02-09-2023, 04:12 AM
Hi s3-
Some comments below:
Dry soil, dust lifting, and underneath it a floating wound
a mystery, or a forgotten belonging:
how you could run so fast but never get very far
is a relic of the truth, a tragedy
far removed from the prime of your life
yet still fully formed in its image.
With growing unease
I stare at the edges of your photograph
and think of what you were,
what might have survived you: heat, water, bone,
a favorite lipstick. Your fear of the light.
The hunter-gatherer comes to the end of his route
standing before the gorge
twin oceans of prairie grass and diamond sky
in place of the yellow-and-grey canyons of his youth.
Looking for the warp over the scar
the yolk on your fingers, a twin without twin,
peer without peer: what did you realize
when you saw land? I think you could do without this entire section. It just muddies things up, and detracts from the central characters, which for me are a mother, daughter, and baby (grand baby)
I imagine you holding me
nursing by the small window,
condensation tracking down the water glass
and breast milk drying on your skin,
the ants in my ear humming a strange lullaby. I think this line would work better in the next stanza
An odd tableau
for someone more used to surviving than giving -
in stillness, stars could burn you, but metal couldn't cut you
and time never altered you. I think this section could be made more compact
Having been made in your image
I find myself unable to turn the page.
Springtime has arrived in Texas
and with it, the beginning of a new life; a new happiness
over the same sadness. White blossoms
cupping your smile, I'm really confused about whose smile this is- 'your' is just too general
the baby.
Ants in my ear humming a strange lullaby.
Sunlight streaming in softly over your head
and the asphalt under your feet warming, a warning. whose head? and whose feet? the over-use of 'your' here is confusing, again
Entropy studies me the way I study
you.
Sort of interesting, but the poem ends stronger for me at 'warning'.
I really like many of the elements in this piece and think you're getting closer. It's hard to know when a poem is asking too much of a reader- that tension can be good, yet it's a delicate balance.
Thanks for an intersting read,
Mark
Some comments below:
Dry soil, dust lifting, and underneath it a floating wound
a mystery, or a forgotten belonging:
how you could run so fast but never get very far
is a relic of the truth, a tragedy
far removed from the prime of your life
yet still fully formed in its image.
With growing unease
I stare at the edges of your photograph
and think of what you were,
what might have survived you: heat, water, bone,
a favorite lipstick. Your fear of the light.
The hunter-gatherer comes to the end of his route
standing before the gorge
twin oceans of prairie grass and diamond sky
in place of the yellow-and-grey canyons of his youth.
Looking for the warp over the scar
the yolk on your fingers, a twin without twin,
peer without peer: what did you realize
when you saw land? I think you could do without this entire section. It just muddies things up, and detracts from the central characters, which for me are a mother, daughter, and baby (grand baby)
I imagine you holding me
nursing by the small window,
condensation tracking down the water glass
and breast milk drying on your skin,
the ants in my ear humming a strange lullaby. I think this line would work better in the next stanza
An odd tableau
for someone more used to surviving than giving -
in stillness, stars could burn you, but metal couldn't cut you
and time never altered you. I think this section could be made more compact
Having been made in your image
I find myself unable to turn the page.
Springtime has arrived in Texas
and with it, the beginning of a new life; a new happiness
over the same sadness. White blossoms
cupping your smile, I'm really confused about whose smile this is- 'your' is just too general
the baby.
Ants in my ear humming a strange lullaby.
Sunlight streaming in softly over your head
and the asphalt under your feet warming, a warning. whose head? and whose feet? the over-use of 'your' here is confusing, again
Entropy studies me the way I study
you.
Sort of interesting, but the poem ends stronger for me at 'warning'.
I really like many of the elements in this piece and think you're getting closer. It's hard to know when a poem is asking too much of a reader- that tension can be good, yet it's a delicate balance.
Thanks for an intersting read,
Mark