*All I Have is a Voice

[71degrees]

When you are new born
you live to be touched,
to swaddle and sleep
in warm cotton blankets,
to suckle breast milk
from puckered nipples;
sidewalks lead to distant
continents, streets
are gold pavers of childhood
eternity and parental dreams

You are carried from rooms,
fed from spoons, held
by soft hands; every night
the same moon dog shines

After first words,
thumbs replace breasts;
when you cry people listen,
no one this tiny should ever
be alone for too long

It is only later, after people leave,
when love is for the unlucky; sadness
has the same eyes as your father,
your voice goes unheard, you sit
and ponder till wet grass grows
through you, tracking the veins
of your heart.

(*from a poem by W.H. Auden)

[paulcanuck]

Sorry I'm new here - this is from a poem by someone else?
I quite liked the imagery here. It did seem to jump a few years - like one two, skip a few 99, 100 but that last verse is quite good to represent dead in the grave
Paul

Edit OK thanks to Todd I get it - the title is borrowed - but why would you need to borrow a title...

[Todd]

Hi, I like the Auden poem that you got your title from. Here are some comments on this poem of yours.

When you are new born
you live to be touched,
to swaddle and sleep
in warm cotton blankets,
to suckle breast milk
from puckered nipples;
sidewalks lead to distant--This seems like too much age progression and awareness too soon.
continents, streets
are gold pavers of childhood--I do like the phrasing of gold pavers of childhood
eternity and parental dreams

You are carried from rooms,
fed from spoons, held
by soft hands; every night
the same moon dog shines--This line feels right from a young child's perspective. Fantasy mixing with reality

After first words,
thumbs replace breasts;
when you cry people listen,
no one this tiny should ever
be alone for too long

It is only later, after people leave,
when love is for the unlucky; sadness--love is for the unlucky seems a bit trite next to the sadness phrase which is really good.
has the same eyes as your father,
your voice goes unheard, you sit
and ponder till wet grass grows
through you, tracking the veins
of your heart.--These last three lines feel so quirky and interesting. This entire strophe is poignant. 


My only real complaint with the poem is that it takes too long to get to the ending. It feels like it meanders. I'm going to try to describe this. In the ending, I have a sense of the person emotionally. In the earlier strophes, the writing isn't bad it just feels vague. I'm not sure how helpful this is. I do like this. I just want the same quality I think is in the ending to hit me earlier in the poem.

(*from a poem by W.H. Auden)

I hope I'm not being too nit picky. I like the themes you tend to write about so it could be that I just want to be hit harder by the end result. I hope some of that makes sense, and I hope it's helpful.

Best,

Todd

[71degrees]

Sorry I'm new here - this is from a poem by someone else?
I quite liked the imagery here. It did seem to jump a few years - like one two, skip a few 99, 100 but that last verse is quite good to represent dead in the grave
Paul

Edit OK thanks to Todd I get it - the title is borrowed - but why would you need to borrow a title...

Paul: Why not? You've never borrowed an image, a line, a word from someone? Besides, it's a great line.

Thanks much. I agree about the "skip"….though seems like life goes just that quick sometimes.

[71degrees]

Hi, I like the Auden poem that you got your title from. Here are some comments on this poem of yours.

When you are new born
you live to be touched,
to swaddle and sleep
in warm cotton blankets,
to suckle breast milk
from puckered nipples;
sidewalks lead to distant--This seems like too much age progression and awareness too soon.
continents, streets
are gold pavers of childhood--I do like the phrasing of gold pavers of childhood
eternity and parental dreams

You are carried from rooms,
fed from spoons, held
by soft hands; every night
the same moon dog shines--This line feels right from a young child's perspective. Fantasy mixing with reality

After first words,
thumbs replace breasts;
when you cry people listen,
no one this tiny should ever
be alone for too long

It is only later, after people leave,
when love is for the unlucky; sadness--love is for the unlucky seems a bit trite next to the sadness phrase which is really good.
has the same eyes as your father,
your voice goes unheard, you sit
and ponder till wet grass grows
through you, tracking the veins
of your heart.--These last three lines feel so quirky and interesting. This entire strophe is poignant. 


My only real complaint with the poem is that it takes too long to get to the ending. It feels like it meanders. I'm going to try to describe this. In the ending, I have a sense of the person emotionally. In the earlier strophes, the writing isn't bad it just feels vague. I'm not sure how helpful this is. I do like this. I just want the same quality I think is in the ending to hit me earlier in the poem.

(*from a poem by W.H. Auden)

I hope I'm not being too nit picky. I like the themes you tend to write about so it could be that I just want to be hit harder by the end result. I hope some of that makes sense, and I hope it's helpful.

Best,

Todd

No. You're not being too "nit picky." Thanks for your look. Was trying to describe the "wonderment" of that time period of bringing home a newborn child. Time stands still (for a while) for parents, almost to the point of being unrealistic. My own boys are both in college now and I am in awe of the power of time and how it holds us, yet pushes us at the same time. It's like losing that set of keys. It's out there, somewhere….you just can't quite remember where you put it. Apparently, you want something a bit more solid, at least emotionally, than just whimsy.