Aranea

[jdeirmend]

I have a sympathy with the style of this poem. First person narrative, culminating in an epiphany that comes from attending closely to a phenomenon of nature. This is a time tested formula for poetic success.

Let's try and work out some of the kinks.

Aranea

As I sat on this bench,
grappling with my unruly thoughts
which distract from my blank page,

There are tense shifts in this first stanza that need to be fixed. "As I sat" just doesn't work with "this" bench; the preposition "as" indicates present tense in this context, whereas "sat" is in the preterit. The gerund "grappling" takes the narrator back into present tense. Since the rest of the poem is composed mostly in the preterit, I'd encourage you to stick with that.

my eyes wandered from boundless skies,
distant mountains,
and perfect blooms

perfect is a blase adjective. If you're going to try and wax poetic about flowers, keep in mind how overdone this is. It makes it hard to "make it new." Flowers are perhaps the object that has been most frequently written about in the history of the art.

to the cobweb in the metal chains
supporting my own seat. You're back in the present tense. Suggestion: switch the gerund to passive voice, i.e., "that supported."
I could only see a few strands

of old and fragile silk,
beaten by the wind. these are some solid lines here, that evoke a lot. Stick with these..
Then, I saw their maker hanging dead. This seems rather uninventive. Can you find a way to show it, instead of just saying it?

I looked more closely, Go with "closer." It will read better.
and suddenly much more appeared: Again, show, don't just say
a thousand perfect, shining threads of slightest width, this is pretty good. "Perfect", once more, is an adjective you would do well to cross off the list of available ones. As an abstraction, it shows us nothing, and tells us nothing interesting.

expertly woven with cosmic orders like where you're headed here
of rotations and eclipses, try and specify. Of stars/planets?
revolving, and patterned on some unseen loom. That is a fantastic line.

Every place it took root on the chain What does "it" refer to? The web?
was as roots of a tree, entangled, may want to add a "the" here
or the fine veins in my own observing eye. technically capillaries.

How sad it was that the artist lay dead. Again, try and say this with an image.
I poked him with my pencil,
and quickly he crawled, alive,

up, and trembled: awake.


not too happy with this poem as far as execution goes, but I like the concept. I'm curious to hear interpretations and any advice. Thanks!

There was much to admire in this. I hope my critical comments don't serve to discourage you whatsoever, but help you to cultivate your craft. Keep it up!

James