10-23-2017, 04:04 AM
Hi just mercedes
I think this is a terrific piece, interesting, readable and with a solid emotional core.
Enjoyed it a lot.
My mother birthed me in a wild, abandoned place
terrific opening
amidst acres of thick silence. In Spring, pink patches
I don't think you can be 'amidst' acres, I'd suggest replacing with 'in', gives you something of a rhythm.
and white stood out on the hills, foreign flags
I don't think 'pink patches and white' are particularly strong
why not go;
................................................In Spring
foreign flags stood out on the hills
in all our green, marking abandoned mission
not sure how you can have 'abandoned mission orchards'
when you end the stanza with 'Missionaries came'
orchards; cherry trees, pears, apples, peaches.
Raspberry and blackberry thickets, clumps
'clumps' is a bit of an ugly word
of strawberries, spread along creek flats
through plantings of potatoes, puha, corn.
Missionaries came, and changed us.
Our people learned to sing their songs, eat
their food, dress their way, be grateful, learn
the new language,
but secretly they mourned.
I think you could make this stronger with;
Our people learned, ate their food,
wore their clothes,[changed
our ways], sang their songs
[spoke] their language
[while mourning our own].
[Our people] learned
to be grateful
Depression followed. Lethargy. Alcohol.
I do wonder if this needs to be quite so blunt.
My father battled these through all his life.
Then he died.
Perhaps,
My father [lost battles] all his life,
drink, pride and hope.
I tell him ‘It’s not my responsibility’,
then he died
I think you could restructure a bit here;
He says our home is Waikato, where
the first prophet-warriors spoke.
‘Stay out of my moe’ I tell him.
He says we resisted their god,
opposed their theft of our lands;
[denied their (claims?)...]
[but] their army came,
[and] we buried our gods
in our swamps, as [we] always [did]
before battle.
‘Stay out of my moe’ I tell him.
He says our home is Waikato, where
(don't know if this works for you, but the repetition helps, I think)
The settlers won; [where]
they drove us away, [where]
We left our gods; [where]
they rejected us. [where]
Now they want us
to return,
[to] release them
[to] take back
our land,
‘Stay out of my moe’ I tell him.
I haven't travelled there. [home], He says
our land hungers for me,
as it hungers for Spring.
He pleads.
‘Stay out of my moe’ I tell him.
My father waits.
Best, Knot.
I think this is a terrific piece, interesting, readable and with a solid emotional core.
Enjoyed it a lot.
My mother birthed me in a wild, abandoned place
terrific opening
amidst acres of thick silence. In Spring, pink patches
I don't think you can be 'amidst' acres, I'd suggest replacing with 'in', gives you something of a rhythm.
and white stood out on the hills, foreign flags
I don't think 'pink patches and white' are particularly strong
why not go;
................................................In Spring
foreign flags stood out on the hills
in all our green, marking abandoned mission
not sure how you can have 'abandoned mission orchards'
when you end the stanza with 'Missionaries came'
orchards; cherry trees, pears, apples, peaches.
Raspberry and blackberry thickets, clumps
'clumps' is a bit of an ugly word
of strawberries, spread along creek flats
through plantings of potatoes, puha, corn.
Missionaries came, and changed us.
Our people learned to sing their songs, eat
their food, dress their way, be grateful, learn
the new language,
but secretly they mourned.
I think you could make this stronger with;
Our people learned, ate their food,
wore their clothes,[changed
our ways], sang their songs
[spoke] their language
[while mourning our own].
[Our people] learned
to be grateful
Depression followed. Lethargy. Alcohol.
I do wonder if this needs to be quite so blunt.
My father battled these through all his life.
Then he died.
Perhaps,
My father [lost battles] all his life,
drink, pride and hope.
I tell him ‘It’s not my responsibility’,
then he died
I think you could restructure a bit here;
He says our home is Waikato, where
the first prophet-warriors spoke.
‘Stay out of my moe’ I tell him.
He says we resisted their god,
opposed their theft of our lands;
[denied their (claims?)...]
[but] their army came,
[and] we buried our gods
in our swamps, as [we] always [did]
before battle.
‘Stay out of my moe’ I tell him.
He says our home is Waikato, where
(don't know if this works for you, but the repetition helps, I think)
The settlers won; [where]
they drove us away, [where]
We left our gods; [where]
they rejected us. [where]
Now they want us
to return,
[to] release them
[to] take back
our land,
‘Stay out of my moe’ I tell him.
I haven't travelled there. [home], He says
our land hungers for me,
as it hungers for Spring.
He pleads.
‘Stay out of my moe’ I tell him.
My father waits.
Best, Knot.