Poet's Trance Alternative Edit

[Leah S.]

(This was the result of a critique I received on another board. Please compare with edit 1, although it is almost a different poem.)

Poet's Fugue

If you suppose I'm clinically depressed,
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
So what? I haven't had a meal today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed!
(Obsessed, I'd just neglected to ingest.)
I mined for words to prove in the assay;
I dug up metaphor that would convey
the deepest nuance readers can digest.
So don't be worried that I've lost my mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by;
I never heard my stomach's aching groan.
I'd been transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.

Edit 1:

Poet's Trance

I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed,
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I didn't feel despair, or lose my way,
but scrutinized each line to find the best
of rhymes; the secret metaphors unguessed
as yet; the stunning phrases to convey
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or even hear my gut's regretful groan.
I was transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.


First Draft:
This one needs to be whacked into shape. Spenserian sonnets are strangerian.


I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed,
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I never felt despair, or lost my way,
I just kept looking for the very best,
the perfect rhyme, the words unguessed
as yet, the stunning phrase that would convey
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or hear my hollow belly's distant groan.
I was transported to a place behind
the world we know, where time's a lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.

[tectak]

This one needs to be whacked into shape. Spenserian sonnets are strangerian.


I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed,
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I never felt despair, or lost my way,
I just kept looking for the very best,
the perfect rhyme, the words unguessed
as yet, the stunning phrase that would convey
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or hear my hollow belly's distant groan.
I was transported to a place behind
the world we know, where time's a lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.

No, leah, it  needs but a gentile, sexless massage. You make salient and well observed points..I much appreciated the "I don't appreciate the kind dismay" ...good understanding of the depressive's attitude....though usually expressed post-episode.
The thing hangs on a Damaclesian (and if that ain't a word it should be) thread which would snap if changed by one  jot...in other words it is fragile in intent, as is moot, such that any interference, either poetically or in terms of veracity, would not add anything. The sexless massage? Perhaps a tweak of enjambment...how sexless is that?
Very best,
tectak

[just mercedes]

This one needs to be whacked into shape. Spenserian sonnets are strangerian.


I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed, I don't know the word 'gotten'
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I never felt despair, or lost my way,
I just kept looking for the very best, #1 Two Syllable Adjective
the perfect rhyme, the words unguessed line missing two syllables, #2 TSA
as yet, the stunning phrase that would convey #3 TSA
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind. #4 and #5 TSA
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or hear my hollow belly's distant groan. #6 and #7 TSA
I was transported to a place behind
the world we know, where time's a lie line missing two syllables
and every glinting word's a precious stone. #8 and #9 TSA

To write poetry about writing poetry is a difficult task! I like the tone of your poem, and the complaints feel authentic to me as reader. Your final line leaves me with a lovely image, but at the same time I'm hearing more two-syllable adjectives as fillers for meter. You do that a lot in this poem - it's a temptation when using iambic pentameter, more so than other meters, I find. I hope this helps!

[Leah S.]

This one needs to be whacked into shape. Spenserian sonnets are strangerian.


I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed, I don't know the word 'gotten'
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I never felt despair, or lost my way,
I just kept looking for the very best, #1 Two Syllable Adjective
the perfect rhyme, the words unguessed line missing two syllables, #2 TSA
as yet, the stunning phrase that would convey #3 TSA
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind. #4 and #5 TSA
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or hear my hollow belly's distant groan. #6 and #7 TSA
I was transported to a place behind
the world we know, where time's a lie line missing two syllables
and every glinting word's a precious stone. #8 and #9 TSA

To write poetry about writing poetry is a difficult task! I like the tone of your poem, and the complaints feel authentic to me as reader. Your final line leaves me with a lovely image, but at the same time I'm hearing more two-syllable adjectives as fillers for meter. You do that a lot in this poem - it's a temptation when using iambic pentameter, more so than other meters, I find. I hope this helps!

Got vs. gotten


In American and Canadian English, the past participle of the verb get is usually gotten. For example, we might say, “I have gotten behind on my work,” or, “The book was not gotten easily.” Got is the participle in some uses, though, such as where has got to or have got to means must (e.g., “We have got to go to the store.”) and where has got or have got means has or have (e.g., “I have got five sisters.”)

In the main varieties of English from outside North America, the past participle of get in all its senses is usually got. Gotten appears occasionally, and it is standard in a few set phrases such as ill-gotten gains, but the shorter form prevails by a large margin.

That gotten is primarily used in North America has given rise to the mistaken belief that it is American in origin and hence new and inferior. But gotten is in fact an old form, predating the United States and Canada by several centuries. It fell out of favor in British English by the 18th century, but it was eventually picked up again on the other side of the Atlantic, perhaps by analogy with forgotten.

The vehemence of some Britons’ scorn for gotten likely has to do with the fact that it has gained ground in British English over the last couple of decades. Many English speakers from outside North America resist the encroachment of so-called Americanisms (many of which, like gotten, are not actually American in origin) on their versions of English, and, for mysterious reasons, some feel especially strongly about gotten.

I'm tackling feet and double adjectives now. Will try to avoid the blind fog I was in originally. Leah

[ChristopherSea]

This one needs to be whacked into shape. Spenserian sonnets are strangerian.


I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed, I don't know the word 'gotten'
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I never felt despair, or lost my way,
I just kept looking for the very best, #1 Two Syllable Adjective
the perfect rhyme, the words unguessed line missing two syllables, #2 TSA
as yet, the stunning phrase that would convey #3 TSA
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind. #4 and #5 TSA
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or hear my hollow belly's distant groan. #6 and #7 TSA
I was transported to a place behind
the world we know, where time's a lie line missing two syllables
and every glinting word's a precious stone. #8 and #9 TSA

To write poetry about writing poetry is a difficult task! I like the tone of your poem, and the complaints feel authentic to me as reader. Your final line leaves me with a lovely image, but at the same time I'm hearing more two-syllable adjectives as fillers for meter. You do that a lot in this poem - it's a temptation when using iambic pentameter, more so than other meters, I find. I hope this helps!

Got vs. gotten


In American and Canadian English, the past participle of the verb get is usually gotten. For example, we might say, “I have gotten behind on my work,” or, “The book was not gotten easily.” Got is the participle in some uses, though, such as where has got to or have got to means must (e.g., “We have got to go to the store.”) and where has got or have got means has or have (e.g., “I have got five sisters.”)  

In the main varieties of English from outside North America, the past participle of get in all its senses is usually got. Gotten appears occasionally, and it is standard in a few set phrases such as ill-gotten gains, but the shorter form prevails by a large margin.

That gotten is primarily used in North America has given rise to the mistaken belief that it is American in origin and hence new and inferior. But gotten is in fact an old form, predating the United States and Canada by several centuries. It fell out of favor in British English by the 18th century, but it was eventually picked up again on the other side of the Atlantic, perhaps by analogy with forgotten.

The vehemence of some Britons’ scorn for gotten likely has to do with the fact that it has gained ground in British English over the last couple of decades. Many English speakers from outside North America resist the encroachment of so-called Americanisms (many of which, like gotten, are not actually American in origin) on their versions of English, and, for mysterious reasons, some feel especially strongly about gotten.

I'm tackling feet and double adjectives now. Will try to avoid the blind fog I was in originally. Leah

Don't forget the phrase 'ill-gotten booty' from M*A*S*H - Season 1, Episode 10: I Hate A Mystery!

[onepapa]

Leah,

The only new thing I have to offer is that you strayed close to cliché in several spots including "made my bed", "hollow belly", "lost my way". The part that hit me hard and seemed perfect was "where time's a lie and every glinting word is a precious stone". I loved that ending. Every time I try to write a sonnet it ends up sounding like a nursery rhyme so I appreciate the difficulty of this form. This is very nice and a bit of editing will "whack" it into place.

onepapa

[Leah S.]

Leah,

The only new thing I have to offer is that you strayed close to cliché in several spots including "made my bed", "hollow belly", "lost my way".  The part that hit me hard and seemed perfect was "where time's a lie and every glinting word is a precious stone".  I loved that ending.  Every time I try to write a sonnet it ends up sounding like a nursery rhyme so I appreciate the difficulty of this form.  This is very nice and a bit of editing will "whack" it into place.

onepapa

Thanks for your comments....check edit. I was being totally literal though about not making my bed, or eating anything. Got rid of 'hollow belly' and changed the tense around. Also managed to sneak in a big word.

[Erthona]

Leah,

Actually this is an "Italian Sonnet".  A Spenserian, along with most other sonnet forms have rhyming couplets as the last two lines. The Italian sonnet has the following rhyme pattern abba abba cdecde, which is what this poem has. Regardless, it is a perfectly fine Italian sonnet.

I do have a quibble with the use of enjambement. The first use:

but scrutinized each line to find the best
of rhymes; the secret metaphors unguessed

My idea of enjambement is that it's purpose is to share a word with both the first line and the second. In the above example "of Rhymes" which seems to only have "of" attached to it to make the meter come out correctly, as it could just as easily be done away with. The second problem is that "rhymes" does not seem to apply to "the secret metaphors unguessed," unless the writer is trying to say that rhymes are metaphors, which is really not defensible. I can elaborate further, but I would assume this would be self evident. However, just in case, a metaphor says this is that, two single words can not accomplish a metaphor. I suppose that one could say that humans are turtles, but "humans - turtles" do not accomplish a metaphor as it is lacking the language that equates them. In a metaphor's simplest form one would at the least need to insert an "is" between the two words.
So we have mistaken enjambement, or incorrectly used enjambement. That is to say the line is broken so that the end word, "best" and unguessed" rhyme and as noted it also helps with the meter. Personally I do not think this is a correct use of enjambement. I think of it in the same context as "form" or "concrete" poetry. If line breaks can be accomplished with a disregard to sentences or phrases and can be broken anywhere, then a forth grader could probably cut the lines to form an image.

This other instance falls more in line with how enjambement should be used.

"I was transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie"

If we split the word(s) "the world" between the two lines it makes sense.

"I was transported to a place behind the world"  and

"the world, where time's an evanescent lie"

The only question here is does the enjambement actually benefit the lines by being split? Personally, I find enjambement is overused in the prosodic world, that is to say when examining the phrases and versification of poetry. I am certain some will disagree, but I will stand behind my statement as to the correct use of enjambement.    

Aside form these nit-picky things I found this an enjoyable poem to read. Oh yes, I did appreciate the word play on Charles Dickens' opening line of "The Tale of Two cities."    "the best of rhymes" "the best of times"
Intentional or not it is still great word play.

Dale


   

[onepapa]

Edit 1:

Poet's Trance

I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed,
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I didn't feel despair, or lose my way,
but scrutinized each line to find the best
of rhymes; the secret metaphors unguessed
as yet; the stunning phrases to convey
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or even hear my gut's regretful groan.
I was transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.


First Draft:
This one needs to be whacked into shape. Spenserian sonnets are strangerian.


I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed,
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I never felt despair, or lost my way,
I just kept looking for the very best,
the perfect rhyme, the words unguessed
as yet, the stunning phrase that would convey
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or hear my hollow belly's distant groan.
I was transported to a place behind
the world we know, where time's a lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.

Leah,

Great edit! I liked the first version and this one is even better. The only thing that seemed to be a bit of a jarring note was "gut". A nice strong Angelo-Saxon word but it tends to stand out too much in this lyrical work. This is probably just my oversensitive ear so feel free to ignore the comment.

onepapa

[just mercedes]

I like your edit, the poem reads more smoothly. I think you use too many adjectives though - there's hardly a noun without one and it feels a bit intrusive, especially in the last two lines.

[Leah S.]

Leah,
Actually this is an "Italian Sonnet".  A Spenserian, along with most other sonnet forms have rhyming couplets as the last two lines. The Italian sonnet has the following rhyme pattern abba abba cdecde, which is what this poem has. Regardless, it is a perfectly fine Italian sonnet.
I do have a quibble with the use of enjambement. The first use:
but scrutinized each line to find the best
of rhymes; the secret metaphors unguessed
My idea of enjambement is that it's purpose is to share a word with both the first line and the second. In the above example "of Rhymes" which seems to only have "of" attached to it to make the meter come out correctly, as it could just as easily be done away with. The second problem is that "rhymes" does not seem to apply to "the secret metaphors unguessed," unless the writer is trying to say that rhymes are metaphors, which is really not defensible. I can elaborate further, but I would assume this would be self evident. However, just in case, a metaphor says this is that, two single words can not accomplish a metaphor. I suppose that one could say that humans are turtles, but "humans - turtles" do not accomplish a metaphor as it is lacking the language that equates them. In a metaphor's simplest form one would at the least need to insert an "is" between the two words.
So we have mistaken enjambement, or incorrectly used enjambement. That is to say the line is broken so that the end word, "best" and unguessed" rhyme and as noted it also helps with the meter. Personally I do not think this is a correct use of enjambement. I think of it in the same context as "form" or "concrete" poetry. If line breaks can be accomplished with a disregard to sentences or phrases and can be broken anywhere, then a forth grader could probably cut the lines to form an image.
This other instance falls more in line with how enjambement should be used.
"I was transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie"
If we split the word(s) "the world" between the two lines it makes sense.
"I was transported to a place behind the world"  and
"the world, where time's an evanescent lie"
The only question here is does the enjambement actually benefit the lines by being split? Personally, I find enjambement is overused in the prosodic world, that is to say when examining the phrases and versification of poetry. I am certain some will disagree, but I will stand behind my statement as to the correct use of enjambement.    
Aside form these nit-picky things I found this an enjoyable poem to read. Oh yes, I did appreciate the word play on Charles Dickens' opening line of "The Tale of Two cities."    "the best of rhymes" "the best of times"
Intentional or not it is still great word play.
Dale
   

Wow, cool. I was under-educated about enjambment, and so now I can blame you forever for raising my personal poetic bar. Love/Hate/Hate/Love You! I don't think I'm going to mess with this sonnet, but will forever after bear it in mind. As if sonnets weren't hard enough.
As far as your comment about rhymes not being metaphors, I meant it to be a simple list of some of the elements that go into a poem, separated by semi-colons to indicate it was a list: rhymes; metaphors; stunning phrases conveying nuance. Your interpretation would be correct if I had used a colon as in, 'rhymes: metaphors; stunning phrases.' Maybe I need to clean that up a little, but I don't want to overwork it.
I didn't consciously intend the play on the "best of times" but I did want it to be a little reminiscent of cliché. I wasn't looking for just the 'best rhyme,' but the 'best of (all possible) rhymes.'
You are right, I mislabeled it as Spenserian. I have that rhyme scheme in my notes as Petrarchan, which is also Italian. I had just written a Spenserian the day before, so blame my Poet's Trance for confusing me.
Love you guys.

[belkar]

Wow, this poem has a lot of power to it. Beutifually written. Everything I would have said has been stated my people more educated than I. The only comments that i could make is small nit-picky things that I would put in if this were my poem. I like to take out unnecessary contractions for example. Such as in line 10, the word "couldn't" makes this line a little passive. If it read "I could not feel hours passing by" or "I could not feel the hours pass by", then I think it would be more powerful. Switching the words "glinting" and "precious" would make more sense in the last line, but you could be going for this contrast.

[Leah S.]

Wow, this poem has a lot of power to it. Beutifually written. Everything I would have said has been stated my people more educated than I. The only comments that i could make is small nit-picky things that I would put in if this were my poem. I like to take out unnecessary contractions for example. Such as in line 10, the word "couldn't" makes this line a little passive. If it read "I could not feel hours passing by" or "I could not feel the hours pass by", then I think it would be more powerful. Switching the words "glinting" and "precious" would make more sense in the last line, but you could be going for this contrast.

The meter's the thing. Those iambs are finicky.

[onepapa]

(This was the result of a critique I received on another board. Please compare with edit 1, although it is almost a different poem.)

Poet's Fugue

If you suppose I'm clinically depressed,
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
So what? I haven't had a meal today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed!
(Obsessed, I'd just neglected to ingest.)
I mined for words to prove in the assay;
I dug up metaphor that would convey
the deepest nuance readers can digest.
So don't be worried that I've lost my mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by;
I never heard my stomach's aching groan.
I'd been transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.

Edit 1:

Poet's Trance

I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed,
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I didn't feel despair, or lose my way,
but scrutinized each line to find the best
of rhymes; the secret metaphors unguessed
as yet; the stunning phrases to convey
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or even hear my gut's regretful groan.
I was transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.


First Draft:
This one needs to be whacked into shape. Spenserian sonnets are strangerian.


I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed,
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I never felt despair, or lost my way,
I just kept looking for the very best,
the perfect rhyme, the words unguessed
as yet, the stunning phrase that would convey
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or hear my hollow belly's distant groan.
I was transported to a place behind
the world we know, where time's a lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.

Leah,

I prefer Edit 1. I like the title better for the emotion and state of mind it conveys. Using Fugue (and you can read Funk) also works but I simply like Trance better as it resonates with me and conveys a strong feeling rather than the intellectual reaction I get to Fugue. I concede that Fugue works better as a classical reference in a classically formatted poem but still like "Trance" better.

I also liked Edit 1 for "secret metaphors unguessed" and "stunning phrases to convey" (ok, maybe a little cliché but it still works) as they convey stronger and clearing feeling than your new version. You already know from my prior comments that I like "stomach" better than gut so I think that line is better in Fugue.

The last three lines are stunning.

These are all minor comments but I liked it so much I had to comment.

This is excellent work and should be whacked into publication.

onepapa

[Leah S.]

(This was the result of a critique I received on another board. Please compare with edit 1, although it is almost a different poem.)

Poet's Fugue

If you suppose I'm clinically depressed,
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
So what? I haven't had a meal today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed!
(Obsessed, I'd just neglected to ingest.)
I mined for words to prove in the assay;
I dug up metaphor that would convey
the deepest nuance readers can digest.
So don't be worried that I've lost my mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by;
I never heard my stomach's aching groan.
I'd been transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.

Edit 1:

Poet's Trance

I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed,
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I didn't feel despair, or lose my way,
but scrutinized each line to find the best
of rhymes; the secret metaphors unguessed
as yet; the stunning phrases to convey
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or even hear my gut's regretful groan.
I was transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.


First Draft:
This one needs to be whacked into shape. Spenserian sonnets are strangerian.


I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed,
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I never felt despair, or lost my way,
I just kept looking for the very best,
the perfect rhyme, the words unguessed
as yet, the stunning phrase that would convey
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or hear my hollow belly's distant groan.
I was transported to a place behind
the world we know, where time's a lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.

Leah,

I prefer Edit 1.  I like the title better for the emotion and state of mind it conveys.  Using Fugue (and you can read Funk) also works but I simply like Trance better as it resonates with me and conveys a strong feeling rather than the intellectual reaction I get to Fugue.  I concede that Fugue works better as a classical reference in a classically formatted poem but still like "Trance" better.

I also liked Edit 1 for "secret metaphors unguessed" and "stunning phrases to convey" (ok, maybe a little cliché but it still works) as they convey stronger and clearing feeling than your new version.  You already know from my prior comments that I like "stomach" better than gut so I think that line is better in Fugue.

The last three lines are stunning.

These are all minor comments but I liked it so much I had to comment.

This is excellent work and should be whacked into publication.

onepapa

Fugue is also a word for a psychological state wherein an amnesiac creates an entire other personality, and when they recover their original memories, they have no recollection of the secondary personality or any of the events that occurred during that time period.

[onepapa]

(This was the result of a critique I received on another board. Please compare with edit 1, although it is almost a different poem.)

Poet's Fugue

If you suppose I'm clinically depressed,
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
So what? I haven't had a meal today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed!
(Obsessed, I'd just neglected to ingest.)
I mined for words to prove in the assay;
I dug up metaphor that would convey
the deepest nuance readers can digest.
So don't be worried that I've lost my mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by;
I never heard my stomach's aching groan.
I'd been transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.

Edit 1:

Poet's Trance

I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed,
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I didn't feel despair, or lose my way,
but scrutinized each line to find the best
of rhymes; the secret metaphors unguessed
as yet; the stunning phrases to convey
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or even hear my gut's regretful groan.
I was transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.


First Draft:
This one needs to be whacked into shape. Spenserian sonnets are strangerian.


I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed,
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I never felt despair, or lost my way,
I just kept looking for the very best,
the perfect rhyme, the words unguessed
as yet, the stunning phrase that would convey
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or hear my hollow belly's distant groan.
I was transported to a place behind
the world we know, where time's a lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.

Leah,

I prefer Edit 1.  I like the title better for the emotion and state of mind it conveys.  Using Fugue (and you can read Funk) also works but I simply like Trance better as it resonates with me and conveys a strong feeling rather than the intellectual reaction I get to Fugue.  I concede that Fugue works better as a classical reference in a classically formatted poem but still like "Trance" better.

I also liked Edit 1 for "secret metaphors unguessed" and "stunning phrases to convey" (ok, maybe a little cliché but it still works) as they convey stronger and clearing feeling than your new version.  You already know from my prior comments that I like "stomach" better than gut so I think that line is better in Fugue.

The last three lines are stunning.

These are all minor comments but I liked it so much I had to comment.

This is excellent work and should be whacked into publication.

onepapa

Fugue is also a word for a psychological state wherein an amnesiac creates an entire other personality, and when they recover their original memories, they have no recollection of the secondary personality or any of the events that occurred during that time period.

I did not know that. Very interesting, now I understand why you used it. Thanks.

onepapa

[lacan123]

If you suppose I'm clinically depressed,
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
So what? I haven't had a meal today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed!
(Obsessed, I'd just neglected to ingest.)
I mined for words to prove in the assay;
I dug up metaphor that would convey
the deepest nuance readers can digest.
So don't be worried that I've lost my mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by;
I never heard my stomach's aching groan.
I'd been transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.

It's very ambitious - and I mean that as a real compliment. My objection would be that you develop two conceits: the first of eating - or the lack of eating, and the second, obviously, of mining: and they combine in line 8; but nowhere else. You've also got two ideas - that the conceits/metaphors are carrying: emotional emptiness and literary creativity.

Classically, the idea is usually to condense the ideas into one conceit: this is the basic meaning and structure of metaphor. In a very real way the 'pleasure' that poetry, rhetoric etc give is this formation of 'condensed' structures. Shakespeare does it endlessly - look at his sonnets or, given your poem, this:

If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.



Two ideas; one conceit.

[Leah S.]

If you suppose I'm clinically depressed,
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
So what? I haven't had a meal today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed!
(Obsessed, I'd just neglected to ingest.)
I mined for words to prove in the assay;
I dug up metaphor that would convey
the deepest nuance readers can digest.
So don't be worried that I've lost my mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by;
I never heard my stomach's aching groan.
I'd been transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.

It's very ambitious - and I mean that as a real compliment. My objection would be that you develop two conceits: the first of eating - or the lack of eating, and the second, obviously, of mining: and they combine in line 8; but nowhere else. You've also got two ideas - that the conceits/metaphors are carrying: emotional emptiness and literary creativity.

Classically, the idea is usually to condense the ideas into one conceit: this is the basic meaning and structure of metaphor. In a very real way the 'pleasure' that poetry, rhetoric etc give is this formation of 'condensed' structures. Shakespeare does it endlessly - look at his sonnets or, given your poem, this:

If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.



Two ideas; one conceit.

I think you are reading too much into my 'little song.' I was just so busy digging (mining) for words that I forgot to eat, get dressed, or make my bed. Maybe if I re-titled it "Prospector" ? Thanks though, I will go back and try and tighten up the image of the obsessed treasure-hunter.

---

I think this might be the last edit. I went with the mining metaphor all the way. Thanks to All esp. lacan123 

Poet's Drift

If you suspect I'm clinically depressed,
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
So what? I haven't had a meal today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed.
(Obsessed, I'd just neglected to ingest.)
I mined for words to prove in the assay:
the lode of metaphor that would convey
the deepest nuance language might suggest.

So don't you worry that I've lost my mind.
I never felt the hours passing by;
I didn't hear my stomach's aching groan.
I'd gone prospecting in a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.

Poet's Fugue

If you suppose I'm clinically depressed,
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
So what? I haven't had a meal today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed!
(Obsessed, I'd just neglected to ingest.)
I mined for words to prove in the assay;
I dug up metaphor that would convey
the deepest nuance readers can digest.
So don't be worried that I've lost my mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by;
I never heard my stomach's aching groan.
I'd been transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.

Edit 1:

Poet's Trance

I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed,
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I didn't feel despair, or lose my way,
but scrutinized each line to find the best
of rhymes; the secret metaphors unguessed
as yet; the stunning phrases to convey
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or even hear my gut's regretful groan.
I was transported to a place behind
the world, where time's an evanescent lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.


First Draft:
This one needs to be whacked into shape. Spenserian sonnets are strangerian.


I haven't eaten anything today,
or made my bed, or even gotten dressed,
and if you think I'm clinically depressed
I don't appreciate your kind dismay.
I never felt despair, or lost my way,
I just kept looking for the very best,
the perfect rhyme, the words unguessed
as yet, the stunning phrase that would convey
the deepest nuance to my reader's mind.
I couldn't feel the hours passing by,
or hear my hollow belly's distant groan.
I was transported to a place behind
the world we know, where time's a lie
and every glinting word's a precious stone.