08-15-2018, 11:53 PM
Hi Fae,
You have distinct images here of the sweater and the car, and while both can draw upon the title (sweater in its construction, car in its immobility). I'm not entirely sold on the combination. I don't find that each object plays off of the other enough to be satisfying. The opening with perplexed and beautiful reads a bit too abstract to draw me in. I would consider cutting the first two strophes and making the poem be your current S3 and S4. I think that is where your poem truly starts and I also find it more interesting from a content and execution perspective. I don't take any issue with your choices of phrasing. My critique is mostly focused on the blend of images not working well together (from my perspective) and the opening possibly moving to a different point in a new condensed poem.
Just a thought.
Best,
Todd
You have distinct images here of the sweater and the car, and while both can draw upon the title (sweater in its construction, car in its immobility). I'm not entirely sold on the combination. I don't find that each object plays off of the other enough to be satisfying. The opening with perplexed and beautiful reads a bit too abstract to draw me in. I would consider cutting the first two strophes and making the poem be your current S3 and S4. I think that is where your poem truly starts and I also find it more interesting from a content and execution perspective. I don't take any issue with your choices of phrasing. My critique is mostly focused on the blend of images not working well together (from my perspective) and the opening possibly moving to a different point in a new condensed poem.
Just a thought.
Best,
Todd
(08-15-2018, 10:59 PM)Fae Wrote: Perplexed
trying to connect
strands together
into something
considered to
be beautiful.
Attempting
to spin words
into a pretty
sweater
which I can wear
when it gets cold.
I put myself in mind
of a car missing wheels;
engine revving loudly
Shifting many gears
But always staying
stuck in one place
rusted to the spot
crying oil, in leiu
of my tears.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson

