Cutting a trail uphill through cedar
Towards a grove of Spanish oak
I sat upon the ground to rest,
And prised up a stone from between my knees.

Wiping away the dried caliche,
I held a palm-sized, rocket-shaped flint point.

I had to stare at it before my eyes believed,
That I held an unfinished stone-age tool, 
Left behind 400 years ago by a human like me,
But unutterably not me.

I seemed to watch myself remove the point
And discover it again and again.
I stood up and held it outstretched,
And gave a self-conscious shout
To no one but the cedar and the oaks,
A shout of joy:  I’d been able to touch his hand
Outside of the centuries of dead between us.

(02-03-2021, 04:40 AM)TranquillityBase Wrote:  Cutting a trail uphill through cedar
Towards a grove of Spanish oak
I sat upon the ground to rest,
And prised up a stone from between my knees.

Wiping away the dried caliche,
I held a palm-sized, rocket-shaped flint point.

I had to stare at it before my eyes believed,
That I held an unfinished stone-age tool, 
Left behind 400 years ago by a human like me,
But unutterably not me.

I seemed to watch myself remove the point
And discover it again and again.
I stood up and held it outstretched,
And gave a self-conscious shout
To no one but the cedar and the oaks,
A shout of joy:  I’d been able to touch his hand
Outside of the centuries of dead between us.

I'm not reviewing this, but enjoyed reading through.

Q. Don't you mean 4000 years, not 400? The Stone-Age ended 4000-5000 years ago.

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Hi TqB,
can relate to the experience, but this is a bit of a muddle, for me.

Cutting/I sat - doesn't make much sense, then there's the ambiguity of from between my knees

(Genuine question, can you 'wipe away dried caliche (and what is 'dried caliche' as opposed to just 'caliche'?)

rocket-shaped - not exactly the most evocative description, and isn't it a bit redundant given 'flint point'?

Verse 3 - bit too heavy handed (my eyes believed, unutterably not me (which translates as 'extremely not me' - was that ever in question?)

(I'm not that bothered by 400 years, from what I remember, the Stone Age varies geographically, and, indeed, in some places is still ongoing.)

This - I’d been able to touch his hand - seems to me to be the heart of the poem and could be the place to begin when you come to revising the piece. It's the connection that matters, not the geography.

(Ending on a song lyric doesn't work for me, but I do like that song )


Best, Knot


.

thanks for the reading and response.  it was a first draft that I would have said "Good enough for me!".  This helps me look at these more objectively.

yes, caliche is like clay and when wet, there is no wiping it away very easily.

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I tried rewriting the original until I hated it.  I realized it was a small part of a bigger story.  This is the result.  






Cutting a trail uphill through cedar
towards a grove of Spanish oak
I sat upon the ground to rest,
and prised up a stone from the ground between my knees.
Wiping away the dried caliche,
I held a an unfinished stone-age tool,
last held by a man 400 or 4000 years ago,
uncovered by erosion and my weariness
under the August sun.

Though I’d been cutting these trails for years,
and picked up many pieces,
never was there one so clearly the work of a man,
from then on,
I found these unfinished points on every walk,
as though the finding of the first
had allowed the rest to reveal themselves.

The fragments appear like crude stone fish
brownish gray glass, a few rare albinos,
tails mostly, but a few broken off points,
until I finally found a perfect arrowhead,
tiny, the size of a dime, good for small game’
the only one I ever lost.

Since then, the magic is gone from my eyes,
now I walk the trails and find nothing.
I guess the losing of the perfect one
has sent the rest back into hiding.

(02-03-2021, 04:40 AM)TranquillityBase Wrote:  Cutting a trail uphill through cedar
Towards a grove of Spanish oak
I sat upon the ground to rest,
And prised up a stone from between my knees.

Wiping away the dried caliche,
I held a palm-sized, rocket-shaped flint point.

I had to stare at it before my eyes believed,
That I held an unfinished stone-age tool, 
Left behind 400 years ago by a human like me,
But unutterably not me.

I seemed to watch myself remove the point
And discover it again and again.
I stood up and held it outstretched,
And gave a self-conscious shout
To no one but the cedar and the oaks,
A shout of joy:  I’d been able to touch his hand
Outside of the centuries of dead between us.

The language is interesting, the details are nice, it holds a nice cadence and avoids cliche.

Some callouts - the stone age was 400 years earlier(?)
You would never have to prise a stone from between your own knees
upon is literally up+on as opposed to on which is just on so you wouldnt really be UP on the ground you would just be on it
adding "seem" in a poem almost always ruins it

minor quibbles

Another edit and a title:

The Castaways


Cutting a trail uphill through cedar
towards a grove of Spanish oak
I sat upon the ground to rest,
idly pried up a chunk of flint.
 
Wiping away the dried caliche,
I held an unfinished stone-age tool,
last held by a man 400 or 4000 years ago,
uncovered by erosion and my weariness under the August sun.

Though I’d been cutting these trails for years,
and picked up many pieces,
never one so clearly the work of a man,
from that day on,
I found these unfinished points on every walk,
as though finding the first
allowed the rest to reveal themselves.

Crude stone fish
cut from brownish gray glass, a few rare albinos,
tails mostly, but a few broken off points,
until I found a perfect arrowhead,
tiny, the size of a dime, good for small game,
the only one I ever lost.

Since then, the magic is gone from my eyes,
I walk the trails and find nothing.
I guess my losing the perfect one
has sent the rest back into hiding.

.
Hi TqB,
I think you need to do a bit of knapping yourself, there's an awful lot of excess here - saying that, I'm still not entirely sure what you're aiming for with the piece. If the poem is about the consequences of losing that perfect find, and I grant you it may not be, then start with that. As it is the first two stanzas seem entirely unnecessary (and, I'm afraid, dull). For someone who appears so interested in these flints there's no archaeology/ethnography in the piece, nor any explanation as to N's fascination.

S1.
Cutting a trail uphill ... I sat
In addition to the 'upon' that Milo mentioned, you're persisting with mixed tenses. How can you be both cutting and sat simultaneously?

S4.
If they're stone fish, which is a nice image, then perhaps continue the theme rather than go to cut? Describing something as 'tiny' and then the 'size of a dime' is poor, and repeating 'a few' doesn't add to the piece.
glass?

S5.
The ending doesn't really satisfy. hiding doesn't fit with them being uncovered by weariness and erosion


What happens if you begin as S4?


Best, Knot


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