12-01-2010, 09:17 AM (This post was last modified: 12-01-2010, 09:18 AM by billy.)
(12-01-2010, 07:58 AM)Todd Wrote: Look at this tangle of thorns—Nabokov
Hunger is a breathless dance of teeth—
the smell of bricks—
I stink of it. [good opening triolet]
Prick to the sound [for me this line needs some clarity]
of a sanguine skip, her hum
a mouthful of bees.
The taste of innocence is sweet
cherries on the tongue. Licks
across the gnarled root. [great triolet]
This bag of raw meat,
slick droplet, budding rose,
this not so little girl. [another good one]
Hair like the blood
moon in a tangle
of thorns, a violent cascade [is 'a violent cascade' need?]
Who could see
and claim her
an ingénue?[brilliant use of the word]
The liquid color of desire
in pale naked light
the smell of mutton, dribbling wine. [great lines again]
The path meant to walk
away from—
generations will fill my stomach. [for me this verse feels very forced.]
No longer hooded,
breath a rasping whetstone
against my sharp angles.
So big, so big, today is different.
~~~
(From the poetry practice did some edits to it).
for me the allusion to Nabokov's lolita doesn't work too well. (most will never have heard of him. i do think 'look at this tangle of thorns' works well with out Nabocov's name.
i think this poem is a little gem (even with my comments) with some great imagery, a small edit i think, would give you a very printable poet.
Hey Todd,
You have a way with language that I just can't help but enjoy. I'm going to try to give some critique. However, this piece is pretty strong, so I don't have a ton to say outside of some thoughts about your ending and some nit-picking. I'll explain more below:
(12-01-2010, 07:58 AM)Todd Wrote: Revision
Hunger is a breathless dance -This is a wonderful way to describe hunger. I've read this metaphor over and over, and it just works so well.
of teeth—the smell of pennies— -I don't quite get "the smell of pennies". It sounds good, but does this imply the speaker is eating pennies? Is this some sort of allusion I'm not understanding? This line even made me google "the smell of pennies" to see if there was something I was missing...
I stink of it.
My ears prick
to the sanguine skip, her hum -I like "sanguine skip" because it creates a nice image in my mind.
a mouthful of bees. -If her hum is a mouthful of bees, does that imply danger for the speaker or the girl? I would think this indicates a greater danger for the girl. Was this your intentional?
She is sweet cherries
on the tongue that licks
against the gnarled root. -This stanza is wonderful. It's like the whole forbidden fruit motif without using the word "forbidden."
Slick droplet,
bag of raw meat, -This is a disturbing image. I get how the girl could be like raw meat, but why a bag of it? It's not exactly a seductive image.
not so little girl,
hair, a thorny tangle -I like the metaphor for the hair. It sums up the danger of the situation well.
of waves beneath the blood
moon. -I like the symbolism here because the moon usually represents purity, so a blood moon means something is now impure.
Who could see and claim her an ingénue? -I like the italics here. However, is this someone else talking or the narrator thinking instead of speaking?
liquid desire -I'm not a huge punctuation guy, but why isn't "liquid" capitalized? Is this intentional?
in pale naked
light, dribbling
wine, -I can't help but feel like the stanza break here is unnecessary. I just don't see why "wine" needs so much emphasis because it's already in a line by itself. This might be my biggest nit-picking comment of the entire critique.
no longer hooded,
her breath, a rasping
whetstone against
my sharp angles. -This stanza is so vivid. I love the metaphors and language here. It's wonderful.
Generations will fill
my stomach—
so big, so big. -I've read this numerous times and I still don't get the last three lines. "Generations will fill/my stomach-" makes the speaker sound almost like a female character (i.e. birthing). Was that the intent? It feels to me like you're trying to have some sort of profound final thought/lesson to this. You should just end it at "my sharp angles." Let the reader decide what lesson, if any, they want to take from this.
Look at this tangle of thorns—Nabokov
Hunger is a breathless dance of teeth—
the smell of bricks—
I stink of it.
Prick to the sound
of a sanguine skip, her hum
a mouthful of bees.
The taste of innocence is sweet
cherries on the tongue. Licks
across the gnarled root.
This bag of raw meat,
slick droplet, budding rose,
this not so little girl.
Hair like the blood
moon in a tangle
of thorns, a violent cascade
Who could see
and claim her
an ingénue?
The liquid color of desire
in pale naked light
the smell of mutton, dribbling wine.
The path meant to walk
away from—
generations will fill my stomach.
No longer hooded,
breath a rasping whetstone
against my sharp angles.
So big, so big, today is different.
~~~
There's some wonderful language use in this poem, and my biggest suggestion would be the rework the ending. May be I'm missing something though. It wouldn't be the first time.
(05-20-2017, 01:51 PM)Richard Wrote: Hey Todd,
You have a way with language that I just can't help but enjoy. I'm going to try to give some critique. However, this piece is pretty strong, so I don't have a ton to say outside of some thoughts about your ending and some nit-picking. I'll explain more below:
(12-01-2010, 07:58 AM)Todd Wrote: Revision
Hunger is a breathless dance -This is a wonderful way to describe hunger. I've read this metaphor over and over, and it just works so well.
of teeth—the smell of pennies— -I don't quite get "the smell of pennies". It sounds good, but does this imply the speaker is eating pennies? Is this some sort of allusion I'm not understanding? This line even made me google "the smell of pennies" to see if there was something I was missing...
I stink of it.
My ears prick
to the sanguine skip, her hum -I like "sanguine skip" because it creates a nice image in my mind.
a mouthful of bees. -If her hum is a mouthful of bees, does that imply danger for the speaker or the girl? I would think this indicates a greater danger for the girl. Was this your intentional?
She is sweet cherries
on the tongue that licks
against the gnarled root. -This stanza is wonderful. It's like the whole forbidden fruit motif without using the word "forbidden."
Slick droplet,
bag of raw meat, -This is a disturbing image. I get how the girl could be like raw meat, but why a bag of it? It's not exactly a seductive image.
not so little girl,
hair, a thorny tangle -I like the metaphor for the hair. It sums up the danger of the situation well.
of waves beneath the blood
moon. -I like the symbolism here because the moon usually represents purity, so a blood moon means something is now impure.
Who could see and claim her an ingénue? -I like the italics here. However, is this someone else talking or the narrator thinking instead of speaking?
liquid desire -I'm not a huge punctuation guy, but why isn't "liquid" capitalized? Is this intentional?
in pale naked
light, dribbling
wine, -I can't help but feel like the stanza break here is unnecessary. I just don't see why "wine" needs so much emphasis because it's already in a line by itself. This might be my biggest nit-picking comment of the entire critique.
no longer hooded,
her breath, a rasping
whetstone against
my sharp angles. -This stanza is so vivid. I love the metaphors and language here. It's wonderful.
Generations will fill
my stomach—
so big, so big. -I've read this numerous times and I still don't get the last three lines. "Generations will fill/my stomach-" makes the speaker sound almost like a female character (i.e. birthing). Was that the intent? It feels to me like you're trying to have some sort of profound final thought/lesson to this. You should just end it at "my sharp angles." Let the reader decide what lesson, if any, they want to take from this.
There's some wonderful language use in this poem, and my biggest suggestion would be the rework the ending. May be I'm missing something though. It wouldn't be the first time.
Cheers,
Richard
Richard, I appreciate the thoughtful critique. Your interaction with the poem shows me a few areas I can work on. I think I'll give the pennies a bit more thought for instance, and the area where I didn't capitalize, I'll probably change that. It kept wanting the speaker to mix desire with excess and loss of control and it felt right--though from an execution perspective it probably didn't convey. You have the right idea about the bees thoguh we probably look at it slightly differently--which is fine because it's all about the two perspectives. As far as the ending goes, and the bag of meat. I'm not trying to be completely seductive. I'm mashing a few ideas together. All I'll say is that the title is important to the full understanding. I may be being too obscure.
Hi, Todd. I've never read Lolita, so I'm working the Little Red Riding Hood angle here. I feel like the pedo element is self-evident. One of the strengths that I see in this piece is that it can be read from many angles and still make sense.
(12-01-2010, 07:58 AM)Todd Wrote: Revision 1.1
Hunger is a breathless dance
of teeth—the smell of rusted iron—
I stink of it. -- honestly, I have no idea what the significance of rusted iron is, but I like it anyway. It makes me think of something falling into disuse, the speaker has been idle too long. I also like the idea that one can start to smell of desire, and this person's desire smells bad.
Also, the punctuation is not right. Em dashes are like parentheses, so the core sentence you have is: Hunger is a breathless dance of teeth I stink of it.
You could do: Hunger is a breathless dance of teeth; the smell of rusted iron, I stink of it. I love the way the dashes look, I have a love affair with the em's, but...correctness and all that.
My ears prick -- Mr. Big Bad himself, he's a real prick. I like the wordplay of that, the ears and the character reference combined.
to the sanguine skip, her hum -- prick/skip =
a mouthful of bees. -- interesting combination of the danger of bees and the potential sweet of honey -- is it dangerous for him to pursue her? Do wolves try to get at beehives?
She is sweet cherries -- you can do more with the verb than "is." Bees/sweet cherries is nice sonics again.
on the tongue that licks
against the gnarled root. -- do you need "the"? Maybe gnarled roots? Or is it the roots of the cherry tree or the tree that the bees are in? Then maybe "the gnarled roots." Is it her tongue that licks or the speaker (or someone else)? I guess what I'm saying is that there's a good deal of ambiguity in here that could be easily sorted.
Slick droplet, -- this one I don't get, which is ok. It still sounds great.
bag of raw meat, -- nice, the girl as object, as the cure for craving
not so little girl, -- like this too, establishes age around the tween years, I'm thinking
hair, a thorny tangle -- thorny tangle is gorgeous. I don't know why "hair" is danging there as a separate description. I'd remove the comma.
of waves beneath the blood
moon. -- Ok, my objection to this sentence, beginning in the last strophe, is that it's not a complete sentence. I'm a stickler. You can remedy by "(her) hair (insert verb here) a thorny tangle...."
Who could see and claim her an ingénue? -- Ickyness of speaker coming out. The italics make me think that the speaker is more directly addressing the audience here than anywhere else.
liquid desire -- I also don't understand the lack of capitalization here.
in pale naked -- comma after pale
light, dribbling wine, -- I don't think "wine" works. It's too adult.
no longer hooded, -- this is what really tipped me off to the Little Red Riding Hood angle. Also makes me think of budding femininity, showing a bit of cleavage as it were.
her breath, a rasping
whetstone against -- don't understand "rasping whetstone"
my sharp angles. -- no verb in this sentence either, beginning with liquid desire through angles. It almost seems like two sentences are merged, both with no verb. The desire no longer hooded, and then the breath being the rasping whetstone. I know that some writers play fast and loose with sentence structure, but I don't see you typically writing that way -- you're usually precise, so it stands out.
Generations will fill
my stomach— -- maybe the children she could have had if he hadn't eaten her, or the foreboding that he'll kill and kill again.
so big, so big. -- big is not that oomphy of a word, but it does tie in with the Big Bad Wolf thing, so it's probably a good choice.
Not much action in the title, but I'm one to talk. I just know that you're better with titles than I am, so maybe think about how you could work more meanings in there.
I think the conceit is brilliant. Bringing literary elements together and then subverting them is exciting.
Hi Lizzie, thank you for the comments and the close read. I'll clean up some of the areas you mention on revision. I should be able to fix some of the sentence structure. As far as the ending goes, I was thinking of the immediate sexualized context and playing it off of the refrain in my mind--Grandmother, what big ____ you have. I'll give it some more thought.
(06-11-2017, 10:54 AM)Todd Wrote: Hi Lizzie, thank you for the comments and the close read. I'll clean up some of the areas you mention on revision. I should be able to fix some of the sentence structure. As far as the ending goes, I was thinking of the immediate sexualized context and playing it off of the refrain in my mind--Grandmother, what big ____ you have. I'll give it some more thought.
(12-01-2010, 07:58 AM)Todd Wrote: Hunger is a breathless dance I´d write “gasping” or something similar instead of “breathless” because breath is needed to transport foetor ex ore. of teeth—the smell of rusted iron— maybe rusted´s not needed for an additional association (to think of blood) I stink of it. somehow that line seems like an out-of-character excuse or self-accusation of the subject, considering how the poem moves on. I´d either erase it or try to make it sound less negative, maybe make the S. somehow feel proud or powerful because of this metallic feature.
My ears prick
to the sanguine skip, her hum
a mouthful of bees. I like how this line and the word hum creates the image of a physical feeling
She is sweet cherries
on the tongue that licks impressive how “she” is reduced to a tongue, showing the subject´s narrowing focus.
against the gnarled root.
Slick droplet,
bag of raw meat,
not so little girl,
hair, a thorny tangle
of waves beneath the blood
moon. I see the different meanings of blood and blood moon, which is making the enjambment interesting. still I´d choose one (blood moon also somehow competes with the image created in the poem)
Who could see and claim her an ingénue? and no woman in her right mind should want to be ingénue.. I could dive into the subject´s mind with these erotic visions even if they contain a pretty sexist attitude in the fourth stanza, but this stanza here (both because of the italics and the more sophisticated language) creates .. distance. well done if that was the intention.
liquid desire
in pale naked
light, dribbling wine,
no longer hooded,
her breath, a rasping
whetstone against
my sharp angles. shouldn´t that be singular?
Generations will fill
my stomach—
so big, so big.
~~
I think this really qualifies as a good poem being able to evoke many different feelings at once.
“When he has filled his belly, God will vent his burning anger against him and rain down his blows on him.” (job 20:23) (google found that quote by accident , I just tried to search for another meaning to “generations filled my belly” than the one that came to my mind. so no one take that quote seriously please)
Some very good thoughts, Vagabond. I'll consider them when I pull together a rewrite. I appreciated the mirror you held up so that I could think about my choices. Oh and certainly, no woman would want to be an ingenue--especially if they considered the implications at least. The unreliable narrator is very precisely objectifying this person. I think he's more speaking about what other's (like himself) would call her and not trying to call forth her own self-identity--I honestly doubt that he considers even that concept relevant. I doubt there's any part of her that in his mind belongs to her. There has to be a slight level of malice present to justify the reduction of identity. Thank you for the way you engaged with the piece.
(06-15-2017, 11:07 PM)Todd Wrote: Some very good thoughts, Vagabond. I'll consider them when I pull together a rewrite. I appreciated the mirror you held up so that I could think about my choices. Oh and certainly, no woman would want to be an ingenue--especially if they considered the implications at least. The unreliable narrator is very precisely objectifying this person. I think he's more speaking about what other's (like himself) would call her and not trying to call forth her own self-identity--I honestly doubt that he considers even that concept relevant. I doubt there's any part of her that in his mind belongs to her. There has to be a slight level of malice present to justify the reduction of identity. Thank you for the way you engaged with the piece.
Best,
Todd
I kind of regret having put that bible quote in the comment (but couldn´t resist, it was too funny).
of course the women´s identity is not relevant in this poem´s concept, and being a poem this is not a thing that needs to be justified by the author.
well, it doesn´t seem to me that the narrator objectified the subject (if that even is possible), I´d rather say he added another (fictional) perspective.
i guess poetry shouldn´t have a lot of restrictions, but convey feelings, show different perspectives and evoke reactions. my perspective as a reader (mixing up 3 different perspectives) caused my reaction to this poem (which need not be justified either). so, no edit simply for reader´s reactions
I mostly appreciated the points you raised around the lines. It's too early to say what will result in an edit. I don't think either of us were justifying just commenting.
06-21-2017, 04:05 AM (This post was last modified: 06-21-2017, 11:07 AM by Todd.)
Lizzie and Vagabond,
I spent a lot of time considering all of your comments. I played around with the suggestions and adopted some of them. While I doubt any poem is finished, you both helped me clarify my choices. I do appreciate it. I hope this is improved.
Best,
Todd
Hey Richard, sorry I forgot to mention your contributions. I had a working revision from your initial comments that I then revised from Lizzie and Vagabond. I took your advice on the wine break, but than killed the idea of wine entirely because of Lizzie's later comment I agreed with. I know I didn't address some of your questions because I tend not to in the thread on purpose. Hopefully, the revision and maybe some of the other comments also answered some things.
Hey Todd,
No worries. I like this revision a lot. After reading what you and Lizzie said, the poem makes a lot more sense. I don't know how I missed it, considering the title. Keeping that in mind, I would suggest going back to "the smell of bricks" in the first stanza. I think that works the best of three images you used throughout your revisions. I thought about doing another full critique of it, but this poem is such a strong piece, I don't think I would have any useful suggestions at this point.
(06-21-2017, 12:07 PM)Richard Wrote: Hey Todd,
No worries. I like this revision a lot. After reading what you and Lizzie said, the poem makes a lot more sense. I don't know how I missed it, considering the title. Keeping that in mind, I would suggest going back to "the smell of bricks" in the first stanza. I think that works the best of three images you used throughout your revisions. I thought about doing another full critique of it, but this poem is such a strong piece, I don't think I would have any useful suggestions at this point.
Cheers,
Richard
Bricks...yeah I always liked bricks. The revision points to another idea which while a bit clearer isn't as fun. Now that most of the context is out there, I might as well share that there was a fellow writer who read an early draft of this one and went a bit ballistic about bricks, which points to the speaker's past and expected outcomes. She couldn't get it at first and when she finally got the reference explained to me how I couldn't do things like that in my poems. In her words, I expected too much of my audience. I could accept a lot of reasons for why something shouldn't be in a poem, but not your audience should be dumb and you should accept that. Though I suppose we have to balance the clarity requirements of a piece. I always liked bricks and what it says about the speaker so I will consider putting it back in.
Yeah, I completely understand your point. It is a hard equilibrium to reach sometimes. You don't want to be too simple with a poem, but you also don't want things to get too convoluted either. I've been guilty of both throughout the years. May be if you do go back to the bricks in the first stanza, add another stanza after that expanding on the image. That way you get to keep bricks, but then can also give the reader a couple more hints about the speaker.
(12-01-2010, 07:58 AM)Todd Wrote: A big yes to this Todd. A remarkable extension of a single remit....conviction verse of the highest order. Enough of this sycophancy...line by line but not many.
tectk
Revision 2
Hunger is a breathless dance Why not? I can see the imagery though in my mind it is the assuaging that makes the dance. What say you?
of teeth; the smell of rusted iron,
I stink of it.Again I read more in to this than I probably aughtta...the smell of iron is of blood is, is sanguine as you say in the next verse. Deliberate? Tell me it is. I continually rage against enjambment as it always seems to me that unless controlled and PURPOSEFUL it is just making lasagne in to linguine....and I confess, I often cannot see purpose so for me it is not there. I could read this piece in greater comfort if the line lengths were complete unto themselves:
Hunger is a breathless dance of teeth;
the smell of rusted iron, I stink of it.
My ears prick to the sanguine skip,
her hum a mouthful of bees. Just sayin'.
My ears prick
to the sanguine skip, her hum
a mouthful of bees.
She dangles sweet cherries
on the tongue that licks
against this gnarled root. OK...love this. There is an uncertainty which in another room I could argue was obfuscation...the sincerest form of obscurity. I think it is caused by."....THIS....gnarled root".
Slick droplet,
bag of raw meat,
not so little girl,
her hair a thorny tangle
of waves beneath
the blood moon.This is a risky pairing of images...in fact, I am not clear what the intention is as far as identity goes. Who is what?
Who could see
and claim her
an ingénue?I am now getting picky but "Who could see and claim her to be an ingenue?" in one line shows up the missing "...to be...". I cannot but help reading the "to be" in to it. Bugger.
Liquid desire
in pale, naked
light dribbling
down my chin.Yes
No longer hooded,
her breath rasping,
a whetstone against
my sharp angles. Tentative yes to the understanding but to link "...her breath" to a "whetstone...." is stretchy. Allocate yourself more words to nail this one down...it is not a crime.
Generations will fill
my stomach—
so big, so big. So good he described it twice
~~
Edit: (Richard, Lizzie, vagabond)
Revision 1.1
Hunger is a breathless dance
of teeth—the smell of rusted iron—
I stink of it.
My ears prick
to the sanguine skip, her hum
a mouthful of bees.
She is sweet cherries
on the tongue that licks
against the gnarled root.
Slick droplet,
bag of raw meat,
not so little girl,
hair, a thorny tangle
of waves beneath the blood
moon.
Who could see and claim her an ingénue?
liquid desire
in pale naked
light, dribbling wine,
no longer hooded,
her breath, a rasping
whetstone against
my sharp angles.
Generations will fill
my stomach—
so big, so big.
~~
Edit: made a few slight changes
Look at this tangle of thorns—Nabokov
Hunger is a breathless dance of teeth—
the smell of bricks—
I stink of it.
Prick to the sound
of a sanguine skip, her hum
a mouthful of bees.
The taste of innocence is sweet
cherries on the tongue. Licks
across the gnarled root.
This bag of raw meat,
slick droplet, budding rose,
this not so little girl.
Hair like the blood
moon in a tangle
of thorns, a violent cascade
Who could see
and claim her
an ingénue?
The liquid color of desire
in pale naked light
the smell of mutton, dribbling wine.
The path meant to walk
away from—
generations will fill my stomach.
No longer hooded,
breath a rasping whetstone
against my sharp angles.
Tom, Thank you for the comments. I do appreciate your take. We probably come down on opposite sides of enjambment. Though I will say that your comments have often pushed me to be more expansive in line length and to truly ask myself if the break added or detracted. I'm mixed on this one. I can see value in both versions. So, I guess I'll weigh the values (life against a feather) and see what sticks. I will also consider allocating myself more words (love that) to the whetstone part as I tend to be minimalist in my delivery as a matter of course. A lot to think about. Thank you.
I just know that you're better with titles than I am, so maybe think about how you could work more meanings in there.
