Bodybuilder

[ThePinsir]

Version 4.0
Bodybuilder

My cousin knew a man who worked with stone
who slaved for years to master his profession.
Seeking to show his sculpted stone expressions
supplied him skills the world had never known.
He'd sneak away at night to work alone;
as passion slowly turned into obsession,
his search for perfect art into depression,
the marble was to him as flesh and bone.
Preferring solitude the sculptor fled
and watched his work, his life, his love erode
until disheartened wife and son escaped.
With crumbled spirit yearning to be dead,
the beating of his graven heart then slowed
and stopped - nothing left but empty shape.




Version 3.5
(only edited the sestet for 3.0)
(re-wrote octave for 3.5)

Bodybuilder

My cousin knew a man who worked with stone
who slaved for years to master his profession.
Seeking to show his sculpted stone expressions
supplied him skills the world had never known.
He'd sneak away at night to work alone
as passion slowly turned into obsession,
his search for perfect art into depression,
a near recluse, his fingers worked to bone.
Pursuing vanity, the sculptor fled,
appreciation very nearly lost.
Away he chizzled loving wife and son,
his marble idol took her place in bed.
Deceiving ego justified the cost...
What's "greatness" worth when all is said and done?




Version 2.1

Bodybuilder

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,
perfection overwhelmed his every thought;
if not the best his work was all for naught
and through his work his dedication showed glowed.
The finest marble made his pieces flow
into a life their own. Yet still he sought
this dreamèd form – “At last, I’m done!” he thought;
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its overgrown
intent. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made,
could never understand its own reflection.



------------

Version 1.0

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,
perfection occupying every thought;
if not ideal his work was all for naught,
and through his work his dedication'd show.
The finest marble'd make his pieces flow
into a life their own. Yet still he sought
this visioned form - At last, no more he fought;
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its woebegone
spirit. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made,
could never understand its own reflection.

[ellajam]

Hi, Devan, I've been waiting for this one.

While I find the subject and what you have to say interesting, to me it seems this poem has been contorted by rhyme. Here are some notes:

This is a poem about bodybuilding. It's called "Marble Eyes".
------------

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,
perfection occupying every thought; maybe "occupied his every thought"
if not ideal his work was all for naught, "if not ideal" sounds a little off to me.
and through his work his dedication'd show. Is that a word?
The finest marble'd make his pieces flow
into a life their own. Yet still he sought
this visioned form - At last, no more he fought; "visioned form" is foggy for me, "no more he fought", nah
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its woebegone love the idea in these last 3 lines
spirit. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made, why "yet" ?, and do eyes understand?
could never understand its own reflection.

I'd love to see you work on this, in this form or another.

Thanks for the read.

[tigrflye]

This is a poem about bodybuilding. It's called "Marble Eyes".
------------

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,
perfection occupying every thought;
if not ideal his work was all for naught,
and through his work his dedication'd show.I don't like dedication'd
The finest marble'd make his pieces flowor marble'd
into a life their own. Yet still he sought
this visioned form - At last, no more he fought;
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its woebegoneI'm not sold on woebegone
spirit. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made,
could never understand its own reflection.

I like this one. If you hadn't told me it was about a bodybuilder though, I never would have made that connection. I think it bumps right along with nice flow and rythm until the word "spirit".. screeching hault.
I also do not like the d's on line 4 and 5. I get the feeling you did this because you didn't want to rhyme "showed" with "flow". In my opinion, just rhyme flow and showed..or rework those lines..

He used the finest marble, carved to show
his drive to make the frigid pieces flow
into a life their own.

Just a suggestion. I don't actually know if you "carve" marble..or chisel. . Chisel doesn't fit as well with the line as it is. Just thoughts, take whatever you want from them

-jenn

[Todd]

Maybe rename the poem: Bodybuilding

---

If you ever feel the need to explain what the poem is about, odds are you need your title to do that work.

[ThePinsir]

Interesting notez. Thanks a million for taking the time to type all that out.


Ellajam: line 2- that's what I had originally, but I changed it out of fear of "wordiness". I'm trying to fix my habit of using "filler" words.
line 3 - yeah, me too. I already used "perfect" and "ideal" just fit the meter. I'll see what I can do.
line 14 - "yet" is supposed to mean "while" but with one syllable.

Tigrflye: line 13 - me either. again, it just fit the rhyme (kinda) and meter. it does sound kind of...off, though. I'll see what I can do.

Todd: excellent point. That's why I'm here: to learn


Version 2.0 probably coming later today.

[Orion]

Version 2.0

Bodybuilder

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,
perfection overran his every thought; These two lines don't read well.
and through his work his dedication showed.
The finest marble made his pieces flow
into a life their own. Yet still he sought This line would be better separated.
this dreamèd form – “At last, I’m done!” he thought;
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its overgrown
intent. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made, This line would be better separated.
could never understand its own reflection.

------------

I think the only problem is the first two lines. 'Overran' seems out of place. Think of, 'overwhelmed', 'invaded', or 'swarmed.

I think one of those will do better, but to me 'overran' doesn't belong.

[billy]

good effort on the edit. editing is often a poems life line to what it can become.
some of the end rhymes are the same. it seems to have a rhyme scheme but i can't work it out the last line falls out of meter i think by using an extra half foot. but a good effort on the meter anyway. it's easy to see you spent some thought on getting the meter done well. i think there are probs with the punctuation but it's not my forte so i'll just suggest you go over it a few times yourself to be sure. i'd also suggest trying to use alteration, simile and/or other poetic devices which help give depth to a poem.
it verging on being a sonnet
thanks for the read.

Version 2.0

Bodybuilder

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,
perfection overran his every thought;
if not the best his work was all for naught
and through his work his dedication showed.
The finest marble made his pieces flow i like this line, it exerts a knowledge of sorts form the sculptor
into a life their own. Yet still he sought
this dreamèd form – “At last, I’m done!” he thought;
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its overgrown
intent. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made,
could never understand its own reflection.



------------

Version 1.0

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,
perfection occupying every thought;
if not ideal his work was all for naught,
and through his work his dedication'd show.
The finest marble'd make his pieces flow
into a life their own. Yet still he sought
this visioned form - At last, no more he fought;
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its woebegone
spirit. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made,
could never understand its own reflection.

[frex]

One thought to add to the comments already made on this one, is that I wondered why the poet chose to use his cousin as an in between recounter of the story? I felt it weakened the account, IMHO, whereas if it were say the sculptor's assistant or someone like that, it might bring the reader closer to the action - it might even affect the delivery. Just an idea

Version 2.0

Bodybuilder

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,
perfection overran his every thought;
if not the best his work was all for naught
and through his work his dedication showed.
The finest marble made his pieces flow
into a life their own. Yet still he sought
this dreamèd form – “At last, I’m done!” he thought;
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its overgrown
intent. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made,
could never understand its own reflection.



------------

Version 1.0

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,
perfection occupying every thought;
if not ideal his work was all for naught,
and through his work his dedication'd show.
The finest marble'd make his pieces flow
into a life their own. Yet still he sought
this visioned form - At last, no more he fought;
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its woebegone
spirit. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made,
could never understand its own reflection.

[ThePinsir]

^ the speaker "knew a guy who knew a guy". I put some distance between the reader and the 'sculptor' to try to make the perfect 'sculpture' even more unattainable. Almost like the speaker isn't even sure if it's true.

I'll probably get around to editing later today.

---

i'd also suggest trying to use alteration, simile and/or other poetic devices which help give depth to a poem.

Maybe a silly question, but does adding alliteration, similes, etc. necessarily make a poem "better"?

[ChristopherSea]

^ the speaker "knew a guy who knew a guy". I put some distance between the reader and the 'sculptor' to try to make the perfect 'sculpture' even more unattainable. Almost like the speaker isn't even sure if it's true.

I'll probably get around to editing later today.

---

i'd also suggest trying to use alteration, simile and/or other poetic devices which help give depth to a poem.

Maybe a silly question, but does adding alliteration, similes, etc. necessarily make a poem "better"?

Absolutely, in fact, those poetic devices turn a 'poem' into poetry!

[tectak]

Version 2.1

Bodybuilder

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,Tranpose the semi colon to here, its natural home
perfection overwhelmed his every thought;Then period here
if not the best his work was all for naughtComma after best to clarify the conditionality of the phrase "If not the best". The comma substitutes for the implied "then". IF NOT-THEN
and through his work his dedication showed glowed."and" is weak but moreso because you are losing the conditionality. "so" would be a better choice. It is presumably because of what he did not complete that only the perfect remained. SO, because of A then B.
The finest marble made his pieces flow
into a life their own. Yet still he sought
Until they came alive. Yet still he sought...
this dreamèd form – “At last, I’m done!” he thought;No. It just doesn't work. Dream-edd, dash, "At last I'm done" he said he thought? I think you are rhyme-wrapped.
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!I KNOW you are rhyme-wrapped. The piece is suffering now. The rhyming is extruded.
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its overgrown
intent. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made,You have now given up. Run out of metaphorical steam. Must find an ending some how some way.
could never understand its own reflection.A bloody long journey for this last resort.
Hi pinsir,
You write some good stuff but you just MUST get it posted ASAP. Stop. Read it. Tweak it. Make sure the texture and detail is the same from beginning to end. This reads as though twelve people each wrote one line and the final couplet was added to make it sonnet-form. Try to write it again without using so many conditionalities. Yet, yet, yet, if, but. I am lost in a Boolean Loop, circular error!
Best,
tectak



------------

Version 1.0

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,
perfection occupying every thought;
if not ideal his work was all for naught,
and through his work his dedication'd show.
The finest marble'd make his pieces flow
into a life their own. Yet still he sought
this visioned form - At last, no more he fought;
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its woebegone
spirit. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made,
could never understand its own reflection.

[ThePinsir]

^
http://www.my-favorite-coloring.net/Imag...195568.png
brb googling "Boolean Loop".

---

I'll rewrite the sestet later.

Tectak is exactly right in that I "ran out of metaphorical steam". I wrote this in like an hour and was just trying "to sound deep". I'm glad he called me out on it. It's a bad habit of mine: just trying to write in meter and rhyme and letting "deepness" and metaphor just pop up where they may. I'll practice outlining the metaphor/central image/message BEFORE I write and develop the poems around that instead of the other way around.

Here's what I'll say in the sestet.

There's a bodybuider sculptor who worked, obsessed for years to develop the perfect 'statue'. But at the end of it all he neglected to develop his intellect and let family/social relationship die. Then he's all depressed or something. I think that'll work wonderfully.

[Todd]

Okay, well the theme is totally different. Let me give you some comments on your latest version. I didn't read the critiques so if I go over something that was already mentioned I'm not harping on it, just noticing it.

Here goes.

Version 3.5
(only edited the sestet for 3.0)
(re-wrote octave for 3.5)

Bodybuilder

My cousin knew a man who worked with stone;--This is as good as sculptor. The earlier version implied both sculpting stone and muscle. Stone could imply muscle in this version.
for years he slaved to master his profession.--this line feels too long and slightly out of rhythm. I think profession isn't a good rhyme for expressions due to the s. It might be better to show an action that would demonstrate this slaving and mastery in some way instead of coming out and saying it.
Seeking to show his sculpted stone expressions
supplied him skills the world had never known.--be a bit more subtle with the alliteration. Seeking to show feels a bit overdone for instance
He'd sneak away at night to work alone
as passion slowly turned into obsession,
his search for perfect art into depression,--This may be a good time to follow up the last line with an image
a near recluse, his fingers worked to bone.--fingers worked to bone is too close to a cliche. Find a substitute
Pursuing vanity, the sculptor fled,
appreciation almost all but lost.--These last two lines feel a bit like shorthand. You need something more meaty in this part
Away he chizzled loving wife and son,--typo: chiseled
his marble idol took her place in bed.--These two lines are a bit creepy but interesting.
Deceiving ego justified the cost...--Kill the ellipses, and try to stay away from summary statements draw out the outcome of the images.
What's "greatness" worth when all is said and done?--I don't know, the poem needs to do more to bring me to this conclusion. Not with a question but with me reflecting on where obsession led this man.

I know that's a lot, but I hope some of it helps.

Best,

Todd

[wordsalad]

Version 3.5
(only edited the sestet for 3.0)
(re-wrote octave for 3.5)

Bodybuilder

My cousin knew a man who worked with stone;
for years he slaved to master his profession.
Seeking to show his sculpted stone expressions
supplied him skills the world had never known.
He'd sneak away at night to work alone
as passion slowly turned into obsession,
his search for perfect art into depression,
a near recluse, his fingers worked to bone.
Pursuing vanity, the sculptor fled,
appreciation almost all but lost.
Away he chizzled loving wife and son,
his marble idol took her place in bed.
Deceiving ego justified the cost...
What's "greatness" worth when all is said and done?




Version 2.1

Bodybuilder

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,
perfection overwhelmed his every thought;
if not the best his work was all for naught
and through his work his dedication showed glowed.
The finest marble made his pieces flow
into a life their own. Yet still he sought
this dreamèd form – “At last, I’m done!” he thought;
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its overgrown
intent. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made,
could never understand its own reflection.



------------

Version 1.0

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,
perfection occupying every thought;
if not ideal his work was all for naught,
and through his work his dedication'd show.
The finest marble'd make his pieces flow
into a life their own. Yet still he sought
this visioned form - At last, no more he fought;
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its woebegone
spirit. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made,
could never understand its own reflection.

Okay I have to admit to being lost. I have a love hate relationship with poetry, and this poem makes me question the distance between the writer and the sculptor. Is it the realization that our efforts are lost if they take us from people we love. I enjoyed the tone of loss and regret I wanted more in terms of affect. thank you for this.

[tectak]

Version 3.5
(only edited the sestet for 3.0)
(re-wrote octave for 3.5)

Bodybuilder

My cousin knew a man who worked with stone;
for years he slaved to master his profession.
Seeking to show his sculpted stone expressions
supplied him skills the world had never known. The meter is all over the place and you should now look at this area.Consider rephrasing L2 "who slaved for years to master his profession" Why? Because otherwise it could be your cousin who slaved.
He'd sneak away at night to work alone
as passion slowly turned into obsession,
his search for perfect art into depression, words that end in ion are French derivation. They are legion.Its you decision, avoid derision, seek precision, in your mission....aw the hell with it.They make for temptingly cheap rhymes much loved by rappers...and they become an addiction.See?
a near recluse, his fingers worked to bone.linking recluse to worn fingers is not natural.
Pursuing vanity, the sculptor fled,
appreciation almost all but lost. Tautology. "Almost" means "all but"
Away he chizzled loving wife and son, Very bad construction as is the next line. In fact, what the hell did he chisel? Chizzled? He chiselled his wife? His wife and son? He chiselled them together or apart? Very confusing for me and, I think, for you.
his marble idol took her place in bed.
Deceiving ego justified the cost...What cost? Who did he pay? The stone merchant I guess...who knows. How was ego deceived? Oh dear, I AM confused
What's "greatness" worth when all is said and done? I wondered why the quotes round greatness then I figured it was to distract the reader from the thump of the cliche hitting the floor.

Hi pinsir,
Good go at the edit but you rewrote yourself into riddles. Some of the rhymes are cheap and mostly irregular. The meter is like falling logs. If you write this out as a block of text (forget the meter for now) you will see all kinds of peculiar phraseology and bizarre punctuation. Sort that out first. Now get the meter ticking. Watch out for pesky anapests on end of lines. ob sesh un. Although good for galloping rhymes in long, complex lines, they bring heartache to the unwary...which is why I write in long lines I need time to plan my ends, not my beginings. So do you.
Best,
tectak




Version 2.1

Bodybuilder

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,
perfection overwhelmed his every thought;
if not the best his work was all for naught
and through his work his dedication showed glowed.
The finest marble made his pieces flow
into a life their own. Yet still he sought
this dreamèd form – “At last, I’m done!” he thought;
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its overgrown
intent. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made,
could never understand its own reflection.



------------

Version 1.0

My cousin knew a sculptor long ago,
perfection occupying every thought;
if not ideal his work was all for naught,
and through his work his dedication'd show.
The finest marble'd make his pieces flow
into a life their own. Yet still he sought
this visioned form - At last, no more he fought;
his masterpiece was wrought, prepared to show!
And yet, despite the contours of the stone,
the years of slaving, beating at his trade,
the sculptor found a single imperfection:
he'd never quite displayed its woebegone
spirit. Its graven eyes, yet soundly made,
could never understand its own reflection.

[ThePinsir]

Todd: i appreciate the advice. I'll keep it in mind next time; I'm done rewriting this damn thing!

Tectak: thanks. i'll try to be less vague.
the meter in lines 3-4 is kind of off. Though, I've never read a sonnet with PERFECT iambic pentameter (inversion, feminine endings, all that crap). Cut me some slack :p
Legion, decision, derision, precision, mission, addiction. I wouldn't use those together. The ROOTS of the words I chose (profess, express, obsess, depress) actually rhyme just fine.


Now, it's about a bodybuilder who took his work too seriously, his family left him, so he killed himself. There are tons stories of bodybuilders' wives/girlfriends leaving. Or "workaholics" in general. Maybe someone, somewhere can relate :/

I'm gonna go write about muscle-bound hoplites fighting Carthaginian war elephants now...

[heslopian]

Version 4.0
Bodybuilder

My cousin knew a man who worked with stone Could a comma go here?
who slaved for years to master his profession.
Seeking to show his sculpted stone expressions "Sculpted" feels like a boring filler-y word to go here. Would some other adjective, like "staid", work better?
supplied him skills the world had never known. "With" should really come after "supplied him", I think, though that may just be me being pedantic.
He'd sneak away at night to work alone;
as passion slowly turned into obsession,
his search for perfect art into depression, This rhyme is a bit forced and melodramatic. It might work if you changed "perfect art" to something less obvious.
the marble was to him as flesh and bone. I like the almost Frankenstein-ian theme here. It also reminds me of "Hypnos", an H. P. Lovecraft short story about a mad sculptor inspired by his drug-fuelled dreams.
Preferring solitude the sculptor fled
and watched his work, his life, his love erode This is a really picky point, but how can he be obsessed with his work while watching it and his life erode? This line implies a static depression, not an artistic obsession.
until disheartened wife and son escaped. "Escaped" what? Is he abusing/keeping them prisoner? Neglect doesn't sound like something you "escape" from.
With crumbled spirit yearning to be dead, Great line. The contrast between spirit and stone with "crumbled" is perfect.
the beating of his graven heart then slowed Another perfect contrast with "graven".
and stopped - nothing left but empty shape. Ditto "shape".

Some really good lines here, and I like your title. It needs a bit of tightening and sways too far into confessional melodrama on occasion, but otherwise shows promise. Critique is JMHO. Thank you for the read

[lainey]

Version 4.0
Bodybuilder The title is telling, you want bodybuilding to be seen as an art. Helps readers see the conceit.

My cousin knew a man who worked with stone comma?
who slaved for years to master his profession.
Seeking to show his sculpted stone expressions In this line specifically, 'show' just seems like a verb a guy would use. I would've said 'flaunt.'
supplied him skills the world had never known. This line and the one above seem drawn out, as if you're trying to satisfy some kind of metre.
He'd sneak away at night to work alone;
as passion slowly turned into obsession,
his search for perfect art into depression, his search for art turned into depression, would make more sense, though I still don't like this line, depression and obsession kind of neutralise each other.
the marble was to him as flesh and bone.
Preferring solitude the sculptor fled
and watched his work, his life, his love erode
until disheartened wife and son escaped.
With crumbled spirit yearning to be dead,
the beating of his graven heart then slowed
and stopped - nothing left but empty shape.
These last three lines carry the conceit well, i.e., "graven, crumbled, shape."

[alatos]

I absolutely love this poem. If I were you, I would simply refuse to change those last three lines. In my opinion they are perfect. The poem is just captivating to me.