ideas

[bob68]

''Beyond The Canvas"

After the season unhinged
autumn's calm retreat
from Melina's death,
I returned to this house,
its kitchen warm as sunfish.
Everything appears gray - sleepy gray -
though her portrait still hangs
above our maple lacquered shelf.
I imagine her walking off the canvas
among the iron trees,
where our twinned silhouettes
straddle the stones.
We arrange pranic chants,
till murmurs echo holy.
She asks about Alchemy.
"Did Prince Khalid really squeeze gold
from tongues of titanium, or lead? "
I tell her I'm not sure,
but I would drag Saturn by its rings,
or pull Jupiter below the knees of the Earth
to deliver her near.
A prairie wind strangles Kingston county,
and memory's kinetic spindrift
resurrects her each day.
Tomorrow, I turn seventy two.
As always, the night has sloughed its canopy,
and daybreak's silky entrance awakens me.
But it's all here, the lawn chairs
Melina placed under the moon,
the bone china from Rome
and her side of the couch grown empty -
as yesterday leaves a portrait
taking refuge above
our maple lacquered shelf.

[ChristopherSea]

Greetings Bob,

This is a gorgeous poem albeit bittersweet. The story and many of the images are lovely. I particularly love how the piece loops back upon itself.

My critique would be with a couple of the references. The Pranayama reference seems to be almost ‘shoe-horned in,’ for lack of a better term...

We arrange pranic chants,
till murmurs echo holy.

…but only because there is no connection to the ‘stones’ above or the ‘alchemy’ below, nor is it elaborated further. However, I could be missing something
(we readers usually are). Those stones might connect better with an implied alchemist’s stone without the intervening prana line.
Nonetheless, I do see a place for a religious/healing allusion in a lost love poem, should the loved one died of disease for instance.
Also, I can connect the ‘pranic chants’ quite readily to the ‘prairie wind’ and its ‘resurrects’ without the alchemy passage.

I have similar difficulties with the alchemy reference, especially with the use of the Arabic alchemist Khalid. It comes off a bit grafted on,
as we shift from eastern philosophy to middle-eastern alchemy. Additionally, if he is the Prince Khalid from the 700’s,
he predates the discovery of titanium in 1792 by over a thousand years later. Please correct me if I am wrong!

Finally, the leap from alchemy to the astronomy is a big one. On the other hand, your two planetary metaphors are exquisite.

Some of these potential issues could be addressed with minimal corrections, a few transitional lines and even some simple stanza breaks in my opinion.
See what you think.

Thank you for this superior post. I hope something in this critique helps you with your next edit. Good luck with it and welcome to the site.

Cheers/Chris

[bob68]

Greetings Bob,

This is a gorgeous poem albeit bittersweet. The story and many of the images are lovely. I particularly love how the piece loops back upon itself.

My critique would be with a couple of the references. The Pranayama reference seems to be almost ‘shoe-horned in,’ for lack of a better term...

We arrange pranic chants,
till murmurs echo holy.

…but only because there is no connection to the ‘stones’ above or the ‘alchemy’ below, nor is it elaborated further. However, I could be missing something
(we readers usually are). Those stones might connect better with an implied alchemist’s stone without the intervening prana line.
Nonetheless, I do see a place for a religious/healing allusion in a lost love poem, should the loved one died of disease for instance.
Also, I can connect the ‘pranic chants’ quite readily to the ‘prairie wind’ and its ‘resurrects’ without the alchemy passage.

I have similar difficulties with the alchemy reference, especially with the use of the Arabic alchemist Khalid. It comes off a bit grafted on,
as we shift from eastern philosophy to middle-eastern alchemy. Additionally, if he is the Prince Khalid from the 700’s,
he predates the discovery of titanium in 1792 by over a thousand years later. Please correct me if I am wrong!

Finally, the leap from alchemy to the astronomy is a big one. On the other hand, your two planetary metaphors are exquisite.

Some of these potential issues could be addressed with minimal corrections, a few transitional lines and even some simple stanza breaks in my opinion.
See what you think.

Thank you for this superior post. I hope something in this critique helps you with your next edit. Good luck with it and welcome to the site.

Cheers/Chris

Thanks for the review Chris. You make some good suggestions that I will consider. Thanks again, Bob--

[billy]

almost haunting. i like the coclusion of the poem, it acts as a hook for the reader and makes them/me want to go back to the beginning to find the first reference of it. put the title in the subject heading, because the site is mainly about ideas. that and the fact it opens the poem up (it's the front door to the poem). the open three line are set in a way that invites the reader into something very private. i'm sure i could find more than the nit below if i really tried, but after three of four reads it sits well as it is. (apart from the nit ) not sure what others will see of it but i like it, it feels crafted but not overly so. (not too poetic)

''Beyond The Canvas"

After the season unhinged
autumn's calm retreat
from Melina's death,
I returned to this house,
its kitchen warm as sunfish.
Everything appears gray - sleepy gray -
though her portrait still hangs
above our maple lacquered shelf.
I imagine her walking off the canvas
among the iron trees,
where our twinned silhouettes
straddle the stones.
We arrange pranic chants,
till murmurs echo holy.
She asks about Alchemy.
"Did Prince Khalid really squeeze gold
from tongues of titanium, or lead? "a suggestion would be to separate the speech with line spaces to make it stand out a bit more and also to break the poem up visually
I tell her I'm not sure,
but I would drag Saturn by its rings, that's love, great line
or pull Jupiter below the knees of the Earth
to deliver her near. near what/where it sounds great but is left as to open ended
A prairie wind strangles Kingston county,
and memory's kinetic spindrift
resurrects her each day. another good original image in the this and the previous two lines that implies for her to live the town has to die.
Tomorrow, I turn seventy two.
As always, the night has sloughed its canopy,
and daybreak's silky entrance awakens me.
But it's all here, the lawn chairs
Melina placed under the moon, good M's
the bone china from Rome
and her side of the couch grown empty -
as yesterday leaves a portrait
taking refuge above
our maple lacquered shelf.

[tectak]

''Beyond The Canvas"

After the season unhinged
autumn's calm retreat
from Melina's death,
I returned to this house,
its kitchen warm as sunfish.
Everything appears gray - sleepy gray -
though her portrait still hangs
above our maple lacquered shelf.
I imagine her walking off the canvas
among the iron trees,
where our twinned silhouettes
straddle the stones.
We arrange pranic chants,
till murmurs echo holy.
She asks about Alchemy.
"Did Prince Khalid really squeeze gold
from tongues of titanium, or lead? "
I tell her I'm not sure,
but I would drag Saturn by its rings,
or pull Jupiter below the knees of the Earth
to deliver her near.
A prairie wind strangles Kingston county,
and memory's kinetic spindrift
resurrects her each day.
Tomorrow, I turn seventy two.
As always, the night has sloughed its canopy,
and daybreak's silky entrance awakens me.
But it's all here, the lawn chairs
Melina placed under the moon,
the bone china from Rome
and her side of the couch grown empty -
as yesterday leaves a portrait
taking refuge above
our maple lacquered shelf.

Hello bob,
from my cynical seat I would really like to find something, anything, that I could find wrong with this...not because that is my raison d'etre but because it is so damned perfect throughout that to find a nit would only serve to contrast that perfection.
I cannot identify the scent of genre but I can feel the spirit of the Great American Writers, (Hemmingway, Steinbeck, London, O'Neil) influencing the phraseology, in a good way, and can only congratulate you on maintaining the subtlety of the tincture throughout. I will not deviate from my opening comment...I can find no nits...but critique when offered by one, is sometimes on behalf of others. So, Christopher Sea, I am with you.
Very nice piece and without doubt you will be lauded for it.
Best,
tectak

[bob68]

almost haunting. i like the coclusion of the poem, it acts as a hook for the reader and makes them/me want to go back to the beginning to find the first reference of it. put the title in the subject heading, because the site is mainly about ideas. that and the fact it opens the poem up (it's the front door to the poem). the open three line are set in a way that invites the reader into something very private. i'm sure i could find more than the nit below if i really tried, but after three of four reads it sits well as it is. (apart from the nit ) not sure what others will see of it but i like it, it feels crafted but not overly so. (not too poetic)

''Beyond The Canvas"

After the season unhinged
autumn's calm retreat
from Melina's death,
I returned to this house,
its kitchen warm as sunfish.
Everything appears gray - sleepy gray -
though her portrait still hangs
above our maple lacquered shelf.
I imagine her walking off the canvas
among the iron trees,
where our twinned silhouettes
straddle the stones.
We arrange pranic chants,
till murmurs echo holy.
She asks about Alchemy.
"Did Prince Khalid really squeeze gold
from tongues of titanium, or lead? "a suggestion would be to separate the speech with line spaces to make it stand out a bit more and also to break the poem up visually
I tell her I'm not sure,
but I would drag Saturn by its rings, that's love, great line
or pull Jupiter below the knees of the Earth
to deliver her near. near what/where it sounds great but is left as to open ended
A prairie wind strangles Kingston county,
and memory's kinetic spindrift
resurrects her each day. another good original image in the this and the previous two lines that implies for her to live the town has to die.
Tomorrow, I turn seventy two.
As always, the night has sloughed its canopy,
and daybreak's silky entrance awakens me.
But it's all here, the lawn chairs
Melina placed under the moon, good M's
the bone china from Rome
and her side of the couch grown empty -
as yesterday leaves a portrait
taking refuge above
our maple lacquered shelf.

Thanks Billy for weighing in.

---

''Beyond The Canvas"

After the season unhinged
autumn's calm retreat
from Melina's death,
I returned to this house,
its kitchen warm as sunfish.
Everything appears gray - sleepy gray -
though her portrait still hangs
above our maple lacquered shelf.
I imagine her walking off the canvas
among the iron trees,
where our twinned silhouettes
straddle the stones.
We arrange pranic chants,
till murmurs echo holy.
She asks about Alchemy.
"Did Prince Khalid really squeeze gold
from tongues of titanium, or lead? "
I tell her I'm not sure,
but I would drag Saturn by its rings,
or pull Jupiter below the knees of the Earth
to deliver her near.
A prairie wind strangles Kingston county,
and memory's kinetic spindrift
resurrects her each day.
Tomorrow, I turn seventy two.
As always, the night has sloughed its canopy,
and daybreak's silky entrance awakens me.
But it's all here, the lawn chairs
Melina placed under the moon,
the bone china from Rome
and her side of the couch grown empty -
as yesterday leaves a portrait
taking refuge above
our maple lacquered shelf.

Hello bob,
from my cynical seat I would really like to find something, anything, that I could find wrong with this...not because that is my raison d'etre but because it is so damned perfect throughout that to find a nit would only serve to contrast that perfection.
I cannot identify the scent of genre but I can feel the spirit of the Great American Writers, (Hemmingway, Steinbeck, London, O'Neil) influencing the phraseology, in a good way, and can only congratulate you on maintaining the subtlety of the tincture throughout. I will not deviate from my opening comment...I can find no nits...but critique when offered by one, is sometimes on behalf of others. So, Christopher Sea, I am with you.
Very nice piece and without doubt you will be lauded for it.
Best,
tectak

Thanks tectak for the kind review. I'm glad you liked it.

[cjchaffin]

hi bob. content-wise, i think others have already hit on some good points, so i really have nothing to add there. i would suggest breaking this into stanzas to help the narrative flow a little easier, like so:

''Beyond The Canvas"

After the season unhinged
autumn's calm retreat
from Melina's death,
I returned to this house,
its kitchen warm as sunfish.

Everything appears gray - sleepy gray -
though her portrait still hangs
above our maple lacquered shelf.

I imagine her walking off the canvas
among the iron trees,
where our twinned silhouettes
straddle the stones.

We arrange pranic chants,
till murmurs echo holy.
She asks about Alchemy.
"Did Prince Khalid really squeeze gold
from tongues of titanium, or lead?"

I tell her I'm not sure,
but I would drag Saturn by its rings,
or pull Jupiter below the knees of the Earth
to deliver her near.

A prairie wind strangles Kingston county,
and memory's kinetic spindrift
resurrects her each day.

Tomorrow, I turn seventy two.
As always, the night has sloughed its canopy,
and daybreak's silky entrance awakens me.

But it's all here, the lawn chairs
Melina placed under the moon,
the bone china from Rome
and her side of the couch grown empty -

as yesterday leaves a portrait
taking refuge above
our maple lacquered shelf.

just a quick example. it's not all that symmetrical but i don't know if you're even concerned with that. but i think it does create a better flow to have it broken up a bit. there's a quiet power to your words that is very appealing and i enjoyed the narrative immensely.

[bob68]

hi bob. content-wise, i think others have already hit on some good points, so i really have nothing to add there. i would suggest breaking this into stanzas to help the narrative flow a little easier, like so:

''Beyond The Canvas"

After the season unhinged
autumn's calm retreat
from Melina's death,
I returned to this house,
its kitchen warm as sunfish.

Everything appears gray - sleepy gray -
though her portrait still hangs
above our maple lacquered shelf.

I imagine her walking off the canvas
among the iron trees,
where our twinned silhouettes
straddle the stones.

We arrange pranic chants,
till murmurs echo holy.
She asks about Alchemy.
"Did Prince Khalid really squeeze gold
from tongues of titanium, or lead?"

I tell her I'm not sure,
but I would drag Saturn by its rings,
or pull Jupiter below the knees of the Earth
to deliver her near.

A prairie wind strangles Kingston county,
and memory's kinetic spindrift
resurrects her each day.

Tomorrow, I turn seventy two.
As always, the night has sloughed its canopy,
and daybreak's silky entrance awakens me.

But it's all here, the lawn chairs
Melina placed under the moon,
the bone china from Rome
and her side of the couch grown empty -

as yesterday leaves a portrait
taking refuge above
our maple lacquered shelf.

just a quick example. it's not all that symmetrical but i don't know if you're even concerned with that. but i think it does create a better flow to have it broken up a bit. there's a quiet power to your words that is very appealing and i enjoyed the narrative immensely.

Thanks Chaffin. I'm still thinking about how to break it up, but what you did is pretty good.