04-21-2016, 02:57 PM
Hi Melissa,
There are elements of this that work for me, and as a reader some that don't. Your opening two lines feel a bit clunky to me. I think it's the "she who passed" passive voice feel. It's a bit unnatural and it doesn't draw me in. I have the same trouble with the last four lines. They pull me out of the poem and make me think about the back and forth phrasing. I'm not saying those sections are unimportant to you. They may have their place. They just seem problematic to me.
Once you hit L3 the poem picks up speed. I love your phrasing on L4 (favorite line in the poem). You have a typo with raspberries on line L6.
So in short, my issues are a halting start and the drop off at the end.
I hope the comments help you on revision. I think this one could be developed nicely.
Best,
Todd
There are elements of this that work for me, and as a reader some that don't. Your opening two lines feel a bit clunky to me. I think it's the "she who passed" passive voice feel. It's a bit unnatural and it doesn't draw me in. I have the same trouble with the last four lines. They pull me out of the poem and make me think about the back and forth phrasing. I'm not saying those sections are unimportant to you. They may have their place. They just seem problematic to me.
Once you hit L3 the poem picks up speed. I love your phrasing on L4 (favorite line in the poem). You have a typo with raspberries on line L6.
So in short, my issues are a halting start and the drop off at the end.
I hope the comments help you on revision. I think this one could be developed nicely.
Best,
Todd
(04-21-2016, 02:28 PM)lr3ke100 Wrote: What would it mean to she who passed
a single room with a lamp left on?
If two lovers wandered out into their garden
to live where twilight lives after dark.
And sit among the leaves and flowers late to bloom.
where the wild rasberries grow.
Like chords from the string,
only speaking of inconsequent things
When he writes, he'll think of her constantly.
And she, understands what the writing means.
All he may mark would be his own,
offset by what is hers alone.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson

