Birth of a Poet(edit) no new title yet

[brynmawr1]

What it is to be
born with the sun
under a rose-dusted sky
 
caught between the dream
and not, a mind split              No a — an em dash would incorporate a split in the writing.
by that cutting light,             You already have split and between, use a different descriptor for the light.
 
mysterious; a glimpse            Mysterious could be vaporous or amorphous. These shadows aren't definite.
of shadowed edges,              Shadowed edges, like a penumbra, which just has a poetic ring to it.
what exists at the seams
of the world.
 
Alone, standing revealed            
before the mirror, 
windows unshaded.             Open to the world, vulnerable.        
 
Then whittled.
Cutting to find the heartwood,                              
their penknives so sharp;
trimmed, shaped, made beautiful?                       This is the best stanza; brutal.
Something reborn.
 
To bleed
in that birth ing.

To find that thirsting    
for your own blood.                  You don't discover your thirst; it is an immediate realization.


This is a poem I have reworked formerly titled "Critique".

"That" is often used in poetry, like someone is pointing at the subject. I can't see it. Beowulf says "that" between every line, it is tedious. Watch out for that.

This poem needs better descriptive and dramatic wording to have more impact. S5 stands above the others. Don't be afraid to really dig your knuckles into this one, it seems appropriate.

This was a pleasure to critique, there is a lot of potential.
Sc

Thanks for commenting Sc.  I have rewritten the 'dream' stanza which avoids some of your issues.  I do like the use of the em dash(didn't know that is what its called).  The opening line is really a celebration of existing. It could read 'What is is to be alive' but I let it run into the rest of the sentence.  'Mysterious' just sort of popped in there.  I agree I should come up with something better.  Regarding the last line, I am trying to convey an unexpected enjoyment of the process, looking forward to or participating in your own perceived destruction.  I'll work on it.  Thank you for your efforts.
bryn

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What it is to be              I keep wanting to read this as a question: What is it to be....  Sort of meant to be an exaltation of sorts that could stand alone but I made it part of a larger idea.
born with the sun
under a rose-dusted sky
 
caught between the dream
and not, a mind split       the real?    I have rewritten this stanza which I will post
by that cutting light, 
 
mysterious; a glimpse 
of shadowed edges,
what exists at the seams
of the world.
 
Alone, standing revealed
before the mirror, 
windows unshaded.                beneath a clear sky?  open to the world?   "windows unshaded" seems too pedestrian for what came before    Yes, working on something. And the transition to next stanza.
 
Then whittled.
Cut to find the heartwood,
their penknives so sharp;
trimmed, shaped, made beautiful?   why the question mark?     Always that doubt of worth
Something reborn.                             too vague      yes again!
 
To bleed
in that birthing.
 
To find that hunger          
for your own blood.


This is a poem I have reworked formerly titled "Critique".

Bryn,

Gladdened to see a new poem from you.  And a very polished one at that, but then yours always are.  I think it captures the poetic impulse nicely.

I feel like you need a transition between stanzas 4 and 5.  The jump from those first four to the following three seems abrupt, and you essentially have two climaxes as it stands.

Also, I'd revisit the title.  "Morning of a Poet"?  "Dawn of a Poet"?  I would suggest "Blood of a Poet" but that's been used, I think by Lorca, but maybe that doesn't matter.

TqB

Thanks TqB.  This poem was several things initially but is becoming a story of birth, destruction and rebirth of a poet.  I've made several changes since posting this and will also try to  incorporate yours and Sc's suggestions.
Take care,
bryn