Clock Watching edit1

[tectak]

Clock watching edit 1
Thanks to billy,erthona, addy,heslopian

She walked the desert, stooped and halting,
broken backed, bare shinned, bare boned;
her eyes were not aligned to time the sun.
Too bright for life, she shunned its glare,
as if the truth of light was just too sure for her.
She, in her shrivelled world, uncertainty a daily constancy;
tick-tock, the clock chimes out from need to need
so time becomes a useless, child-play toy.

Her rhythm, hunger synchronised, precision guaranteed,
counts down to oblivion. She lives for one but dies for two.
See, in her wake, a gift to many, a child too many;
a binding umbilical and reminder of her best forgotten days.

The child is bloated, drawn and sexless; lacking the clues
which clothes bestow upon the infant frame
but more due to the androgyny
of pre-pubescent, famine present years.

The woman stops and turns, a glancing gesture
meant to indicate that love, somewhere, is there;
the tender tear is wasted on the wasted.
The night is coming to their day. Tick-tock.


tectak
2011

I watched her walk; dragged and halting,
broken backed and bone-bare shinned.
Her eyes were not aligned to see the sun.
Too bright for life, she shunned its glare
as if the truth of light was just too sure for her.
She, in her shaken world, uncertainty a daily constancy;
tick-tock, the clock times out from need to need
so time becomes a useless, child-play toy.
Her rhythm, hunger synchronised, precision guaranteed,
counts down to certainty. She lives for one but dies for two.
See, in her wake, a gift to many; a child too many,
a binding umbilical and reminder of her best forgotten days.
The child is pale and drawn, sexless by the lack of clues
which clothes by trait bestow upon the infant frame
but more by the androgeny of pre-pubescent, famine present years.
The woman stops and turns, a gesture
meant to indicate that love, somewhere, is there
but wasted on the wasted.
The night is coming to their day. Tick-tock.


tectak
2011

[Erthona]

This comes right in the end, but there are a few tripping things along the way. Seems almost a summery of Candide.

this description doesn't seem to do much

bone-bare shinned

I don't know what shinned means outside of I shinned my ankle.
----------------------------------------------------------
Sorry, but I don't really get this who phrase, or what it is trying to describe or imply.

Her eyes were not aligned to see the sun.
Too bright for life, she shunned its glare
as if the truth of light was just too sure for her.
-------------------------------------------------------------
I get the idea with this, but it seems a bit awkward.

so time becomes a useless, child-play toy
------------------------------------------------------
This is a good line

She lives for one but dies for two
------------------------------------------------------
This is a good line

meant to indicate that love, somewhere, is there
but wasted on the wasted.
------------------------------------------------------
The last line seems a bit over the top and cliche.
------------------------------------------------------

It seems that instead of arising organically, this was more contrived. There is nothing wrong with something being contrived, but I think there is something wrong when it appears that way to the reader.

Dale

[heslopian]

Clock watching

I watched her walk; Should this semi-colon be a comma? dragged and halting,
broken backed and bone-bare shinned. Is "bone" needed? It feels like one too many words.
Her eyes were not aligned to see the sun. I'm not sure I like the wording of this line. It feels a bit clunky. Instead of "aligned to see" how about "in line with"?
Too bright for life, What's too bright for life, her eyes or the sun? she shunned its glare
as if the truth of light was just too sure for her. I think "true" would work better than "sure," but that's just a personal choice.
She, in her shaken world, uncertainty a daily constancy; Could the latter half of this line be trimmed to "uncertainty constant"?
tick-tock, the clock times out from need to need
so time becomes a useless, child-play toy. Do you need "play"? "Child's" would suffice.
Her rhythm, hunger synchronised, precision guaranteed,
counts down to certainty. She lives for one but dies for two. Neat sentence. Poignant and chilling.
See, in her wake, a gift to many; Again, should this be a comma? a child too many,
a binding umbilical and reminder of her best forgotten days. I like the phrase "best forgotten days."
The child is pale and drawn, sexless by the lack of clues Is "by the lack of clues" needed?
which clothes by trait bestow upon the infant frame This and the previous line feel really overwritten. I had trouble following the train of thought. Here's a suggestion for condensing it: "sexless,/his clothes bestow no gender on his frame."
but more by the androgeny "androgyny" of pre-pubescent, famine present years. Is "famine present" needed?
The woman stops and turns, a gesture
meant to indicate that love, somewhere, is there
but wasted on the wasted. This sentence is my favourite in the whole poem. It's punchy and verbally interesting. I like how you use both meanings of the word "wasted."
The night is coming to their day. Tick-tock.


tectak
2011

I like the story you tell, but my problem with the poem is that it feels extremely overwritten. You have a really compelling narrative here. Now you just need to let it breathe.
All critique JMHO. Thanks for the read.

[addy]

I think you have something really interesting here. I like the idea of it, and love that you're taking it on. However, as the others have stated it's a bit crammed (weighted with too many adjectives, perhaps) and the rhythm has lots of stop-starts. Perhaps this is intentional, given the theme, but maybe do it in moderation so it'll still be reasonably readable

Just some thoughts:

Clock watching

I watched her walk; dragged and halting,
broken backed and bone-bare shinned. I get that this line is purposefully stilted to mimic her walk, but I don't get much of an image when I think "bone-bare shinned"? Not sure what I'm imagining
Her eyes were not aligned to see the sun. Did a double-take, because at first I thought she was perhaps cross-eyed. My mistake of course. With "alignment", i guess you are just trying to recall older methods of timekeeping, such as sundials, but maybe there's a way to clarify this line
Too bright for life why "for life"?, she shunned its glare
as if the truth of light was just too sure for her.
She, in her shaken world, uncertainty a daily constancy;
tick-tock, the clock times out from need to need
so time becomes a useless, child-play toy. I like the image, and it's specificity intrigues me. "Toy" implies that it is useless, but cherished in its naivety; not simply trash. Is it somehow a prelude to your later reference to children? If so, maybe the lines should be closer together
Her rhythm, hunger synchronised, precision guaranteed, I don't like the phrase "precision guaranteed", sounds too unnatural?
counts down to certainty. She lives for one but dies for two.
See, in her wake, a gift to many; a child too many,
a binding umbilical and reminder of her best forgotten days.
The child is pale and drawn, sexless by the lack of clues
which clothes by trait bestow upon the infant frame
but more by the androgeny of pre-pubescent, famine present years. Agree with Jack, these two lines in particular kind of collapse under their own weight
The woman stops and turns, a gesture
meant to indicate that love, somewhere, is there IMO, I think "love is there somewhere" reads more naturally
but wasted on the wasted.
The night is coming to their day. Tick-tock.


tectak
2011

[billy]

Clock watching

I watched her walk; dragged and halting,
broken backed and bone-bare shinned. i take shinned to me climb (using the shins for leverage) so i'm struggling with the phrase
Her eyes were not aligned to see the sun.
Too bright for life, she shunned its glare
as if the truth of light was just too sure for her.
She, in her shaken world, uncertainty a daily constancy;
tick-tock, the clock times out from need to need
so time becomes a useless, child-play toy.
Her rhythm, hunger synchronised, precision guaranteed,
counts down to certainty. She lives for one but dies for two.
See, in her wake, a gift to many; a child too many,
a binding umbilical and reminder of her best forgotten days.
The child is pale and drawn, sexless by the lack of clues
which clothes by trait bestow upon the infant frame
but more by the androgeny of pre-pubescent, famine present years.
The woman stops and turns, a gesture
meant to indicate that love, somewhere, is there
but wasted on the wasted.
The night is coming to their day. Tick-tock.


tectak
2011

you'll have to forgive me for this but i think it's beautiful, some of the images and lines are fantastic. but, and i think it a big one. there's too much going on. it's hard to do a line by because i'm not sure as to what to remove or leave in order to make it work better. while i know it's about the clock i'm not sure why i know. one solid reference would be an asset. i think the last line almost makes it. (one of those great lines)
it could be me but i needed some pointer to show me who her/she was.

[Philatone]

hey tec
some thoughts in the hopes of helping

Clock watching edit 1
Thanks to billy,erthona, addy,heslopian

She walked the desert, stooped and halting,
broken backed, bare shinned, bare boned;...i'm not sure how I feel about this line; the lengths it reaches strike me as being too far
her eyes were not aligned to time the sun....nice
Too bright for life, she shunned its glare,
as if the truth of light was just too sure for her. ..."just" feels like it doesn't have a real place in the piece
She, in her shrivelled world, uncertainty a daily constancy;...the /s/ sounds weren't very pleasing for me; again that's personal taste; the idea itself is fine, though a bit direct
tick-tock, the clock chimes out from need to need
so time becomes a useless, child-play toy. ...wasn't fond of "child-play" for the image, though the idea itself is great

Her rhythm, hunger synchronised, precision guaranteed,...like the terms used, appropriate
counts down to certainty. She lives for one but dies for two. ...good line, open to interpret
See, in her wake, a gift to many,a child too many;
a binding umbilical and reminder of her best forgotten days. ..."best forgotten" is really interesting in a good way, ambiguous in just the right amount. perhaps more a culture thing, "umbilical" strikes me as an adjective more than anything, not a noun
The child is bloated, drawn and sexless by the lack of clues
which clothes bestows upon the infant frame;
but more by the androgyny of pre-pubescent, famine present years....heavy on direct description for very little action. I felt as though I was being guided a little too heavily by the speaker

The woman stops and turns, a gesture
meant to indicate that love, somewhere, is there...how do I know that this is what the gesture means? on another note, is reminiscent of Orpheus
but wasted on the wasted. ..a good line that lost some of its impact from my problem with what preceded it
The night is coming to their day. Tick-tock. ...a good line


tectak
2011

a strong piece overall, though a bit more direct at times than I prefer

[Erthona]

"Her eyes were not aligned to see the sun. Did a double-take, because at first I thought she was perhaps cross-eyed. My mistake of course. With "alignment", i guess you are just trying to recall older methods of timekeeping, such as sundials, but maybe there's a way to clarify this line"

That's insightful addy, I had not thought of that.

Well, what of it Mister Mint, is this what you meant?

[billy]

Clock watching edit 1
Thanks to billy,erthona, addy,heslopian

She walked the desert, stooped and halting,
broken backed, bare shinned, bare boned; works much better
her eyes were not aligned to time the sun. time works much better.
Too bright for life, she shunned its glare,
as if the truth of light was just too sure for her.
She, in her shrivelled world, uncertainty a daily constancy;
tick-tock, the clock chimes out from need to need
so time becomes a useless, child-play toy.

Her rhythm, hunger synchronised, precision guaranteed,
counts down to oblivion. She lives for one but dies for two.
See, in her wake, a gift to many, a child too many;
a binding umbilical and reminder of her best forgotten days.

The child is bloated, drawn and sexless; lacking the clues
which clothes bestow upon the infant frame
but more due to the androgyny
of pre-pubescent, famine present years.

The woman stops and turns, a glancing gesture
meant to indicate that love, somewhere, is there;
the tender tear is wasted on the wasted.
The night is coming to their day. Tick-tock.


tectak
2011

i think all the edits add up to a considerable improvement. that said i already liked the piece.
after a few more reads, i see places like the sudan and ethiopia; because of this the poem feels much more powerful. it's like a window to death. of course i'm well wrong but it's what i see, it isn't about the clock. it's all about the waiting... (my take)

thanks for the edit

[tectak]

Clock watching edit 1
Thanks to billy,erthona, addy,heslopian

She walked the desert, stooped and halting,
broken backed, bare shinned, bare boned; works much better
her eyes were not aligned to time the sun. time works much better.
Too bright for life, she shunned its glare,
as if the truth of light was just too sure for her.
She, in her shrivelled world, uncertainty a daily constancy;
tick-tock, the clock chimes out from need to need
so time becomes a useless, child-play toy.

Her rhythm, hunger synchronised, precision guaranteed,
counts down to oblivion. She lives for one but dies for two.
See, in her wake, a gift to many, a child too many;
a binding umbilical and reminder of her best forgotten days.

The child is bloated, drawn and sexless; lacking the clues
which clothes bestow upon the infant frame
but more due to the androgyny
of pre-pubescent, famine present years.

The woman stops and turns, a glancing gesture
meant to indicate that love, somewhere, is there;
the tender tear is wasted on the wasted.
The night is coming to their day. Tick-tock.


tectak
2011

i think all the edits add up to a considerable improvement. that said i already liked the piece.
after a few more reads, i see places like the sudan and ethiopia; because of this the poem feels much more powerful. it's like a window to death. of course i'm well wrong but it's what i see, it isn't about the clock. it's all about the waiting... (my take)

thanks for the edit

Thanks to all for persevering with this one. Yes,it is about the inevitabilty of the two great movers...time and death. To link the two I was looking for some exemplifying image and like fruit flies are used in genetic experiments due to their short life cycles I figured that the much repeated (throughout my lifetime) ghastly image of the stilt legged mother dragging her fly-blown and bloated offspring across desert and bush for a bag of rice fitted the bill. Spurred by a recent vomiting of statistics on sub-Saharan Africa where we are advised that every second fourty children die.......then notice is given that twenty million will die this year. ......and so it has always been. The missing statistic? Well, for every child that is included in the death statistic, count one for births......or else where do the twenty million keep coming from?
Best,
Tectak

[billy]

then in it worked in two respects. i saw it's intent and i enjoyed the write.