09-05-2015, 03:00 PM
ok, so first, let me say that I loved a ton of this. You have spent some time and paid your dues, I think, to have such a natural affinity for sonics. There is quite a bit of cleverness as well and a refreshing dash of originality.
it should be "sack-heavy"
the world of poetry (well, accomplished poetry anyway) has been steadily moving away from overly poetic descriptions of nature and more toward /presentations/ of nature. Readers have grown a little tired of poets over describing simple events just to show off their poetic skills and I believe you may be crossing the line a bit here in the first 2 lines. Lines 3 and 4 are the perfect balance of imagery and simple presentation coupled with a refreshing concept.
So far - summary - it is raining causing olive branches to bend.
Somewhere, you are drowning.
In nicotine, in thread.
In everything but dew.
The floodwaters ignore you.
Slip their fingers into different homes,
give away your chorus.
these 2 stanzas are quite interesting. The introduction of address occurs here though it is not clarified. drowning is a great play off strophe 1. The last line is both superfluous and does not live up to the promise of the setup. First, after hearing that the addressee is drowning in nicotine and thread there would be no natural assumption of literal drowning. Second, "dew" seems the wrong choice anyway as there is no support for it elsewhere.
"The flood waters ignore you" is a great concept. Simply stated, connected and powerful. The tie back with "chorus" is fine. "Give away" is a bit weak.
summary - it is tough to accurately parse what is going on here, but it seems to me that the addressee is "drowning" in personal issues and therefore oblivious to the beautiful carnage that is surrounding them.
Knuckles brined like forgotten soil,
an upwards caress to the hollow desert.
Scoop the tears and sow the collection.
Once again, your sonics are spot on, your diction is interesting and your line breaks are solid throughout.
I wonder if you meant knuckles brined /with/ forgotten soil.
"upwards caress" isn't really working for me, I think you need a different noun.
"the collection" is completely lost on me. At this point, it throws me completely out of the poem, even after several reads. Perhaps I am simply dense, tired or slightly inebriated but I think you have quite a bit of room for clarity here.
Desperation is a rusted boat,
nickeled red.
it is unfortunate you have chosen to sink into abstraction with "desperation" as I love the phrase "rusted boat, nickeled red". The unfortunate comparison is quite disappointing.
I can feel the begging in your bones,
the tornadoes in your knees.
Your tongue plaque white and
every word is like a cave.
once again, I think it would be improved to use "plaque-white". With the obviously skillful demonstration of florid language here, I am reminded that the "desperation" ploy was superfluous as this conveys desperation so much better than the overt declaration. I am a little stuck on "every word is like a cave". The expression is original and great, but caves have so many properties - is our absentee addressee hiding in their words? Are the deep and dark? I feel like I might be on the right track but it feels important to know for sure.
He is the adage, sick with salt.
on a personal note, I hate the sudden centering of the 'adage' but maybe others will love it. "sick with salt" is great. you have now introduced a third character in our play and it is s little light on character development. Who is he? A lost lover? A rapscallion? There is not enough poem left to develop this concept to my satisfaction so I feel like I have been unfairly introduced in the foyer as the hostess rushed off to tend to the burning biscuits.
The clouds give birth,
a sun red brilliance of Patrón and veins.
The doctor clocks out and
you are the night nurse.
It turns out I was the night nurse after all. Shame as my identity doesn't gel real well with the rest of the poem. Could "he" be the doctor? I don't think so but I can't figure it out. The narrator must be a patient - probably a hospital patient in ICU as night nurses don't generally appear in the regular wards or in hospice.
Did you know:
The night nurse is a recurring figure in Marvel comics that tends to superheroes to keep the anonymous?
The night nurse was a movie (1931)
Anyway, overall, this is a poem that feels like it has much more poetic skill than direction - almost like a wordsmith showing off but lacking a complete vision.
Thanks for posting
Good luck.
(09-05-2015, 07:09 AM)isabelhershko Wrote: Beneath a bloated sky,
sack heavy and pregnant with rain,
the olive branches bend
to the rhythm of shower songs.
it should be "sack-heavy"
the world of poetry (well, accomplished poetry anyway) has been steadily moving away from overly poetic descriptions of nature and more toward /presentations/ of nature. Readers have grown a little tired of poets over describing simple events just to show off their poetic skills and I believe you may be crossing the line a bit here in the first 2 lines. Lines 3 and 4 are the perfect balance of imagery and simple presentation coupled with a refreshing concept.
So far - summary - it is raining causing olive branches to bend.
Quote:
Somewhere, you are drowning.
In nicotine, in thread.
In everything but dew.
The floodwaters ignore you.
Slip their fingers into different homes,
give away your chorus.
these 2 stanzas are quite interesting. The introduction of address occurs here though it is not clarified. drowning is a great play off strophe 1. The last line is both superfluous and does not live up to the promise of the setup. First, after hearing that the addressee is drowning in nicotine and thread there would be no natural assumption of literal drowning. Second, "dew" seems the wrong choice anyway as there is no support for it elsewhere.
"The flood waters ignore you" is a great concept. Simply stated, connected and powerful. The tie back with "chorus" is fine. "Give away" is a bit weak.
summary - it is tough to accurately parse what is going on here, but it seems to me that the addressee is "drowning" in personal issues and therefore oblivious to the beautiful carnage that is surrounding them.
Quote:
Knuckles brined like forgotten soil,
an upwards caress to the hollow desert.
Scoop the tears and sow the collection.
Once again, your sonics are spot on, your diction is interesting and your line breaks are solid throughout.
I wonder if you meant knuckles brined /with/ forgotten soil.
"upwards caress" isn't really working for me, I think you need a different noun.
"the collection" is completely lost on me. At this point, it throws me completely out of the poem, even after several reads. Perhaps I am simply dense, tired or slightly inebriated but I think you have quite a bit of room for clarity here.
Quote:
Desperation is a rusted boat,
nickeled red.
it is unfortunate you have chosen to sink into abstraction with "desperation" as I love the phrase "rusted boat, nickeled red". The unfortunate comparison is quite disappointing.
Quote:
I can feel the begging in your bones,
the tornadoes in your knees.
Your tongue plaque white and
every word is like a cave.
once again, I think it would be improved to use "plaque-white". With the obviously skillful demonstration of florid language here, I am reminded that the "desperation" ploy was superfluous as this conveys desperation so much better than the overt declaration. I am a little stuck on "every word is like a cave". The expression is original and great, but caves have so many properties - is our absentee addressee hiding in their words? Are the deep and dark? I feel like I might be on the right track but it feels important to know for sure.
Quote:
He is the adage, sick with salt.
Water, water everywhere.
Nor any drop to drink.
on a personal note, I hate the sudden centering of the 'adage' but maybe others will love it. "sick with salt" is great. you have now introduced a third character in our play and it is s little light on character development. Who is he? A lost lover? A rapscallion? There is not enough poem left to develop this concept to my satisfaction so I feel like I have been unfairly introduced in the foyer as the hostess rushed off to tend to the burning biscuits.
Quote:
The clouds give birth,
a sun red brilliance of Patrón and veins.
The doctor clocks out and
you are the night nurse.
It turns out I was the night nurse after all. Shame as my identity doesn't gel real well with the rest of the poem. Could "he" be the doctor? I don't think so but I can't figure it out. The narrator must be a patient - probably a hospital patient in ICU as night nurses don't generally appear in the regular wards or in hospice.
Did you know:
The night nurse is a recurring figure in Marvel comics that tends to superheroes to keep the anonymous?
The night nurse was a movie (1931)
Anyway, overall, this is a poem that feels like it has much more poetic skill than direction - almost like a wordsmith showing off but lacking a complete vision.
Thanks for posting
Good luck.