Frank Ocean

[brynmawr1]

So this poem was published in some online mag so I probably shouldn't mess with it, but I will of course. 


Frank Ocean

There’s a death factory at the end of our road.     Good opening
They package up pretty parcels, tied up with a forget-me-not bow.
Yellow boxes arrive, Christmas lights blinking,
in the dead of the morning, in the heat of the night.   These come across as cliche to me
Maybe it’s better, this cascade of memory,   not sure where the memory comes from
unboxed jigsaw puzzles, pieces half missing,
than the cold, hard remaining,    and what 'remaining' is referring to.
still sharp as a tack, still blunt as a knife.    not sure what 'blunt as a knife' means since knives are sharp, generally

Alone in my car, a warm hard cocoon,  need a comma after warm but then that is a lot of commas
Frank Ocean singing, no sign of pupation.   awkward continuation of the cocoon metaphor that doesn't add. not everything needs to be clever.
Red reptile eyes retreat fast before me,  again, reptile doesn't seem right
drifting along the sibilant curve.   I don't think 'hissing' curve works here either
Driving to pick up my beautiful son
he still in the fecund of growing;  fecund also not the right word
With a heart full of beats;   this, I like and the next two lines.  Though 'bed sitting room' is awkward.
I've never seen a dead body before, so he told me,
as we went through the door, to the bed sitting room.

The sluggish procession, a chattering bruise    'A sluggish..." chattering also not the right word
of grey, blue, and black, unwinds fat before me,   'of grey and blue, unwinds...'   it's a rhythm thing for me.  like the 'fat'
a scar through the fields
you cold in front, me at the back,
warm and listening to Frank Ocean;   period here?
Why see the world, when you’ve got the beach?
The blunt, dumb sea water stares back at the crowd   water seems redundant
with a bovine, blank look, and the basalt grey fingers  as does 'blank'.  and basalt has a color. not sure it's grey, but redundant.
crisscross the horizon, accusing the nonchalant sky.  not sure how a sky can be nonchalant

Willow’s song plays   Alright, who's Willow?
a song of seduction, a song of redemption.  like this line and the next
If only he’d listened, the zealot, the fool.   though this line has no context, so loses some of its power.
The Vampire’s kiss, as cold as the sun,   now back to the non-sensical juxtapositions.  Suns are hot so when you write cold as a sun you are just saying it's hot.  Now if you wrote, 'a cold sun' that's different.
caresses my neck, a whisper forgotten, and  forgotten whisper.  otherwise sounds like Yoda speak, also kill the 'and'
the broken old shaman croaks out his incantation
mic’d up like a failing comedian, on a stage made of clay,  like the comedian reference.  no need for comma after; and period after clay.
the crowd sidles off; we are all dying here.  this is a great ending.  The kind of subtle ambiguity that makes for excellent poetry.

Hi James,
What I got from this is a funeral procession, though the first few times i read through none of that was clear to me.  I've made a lot of negative comments but that doesn't mean it's a bad poem, just that there are places where simple tweaks of language could improve it.  Overall, I find the poem too unnecessarily obscure in many places.   Making the language interesting doesn't mean pushing it beyond easy understanding.  The more readers can connect with what is actually happening, the more poignant it will be.
Hope this is helpful,
Take care
bryn