Each September

[Pilgrim]

Each September

The book slides from my lap
and slaps the tiled smoothness
of our lounge-room floor,
still bare of rugs
despite her searching
every carpet shop in town.
She is meticulous in this as all things;
knows the weavers and the dyes
of Persia and Kashmir
and is prepared to wait for what she wants.

Half aroused from sleep,
I sense her in the room -
a merest brief displacement
of autumn air.

She loves this time of year,
and each September comes alive
with the reds and golds and russet browns
that are her favoured colours.

I hear the rustle of her dress -
that silk and lace she wore last spring
to celebrate our union;
then safely stored away
for Christening.

I feel her whispered breath upon my face,
and breathe in turn
the perfume of her natural self.

Then, in that moment’s hesitation
before she moves her cheek on mine
and offers up
the soft, expectant fullness of her mouth,
I turn, half rise to face her,
and behold -

those silent remnants of our love
that fill this room,
unlovely now,
resentful of her absence.

I steel myself against the too-familiar pain;
blink back the tears that prick my eyes;
and in the bitter bleakness of my heart
revile again that nameless,
faceless,
misbegotten thing
that broke its promise to us both,
and took her from me.

_________________

[Ehud]

I got so caught up in reading this poem that I was slightly panicked when I realized she was gone. The ending, for me, was totally unexpected. I am amazed.

Sorry I can't offer anything more constructive than this praise.

[tectak]

Hi pilgrim,
The content of this piece is probably going to bring howls of despair as it is a well-worn theme...lost love, for whatever reason, is difficult to say anything new about. Rather than crit the content, then, I will stick to the poetry.
Best,
tectak
Each September

The book slides from my lapYou can count the hexameter but it will not hold...accidental, I guess. Or of no import. So...
and slaps the tiled smoothnesswe hit a bumpy road or " ..and slaps the cool, smooth tiles
of our lounge-room floor,OK...but it is your poem. Rhythm helps and it is fun
still bare of rugs
despite her searchingGerunds usully imply a sub-conscios wish to rhyme. You do not have that wish, obviously so "still bare of rugs despite her search of every carpet shop in town"....or somesuch.
every carpet shop in town.
She is meticulous in this as all things;Strictly speaking it should be "...as in all things" ( No more rhythm comments. Down to you.) otherwise you are saying "..she is meticulous as all things"
knows the weavers and the dyes "she knows the weavers and the dyes"...sorry, just can't help it; especially as next line flows so well it buggers up the last.
of Persia and Kashmir
and is prepared to wait for what she wants.

Half aroused from sleep,
I sense her in the room -I have no idea what this dash adds. It is unrequired in any case.
a merest brief displacement
of autumn air."...of slipping autumn air". Forgive me but the rhythm is so close...

She loves this time of year,
and each September comes alive
with the reds and golds and russet browns
that are her favoured colours.Very nice imagery but a stumbled last line. Your turn to correct.

I hear the rustle of her dress -
that silk and lace she wore last spring
to celebrate our union;
then safely stored away
for Christening. "...for a future Christening". No. I am unrepentant.

I feel her whispered breath upon my face,
and breathe in turn
the perfume of her natural self.You are incorrigible. There is a chance for profitable enjambment here, but the last line is missing

Then, in that moment’s hesitation
before she moves her cheek on mine
and offers up
the soft, expectant fullness of her mouth, You cannot be completely free of cliche but you are doing well. I know that soft, expectant fullness...and if I do, others do...and have said so. Reconsider? Your poem
I turn, half rise to face her,
and behold - Dash it....another dash.

those silent remnants of our love
that fill this room,
unlovely now,
resentful of her absence.

I steel myself against the too-familiar pain;
blink back the tears that prick my eyes;...but we are now seriously in cliche city. Get out quickly
and in the bitter bleakness of my heart
revile again that nameless,
faceless,
misbegotten thing
that broke its promise to us both,
and took her from me.Enigmatic ending. Does it matter. Well, for such a well expressed piece it is a precipitous close. You could domuch better.
Overall, this is genre prose. As I said at the beginning, you need to say something new. The carpet clause was looking good but you did not choose to follow through. Pity. No big nits. Difficult subject.
Best,
Tectak
_________________

[Pilgrim]

Hi pilgrim,
The content of this piece is probably going to bring howls of despair as it is a well-worn theme...lost love, for whatever reason, is difficult to say anything new about. Rather than crit the content, then, I will stick to the poetry.
Best,
tectak
Each September

The book slides from my lapYou can count the hexameter but it will not hold...accidental, I guess. Or of no import. So...
and slaps the tiled smoothnesswe hit a bumpy road or " ..and slaps the cool, smooth tiles
of our lounge-room floor,OK...but it is your poem. Rhythm helps and it is fun
still bare of rugs
despite her searchingGerunds usully imply a sub-conscios wish to rhyme. You do not have that wish, obviously so "still bare of rugs despite her search of every carpet shop in town"....or somesuch.
every carpet shop in town.
She is meticulous in this as all things;Strictly speaking it should be "...as in all things" ( No more rhythm comments. Down to you.) otherwise you are saying "..she is meticulous as all things"
knows the weavers and the dyes "she knows the weavers and the dyes"...sorry, just can't help it; especially as next line flows so well it buggers up the last.
of Persia and Kashmir
and is prepared to wait for what she wants.

Half aroused from sleep,
I sense her in the room -I have no idea what this dash adds. It is unrequired in any case.
a merest brief displacement
of autumn air."...of slipping autumn air". Forgive me but the rhythm is so close...

She loves this time of year,
and each September comes alive
with the reds and golds and russet browns
that are her favoured colours.Very nice imagery but a stumbled last line. Your turn to correct.

I hear the rustle of her dress -
that silk and lace she wore last spring
to celebrate our union;
then safely stored away
for Christening. "...for a future Christening". No. I am unrepentant.

I feel her whispered breath upon my face,
and breathe in turn
the perfume of her natural self.You are incorrigible. There is a chance for profitable enjambment here, but the last line is missing

Then, in that moment’s hesitation
before she moves her cheek on mine
and offers up
the soft, expectant fullness of her mouth, You cannot be completely free of cliche but you are doing well. I know that soft, expectant fullness...and if I do, others do...and have said so. Reconsider? Your poem
I turn, half rise to face her,
and behold - Dash it....another dash.

those silent remnants of our love
that fill this room,
unlovely now,
resentful of her absence.

I steel myself against the too-familiar pain;
blink back the tears that prick my eyes;...but we are now seriously in cliche city. Get out quickly
and in the bitter bleakness of my heart
revile again that nameless,
faceless,
misbegotten thing
that broke its promise to us both,
and took her from me.Enigmatic ending. Does it matter. Well, for such a well expressed piece it is a precipitous close. You could domuch better.
Overall, this is genre prose. As I said at the beginning, you need to say something new. The carpet clause was looking good but you did not choose to follow through. Pity. No big nits. Difficult subject.
Best,
Tectak
_________________

Hello, tectak.

Thank you for your detailed critique. I appreciate your interest.

Regards,

Pilgrim.

[justcloudy]

hi Pilgrim

really enjoyed the read. I feel like you did an impressive job staying away from cliches, and agree with tec that maybe you could expand the rug idea. the ending took me by surprise and it was well done, though you could consider condensing the first three lines of that stanza. as tec said there you strayed into clicheland, and the last bit is much more powerful anyway.

this stanza:

I hear the rustle of her dress -
that silk and lace she wore last spring
to celebrate our union;
then safely stored away
for Christening.

was nice but confusing... she died a while back or just a couple months ago? seems like a few years back at least given the title, and I know the narrator is in a confused-sleep-daze, but reading it the second time I got stuck there. also, who wears their wedding dress to a baptism? maybe you can rework that a bit.

anyway lovely writing and sentiment, thanks for sharing.

[Pilgrim]

hi Pilgrim

really enjoyed the read. I feel like you did an impressive job staying away from cliches, and agree with tec that maybe you could expand the rug idea. the ending took me by surprise and it was well done, though you could consider condensing the first three lines of that stanza. as tec said there you strayed into clicheland, and the last bit is much more powerful anyway.

this stanza:

I hear the rustle of her dress -
that silk and lace she wore last spring
to celebrate our union;
then safely stored away
for Christening.

was nice but confusing... she died a while back or just a couple months ago? seems like a few years back at least given the title, and I know the narrator is in a confused-sleep-daze, but reading it the second time I got stuck there. also, who wears their wedding dress to a baptism? maybe you can rework that a bit.

anyway lovely writing and sentiment, thanks for sharing.

Hello, justcloudy. Thank you for your critique.

Much to reflect on.

Regards,

Pilgrim.