I think I am a Good Man but... Rev. 1 billy, river, onepapa

[tectak]

Revision 1

I think I am a good man but
hands that work don't stop to pray.
Hours pass in sweat and hope
that every day will end;
then home to fall into the fold
of old familiar things.

From my chair I watch you  
until I see the saintly sleep
slip arms around us both.
Gently, I pick you up
and wrap you in warm blankets
made from softer stuff than me.

Your mother, tired, sits nodding  
in our kitchen; dreaming of mirth
and madness, songs and sadness…
while we, just you and I,
climb up the stairs.
This is how each day should end.

You will say your prayers one day,
when you are old enough
to speak, if not to understand.
I will teach you unknown words
that I heard my father whisper
in the hiss and drone of night.

I know now that he cried,
for all his love was in his words
and all his words were in my dreams.
That is why, my baby boy,
all my dreams are wrapped
inside a blanket, softer than me.

I think I am a good man
but I have no time for prayer.


Original

I think I am a good man but
hands that work don't rest to pray.
Hours pass in sweat and sweet,
sweet hope that every day will end;
then home to fall into the fold
of old familiar things.

From where I sit I watch you  
as saintly sleep puts arms
round both of us;
then gently, I  pick you up
and wrap you in warm blankets
made from softer stuff than me.

Your mother sits alone
in the kitchen made of mirth
and madness, songs and sadness…
while we, just you and I,
climb up the stairs.
This is how each day should end.

You will say your prayers
when you are old enough
to speak the unknown words.
I once did, too, when just like you,
I heard my father whisper
in the hiss and drone of night.

I know now that he cried;
for all his love was in his words
and all his words were in my dreams.
That is why, my baby boy,
all my dreams are wrapped
inside a blanket, softer than me.

I think I am a good man
but I have no time for prayer.

Tectak.
2015

[Erthona]

Tom,

Although there is a bit of a metrically pattern here, rhythmically it feels stilted and this takes energy away from the poem, an energy it needs. I could see where you might say you were experimenting with using the man's voice which would be halting. Well experiment tried and failed. As he is speaking in his head, he can have eloquence as the social fear and constraints are not in operation. Obviously the man sees himself as having a hard exterior, although the poem shows that he, like his grandfather have a softer side. This is verging on the trite and sentimental, but skirts the edge enough to get by. Some of the changes you made are solid, sweet to hope was a good one. Some other seem to make little difference, but above all else they do no harm. There are probably some nits, but I don't feel like picking them.

Dale

[RiverNotch]

Revision 1

I think I am a good man but
hands that work don't stop to pray. I see the value of "don't" here now, though I still think the ending would be a stronger contrast if this was "can't" instead.
Hours pass in sweat and hope I agree with a previous point; the hope here works better than the last bit's sweet.
that every day will end;
then home to fall into the fold
of old familiar things.

From my chair I watch you  
until I see the saintly sleep
slip arms around us both. *--but I still find that here, the father falls asleep first, then is woken up by something to continue with the rest of the narrative. It's kinda unusual -- isn't there a, er, softer way to word these two lines?
Gently, I pick you up
and wrap you in warm blankets
made from softer stuff than me.

Your mother, tired, sits nodding  
in our kitchen; dreaming of mirth
and madness, songs and sadness… This edit, I think, is much better than the last one. I think the semicolon is unnecessary, though (it would be clear enough to me with just a comma). The breathless end the ellipsis draws is quite graceful, but I feel a comma would be a better bridge to the next idea (I'm torn).
while we, just you and I,
climb up the stairs.
This is how each day should end. Tying this to the gently part, I think this is fair now.*

You will say your prayers one day,
when you are old enough
to speak, if not to understand. I find this better than "to speak the unknown words", since the last one was just muddy (it was a bit circular, if it did refer to the prayers).
I will teach you unknown words Maybe "the unknown words" instead? Just to make those "unknown words" seem more known to the speaker (he did, after all, hear them from his father).
that I heard my father whisper
in the hiss and drone of night.

I know now that he cried; Why the semicolon? Wouldn't a comma do?
for all his love was in his words
and all his words were in my dreams. I still feel a bit irked by these three lines, but now I'm not entirely sure why -- maybe it's the change of thought, where the father's words then were prayers, and now they're cries, or prayers in dreams, or what?
That is why, my baby boy,
all my dreams are wrapped
inside a blanket, softer than me.

I think I am a good man
but I have no time for prayer. Alright.