane is a $5 word when I think I less expensive one would do the exact same thing. I don't agree that is has syllabic purpose.


I fully expect you to leave both of them where they are though...just like carve is still in my poem.

 

[annaswirls]

This is the "not for the thin-skinned" thread. Perhaps that should apply to both the author and those commenting.

You do have a point, though. Poetry isn't mathematics and suggestions almost by definition can't be "incorrect." They can be "not useful" to the author, who after all has his or her own conception of what they want to say and how to say it, but they aren't incorrect. There is no ideal poem whose wavering shadow we see on the walls of Plato's cave. At least not in my opinion.

Which could, of course, be incorrect.

you are right, of course. it is just a thing I have

 

[TheRainMan]

Rainman, Rainman, Rainman ...you cannot carve wet cement because it is not solid . It says so right here in my Sara Crewe dictionary. And, yes it was written by me.

carve
v. carved, carv·ing, carves
v. tr.

1.

a. To divide into pieces by cutting; slice.
b. To divide by parceling out.

2. To cut into a desired shape; fashion by cutting.

3. To make or form by or as if by cutting.

4. To decorate by cutting and shaping carefully.

Counterpane is a $5 word when I think I less expensive one would do the exact same thing. I don't agree that is has syllabic purpose.


I fully expect you to leave both of them where they are though...just like carve is still in my poem.

yes, that is pretty much going to be the case.

 

[TheRainMan]

Rainy, bo bainy. You never like what I have to say, but I know you listen. Here 'tis:

(take 2 ... more than that, really)


Things I Do and Don’t in La Jolla Until She Wakes


i.

The sun has pulled its counterpane of water
over its head to sleep. And still,
they don’t lock church doors in La Jolla.
Back east, salvation closes at dusk.

Perhaps one night I’ll see a crack
and decide to look for my soul.

And still has nothing to do with the sentence you've written before it. Perhaps one night you'll see a crack where? In La Jolla or back east? It's a little unclear.


ii.

As children, we snapped together
like jigsaw pieces who’d been
in opposite corners of the box too long,
and now I don’t remember
how to feel whole before she wakes.

You change from pronoun to pronoun, saying "we" then "she". Are you talking about "her" with a third person, or to yourself...too imprecise.

I want to be that fuller man—

Big pause here with the ---yet the next word is that. If you're looking at listing the things that make a fuller man perhaps you need a : instead?

that desire keeps me from mischief,
from carving tits in wet cement
or exploiting the trust of those open doors
and drinking the mass wine. It keeps me
fairly relaxed and productive as well,
for an insomniac at night.
I sit by the ocean with Time magazine
so I don’t stare off at the Philippines.

I like the rhyme between magazine and Philippines. Question - are there insomniacs during the day?


iii.

Seals have taken over the beach.
Not those sleek torpedoes
with skin like silver glad rags
trained to balance balls and hit the sky
like a ship, on cue. These are fat,
not fond of commotion or entertainment.
They let me read and think in peace.

These are fat I wanted to know fat what? If they are just fat, would it be better to say "they are fat"? Are they neutral IT seals, just blubber balloons, or are they company? He notices them enough to comment but reduces them to fat. Seemed a bit cruel to me.


iv.

It seems a wild-haired scientist believes
that time might not be
a continuous phenomenon after all.
It just might be one big mighty blob
taking up all the room, much like
a lazy seal. Not moving, sluggishly
distended all over the place,
before first dawn and after doomsday.

If that’s true, if everything is everywhere
it will ever be at once, it would solve
the puzzle of my early morning body.

Finally, to sleep and open my eyes
to the sweet citrus of her hair,
the bronze breakfast of skin.

I really like this stanza. I want to know more about the puzzle of his early morning body.

v.

I love the idea of being everywhere
simultaneously. On Finn St.
with her and a bucket of pennies
from Halloween, pushing our faces
flat on a bakery window

and here, thinking of her waking,

and in her arms
as sea lions spread sloth
across their wide berth like time.

I've been to San Fransisco twice. It is truly the most beautiful place on earth. When I'm there, I spend hours on the pier watching the sea lions. Everyone knows that they are sea lions, they call them sea lions, they don't call them seals. Seals ARE torpedo-like, sleek, etc. whereas sea lions are grossly fat and lazy, really much like an overfilled sausage casing. They are also very funny creatures, having much more personality than a mere seal who is trained to survive or balance a ball on it's nose.

I mean, there are not going to be biologists critiquing your work often (like now, and maybe if Fly has something smart to say..) but I think you should give the audience credit for knowing the differences between seals and sea lions, especially regarding girth.

I do ADORE the images as time represented all at once by a huge animal, whatever animal that is! This is a sincerely solid piece. I don't know how much help you need with it, Rainy. I always feel like I'm telling my professor how to solve the quadratic equation when you post things. Great work.

calli bo balli -- you have it wrong.

i ALWAYS like what you have to say, i just NEVER listen.

really, thank you very much for taking the time to think out loud. truthfully, i consider everything people have to say about my writing. it is very hard to look at one's own writing objectively, "with other eyes," but that MUST be done . . . it is easy for actual "other eyes" to do it, however. i know that, and therefore i ALWAYS take critique seriously.

and, i bet you like the word "counterpane," don't you.

 

[clutching_calliope]

.....

 

[duckiesmut]

I'm too sleepy to follow everyone's already-made suggestions, so I'm posting mine on the off-chance that there's something different.

As always, Mr. Rain Man, your work already belongs in a book. Not on a shelf, but rather wide open on a table for reading.


--

Things I Do and Don’t in La Jolla Until She Wakes


i.

The sun has pulled its counterpane of water
over its head to sleep. And still,
they don’t lock church doors in La Jolla.
Back east, salvation closes at dusk.

Perhaps one night I’ll see a crack
and decide to look for my soul.


ii.

As children, we snapped together
like jigsaw pieces who’d been
in opposite corners of the box too long,
and now I don’t remember
how to feel whole before she wakes.

I want to be that fuller man—

that desire keeps me from mischief,
from carving tits in wet cement
or exploiting the trust of those open doors
and drinking the mass wine. It keeps me
fairly relaxed and productive as well,
for an insomniac at night.
I sit by the ocean with Time magazine
so I don’t stare off at the Philippines.

The first bolded section makes for a lovely image, but it’s wordy. Looking at it, I know it’s wordy, and I know that you know, but you’ll also know that I can’t fix it. So you can fix it. Pretty please. (Now THAT was wordy). However, you follow it up with two lines that are just about perfect.

I thoroughly enjoyed the mental picture of you walking by the church, tempted by the wine, but resisting.

The second bolded section, to me, doesn’t seem to fit. It feels almost offhand in a poem that doesn’t have that tone anywhere else.

iii.

Seals have taken over the beach.
Not those sleek torpedoes
with skin like silver glad rags
trained to balance balls and hit the sky
like a ship, on cue. These are fat,
not fond of commotion or entertainment.
They let me read and think in peace.

There is something perfectly stated about the first line. Not in a sci-fi movie, attack of the killer seals sort of way. More of an early Sunday morning watching the beach sort of way.

The bolded section feels gaudy, for you. It doesn’t have your clean lines. Glad rags?
iv.

It seems a wild-haired scientist believes
that time might not be
a continuous phenomenon after all.
It just might be one big mighty blob
taking up all the room, much like
a lazy seal. Not moving, sluggishly
distended all over the place,
before first dawn and after doomsday.

If that’s true, if everything is everywhere
it will ever be at once, it would solve
the puzzle of my early morning body.

Finally, to sleep and open my eyes
to the sweet citrus of her hair,
the bronze breakfast of skin.

Much like a lazy seal? Easy way out, much?

‘big mighty blob’-->Mighty has two definitions, one meaning ‘having great skill/power/strength/etc.’ and the other being ‘imposing or awesome in size’. Wouldn’t ‘mighty’ kill two birds with one stone and make ‘big’ overkill?

As far as ‘sluggishly distended’ goes, I love the way it sounds, but take issue with its meaning. You say the seal is not moving, but the very definition of distended is to swell out/expand. Even if you add ‘sluggishly’ to it, it’s still moving. Just veryvery slowly. So it seems either the mention of not moving or the ‘sluggishly distended’ needs to go, yes?

When you write like the blue section, I want to hate you, it’s so good. (That might be effusive. Apologies.)

Re: red section, you have me confused, and I’m probably being over-literal. Is her hair orange, a la citrus, or does her hair *smell* like citrus? If it’s just the smell, wouldn’t it be the ears you’d reference and not the eyes? Or both? Help?

Bronze breakfast-->this makes me think of the Olympics. I can’t remember whose article it was, but he referenced the bronze metal as being like something you eat for breakfast every single morning afterward. You couldn’t make gold or silver, so you’d eat bronze breakfast either until you did better, or didn’t. This is my hang-up, not the poem’s.
v.

I love the idea of being everywhere
simultaneously. On Finn St.
with her and a bucket of pennies
from Halloween, pushing our faces
flat on a bakery window

and here, thinking of her waking,

and in her arms
as sea lions spread sloth
across their wide berth like time.

I love the line break at ‘everywhere/simultaneously’. You show-off, you.


Also, as always, no offense taken at any direct, notsopositive comments in return.

 

[TheRainMan]

I'm too sleepy to follow everyone's already-made suggestions, so I'm posting mine on the off-chance that there's something different.

As always, Mr. Rain Man, your work already belongs in a book. Not on a shelf, but rather wide open on a table for reading.


--

Things I Do and Don’t in La Jolla Until She Wakes


i.

The sun has pulled its counterpane of water
over its head to sleep. And still,
they don’t lock church doors in La Jolla.
Back east, salvation closes at dusk.

Perhaps one night I’ll see a crack
and decide to look for my soul.


ii.

As children, we snapped together
like jigsaw pieces who’d been
in opposite corners of the box too long,
and now I don’t remember
how to feel whole before she wakes.

I want to be that fuller man—

that desire keeps me from mischief,
from carving tits in wet cement
or exploiting the trust of those open doors
and drinking the mass wine. It keeps me
fairly relaxed and productive as well,
for an insomniac at night.
I sit by the ocean with Time magazine
so I don’t stare off at the Philippines.

The first bolded section makes for a lovely image, but it’s wordy. Looking at it, I know it’s wordy, and I know that you know, but you’ll also know that I can’t fix it. So you can fix it. Pretty please. (Now THAT was wordy). However, you follow it up with two lines that are just about perfect.

I thoroughly enjoyed the mental picture of you walking by the church, tempted by the wine, but resisting.

The second bolded section, to me, doesn’t seem to fit. It feels almost offhand in a poem that doesn’t have that tone anywhere else.

iii.

Seals have taken over the beach.
Not those sleek torpedoes
with skin like silver glad rags
trained to balance balls and hit the sky
like a ship, on cue. These are fat,
not fond of commotion or entertainment.
They let me read and think in peace.

There is something perfectly stated about the first line. Not in a sci-fi movie, attack of the killer seals sort of way. More of an early Sunday morning watching the beach sort of way.

The bolded section feels gaudy, for you. It doesn’t have your clean lines. Glad rags?
iv.

It seems a wild-haired scientist believes
that time might not be
a continuous phenomenon after all.
It just might be one big mighty blob
taking up all the room, much like
a lazy seal. Not moving, sluggishly
distended all over the place,
before first dawn and after doomsday.

If that’s true, if everything is everywhere
it will ever be at once, it would solve
the puzzle of my early morning body.

Finally, to sleep and open my eyes
to the sweet citrus of her hair,
the bronze breakfast of skin.

Much like a lazy seal? Easy way out, much?

‘big mighty blob’-->Mighty has two definitions, one meaning ‘having great skill/power/strength/etc.’ and the other being ‘imposing or awesome in size’. Wouldn’t ‘mighty’ kill two birds with one stone and make ‘big’ overkill?

As far as ‘sluggishly distended’ goes, I love the way it sounds, but take issue with its meaning. You say the seal is not moving, but the very definition of distended is to swell out/expand. Even if you add ‘sluggishly’ to it, it’s still moving. Just veryvery slowly. So it seems either the mention of not moving or the ‘sluggishly distended’ needs to go, yes?

When you write like the blue section, I want to hate you, it’s so good. (That might be effusive. Apologies.)

Re: red section, you have me confused, and I’m probably being over-literal. Is her hair orange, a la citrus, or does her hair *smell* like citrus? If it’s just the smell, wouldn’t it be the ears you’d reference and not the eyes? Or both? Help?

Bronze breakfast-->this makes me think of the Olympics. I can’t remember whose article it was, but he referenced the bronze metal as being like something you eat for breakfast every single morning afterward. You couldn’t make gold or silver, so you’d eat bronze breakfast either until you did better, or didn’t. This is my hang-up, not the poem’s.
v.

I love the idea of being everywhere
simultaneously. On Finn St.
with her and a bucket of pennies
from Halloween, pushing our faces
flat on a bakery window

and here, thinking of her waking,

and in her arms
as sea lions spread sloth
across their wide berth like time.

I love the line break at ‘everywhere/simultaneously’. You show-off, you.


Also, as always, no offense taken at any direct, notsopositive comments in return.

i just noticed your post, duckie. thank you so much, Miss Louisiana 2006.

you are a very good reader, very analytical -- you never let me get away with anything cheap or showy, always want solidity and the best word, always refuse to accept anything when there is a better way.

you have helped me before quite a few times, and stopped me from taking the easy way out. again, you do that, and again i thank you.

these thoughts here are excellent, and will make me (have already made me) look at many things in the poem again.

you know i always appreciate that. it is the sign of a good critic and a terrific friend.

 

[duckiesmut]

i just noticed your post, duckie. thank you so much, Miss Louisiana 2006.

you are a very good reader, very analytical -- you never let me get away with anything cheap or showy, always want solidity and the best word, always refuse to accept anything when there is a better way.

you have helped me before quite a few times, and stopped me from taking the easy way out. again, you do that, and again i thank you.

these thoughts here are excellent, and will make me (have already made me) look at many things in the poem again.

you know i always appreciate that. it is the sign of a good critic and a terrific friend.

You know I always enjoy playing with your words. It makes me smile that it's helpful and appreciated. And we both know I'm not shy about what I think needs fixin', and what I think is splendid.

As far as the other stuff goes, the sun was already making me blush. I might be purple now. It might be my new favorite color, sweet man.