03-03-2018, 01:20 AM
Few technically difficulties on this thread, below is TecTak's original response.
F[b][b]irst of all, apologies. Frozen finger hit edit instead of delete. I will PM you with suggestion.[/b][/b]
Best,
tectak
Oratorio
It is in thumbed pages,
slow-turning, penned by men
stiff collared in candle light
their names unpronouncible
to young tongues, that I find you...if I treat this opening stanza as pure intrigue then you, as narrator , could expect that it was the overall meaning that fascinates...but no, it is the italics...the bloody italics. What meaneth the italics? Thing is, the imagery IS compelling but the message mixed. I read whilst correcting both the stanza and my interpretation of it. First off, then, and you will not hear me say this often...more commas to clarify. There are other ways to write this without sly inversion. "...penned in candle light by men with stiff collars, their names unpronouncible to young tongues. There I find you." Admittedly, it is bloody distant location from the thumbed pages but you wrote it. Incidentally, you usually find things there, not that.6
Head resting on a scattering
of smudged pages your glasses akimbo, punctuate. Akimbo? Huh....?
your legs creased. Your shirt tails are
dysfunctional, as you would say each morning
when I on the way to school would try to
sneak out shirt untucked and top button un-done,
I was setting a example of both myself and you,
I understand that now. Your tense is all over the space-time continuum. It needs sorting out....punctuation would help in this process.
It is in thumbed pages, slow turning
that you have that warm hearted
and wool cosied, teapot with its breath a sweet perfume If you have no commas left there is a spare one here, after cosied.
sat ever present by your feet. No....not sat...sitting.
It’s whistling Jennens’ oratorio. "It's"...get rid of "it's"...way too unrelated. I cannot help thinking this is Whistling Jennie's Oratorio...sorry, cheap point...but you wrote it...almost.
It is in thumbed pages,
slow-turning, that the topography No. You do not write topography..no one does.
of your face is written, it’s formed in simple words. Bloody it's again. Just remove the thing. Simple
I can see them, finger running from adjective, expletive
to verb, your features are simple and reserved. They look much Utterly pointless enjambments... jumps off a cliff...not poetic...not purposeful...not even indicative of any pensive input. Stop with the enjambments until you have a valid reason for using the device. It makes the piece seem randomly cut up to resemble poetry...surely not?
like mine but older. Your hair is crumpled on your scalp, Period or at least a semi-colon. No...I have thought about it...a period
when was the last time it saw a brush? Can I suggest a new title? Why not just call it "It"?
It is in thumbed pages,
slow turning, that I first notice your hands.
Funny little stick men live between
your thumb and pointer it looks like
you’ve doodled them. Didn’t Granny
tell you not to draw on yourself?
Was there a shortage of paper
when you were young? Wonderfully typical of your quite remarkable off-the-wall thinking. Excellent stuff...but spoiled by the sparce punctuation. Read it out loud
It is in thumbed pages,
slow turning, dense beyond belief
that I find you. Head resting on a scattering
of smudged pages your glasses akimbo,
your legs creased. You stir to see me, small palms
pushing on the door. I can’t sleep and you
beckon me to you…
It is on turning the page that I find you’re gone
no longer flesh and blood but ink smeared paper,
your is face lost again, forgotten,
hidden somewhere amongst adjectives, expletives and verbs. A rush to the finish but as a piece of Form Prose ( I made that term up...but doesn't everyone?) the thing cries out for recognition and conversion into something real and definable. I accept that this may be seen as a conformity call...well, it is.
Best,
tectak
F[b][b]irst of all, apologies. Frozen finger hit edit instead of delete. I will PM you with suggestion.[/b][/b]
Best,
tectak
Oratorio
It is in thumbed pages,
slow-turning, penned by men
stiff collared in candle light
their names unpronouncible
to young tongues, that I find you...if I treat this opening stanza as pure intrigue then you, as narrator , could expect that it was the overall meaning that fascinates...but no, it is the italics...the bloody italics. What meaneth the italics? Thing is, the imagery IS compelling but the message mixed. I read whilst correcting both the stanza and my interpretation of it. First off, then, and you will not hear me say this often...more commas to clarify. There are other ways to write this without sly inversion. "...penned in candle light by men with stiff collars, their names unpronouncible to young tongues. There I find you." Admittedly, it is bloody distant location from the thumbed pages but you wrote it. Incidentally, you usually find things there, not that.6
Head resting on a scattering
of smudged pages your glasses akimbo, punctuate. Akimbo? Huh....?
your legs creased. Your shirt tails are
dysfunctional, as you would say each morning
when I on the way to school would try to
sneak out shirt untucked and top button un-done,
I was setting a example of both myself and you,
I understand that now. Your tense is all over the space-time continuum. It needs sorting out....punctuation would help in this process.
It is in thumbed pages, slow turning
that you have that warm hearted
and wool cosied, teapot with its breath a sweet perfume If you have no commas left there is a spare one here, after cosied.
sat ever present by your feet. No....not sat...sitting.
It’s whistling Jennens’ oratorio. "It's"...get rid of "it's"...way too unrelated. I cannot help thinking this is Whistling Jennie's Oratorio...sorry, cheap point...but you wrote it...almost.
It is in thumbed pages,
slow-turning, that the topography No. You do not write topography..no one does.
of your face is written, it’s formed in simple words. Bloody it's again. Just remove the thing. Simple
I can see them, finger running from adjective, expletive
to verb, your features are simple and reserved. They look much Utterly pointless enjambments... jumps off a cliff...not poetic...not purposeful...not even indicative of any pensive input. Stop with the enjambments until you have a valid reason for using the device. It makes the piece seem randomly cut up to resemble poetry...surely not?
like mine but older. Your hair is crumpled on your scalp, Period or at least a semi-colon. No...I have thought about it...a period
when was the last time it saw a brush? Can I suggest a new title? Why not just call it "It"?
It is in thumbed pages,
slow turning, that I first notice your hands.
Funny little stick men live between
your thumb and pointer it looks like
you’ve doodled them. Didn’t Granny
tell you not to draw on yourself?
Was there a shortage of paper
when you were young? Wonderfully typical of your quite remarkable off-the-wall thinking. Excellent stuff...but spoiled by the sparce punctuation. Read it out loud
It is in thumbed pages,
slow turning, dense beyond belief
that I find you. Head resting on a scattering
of smudged pages your glasses akimbo,
your legs creased. You stir to see me, small palms
pushing on the door. I can’t sleep and you
beckon me to you…
It is on turning the page that I find you’re gone
no longer flesh and blood but ink smeared paper,
your is face lost again, forgotten,
hidden somewhere amongst adjectives, expletives and verbs. A rush to the finish but as a piece of Form Prose ( I made that term up...but doesn't everyone?) the thing cries out for recognition and conversion into something real and definable. I accept that this may be seen as a conformity call...well, it is.
Best,
tectak