Give a man a rod…edit 1.0

[tectak]

It's cooler now, beside the stream; my floating line lies traceless.
A mist  crawls down, spring-born in woody fell, spilling like milk.
The light, white breath of dying day shifts and shimmies
surface sprites above the drift; rising and falling, rising and falling.
You get to thinking: it's no good crying...never was.
Another cast or two before the sun gives up its ghosts
then I will fish no more today. My net hangs empty in the shallows.
What is fishing without fish? A moment now and then of joy
-- anticipation isn’t what it used to be-- but I need the hook
to pull me, tempt me, keep me to the task...or I am alone.
I see the line twitch but hear nothing. The mist mutes all.
Some days you just have to believe. A tugging from a distant fish
is like a message from you. Familiar feelings flood over me
whenever my rod tip bends and dips…or when a letter arrives.
Fish and letters; it’s been a while. Sometimes I think
there’s no fish here at all…but I'll be back tomorrow.  

tectak beside an Esk pool 2016

[Keith]

Sorry tectak I missed the first version so I'm gonna crit what I see now, Theres something not quite working for me. The descriptive pieces really work well and set the tone of the day petering away perfectly. In the second half of the poem when you switch to a more reflective commentary all is very nicely rendered but you then introduces us to you and letters, it all just seemed rushed packed into the last four lines, when previously you gave us five to tell us about the setting. I do think the fish letter comparison works I just think it either needs expanding or bringing in earlier. Some notes below. Best Keith  

It's cooler now, beside the stream; my floating line lies traceless. sets the scene well and I can see the dark water masking the line, V nice I'm in.
A mist  crawls down, spring-born in woody fell, spilling like milk. Lovely but it either crawls or it spills I think you should choose and have another look at the phrasing it seems like there is a word missing (Mist spills like milk, spring-born from a wooded fell)
The light, white breath of dying day shifts and shimmies shimmies sound a bit comical but it could just be me
surface sprites above the drift; rising and falling, rising and falling. lovely descriptive verse really takes the reader close up
You get to thinking: it's no good crying...never was.
Another cast or two before the sun gives up its ghosts I would move this line above "you get to thinking" so we now why its no use crying before it happens.
then I will fish no more today. My net hangs empty in the shallows. Nice image and I wondered about a metaphor
What is fishing without fish? A moment now and then of joy Why not make this S2
-- anticipation isn’t what it used to be-- but I need the hook
to pull me, tempt me, keep me to the task...or I am alone.
I see the line twitch but hear nothing. The mist mutes all. the muting mist is a nice touch
Some days you just have to believe. A tugging from a distant fish
is like a message from you. Familiar feelings flood over me This all comes in too fast and totally left field
whenever my rod tip bends and dips…or when a letter arrives.
Fish and letters; it’s been a while. Sometimes I think
there’s no fish here at all…but I'll be back tomorrow.  Ok I could be changing my mind a little because I really like this throw away end line that makes what has gone before just what it reads like...just a passing thought. Im not sure, you can decide.

tectak beside an Esk pool 2016

Hope some of this helps, Best Keith

[tectak]

Sorry tectak I missed the first version so I'm gonna crit what I see now, Theres something not quite working for me. The descriptive pieces really work well and set the tone of the day petering away perfectly. In the second half of the poem when you switch to a more reflective commentary all is very nicely rendered but you then introduces us to you and letters, it all just seemed rushed packed into the last four lines, when previously you gave us five to tell us about the setting. I do think the fish letter comparison works I just think it either needs expanding or bringing in earlier. Some notes below. Best Keith  

It's cooler now, beside the stream; my floating line lies traceless. sets the scene well and I can see the dark water masking the line, V nice I'm in.
A mist  crawls down, spring-born in woody fell, spilling like milk. Lovely but it either crawls or it spills I think you should choose and have another look at the phrasing it seems like there is a word missing (Mist spills like milk, spring-born from a wooded fell)
The light, white breath of dying day shifts and shimmies shimmies sound a bit comical but it could just be me
surface sprites above the drift; rising and falling, rising and falling. lovely descriptive verse really takes the reader close up
You get to thinking: it's no good crying...never was.
Another cast or two before the sun gives up its ghosts I would move this line above "you get to thinking" so we now why its no use crying before it happens.
then I will fish no more today. My net hangs empty in the shallows. Nice image and I wondered about a metaphor
What is fishing without fish? A moment now and then of joy Why not make this S2
-- anticipation isn’t what it used to be-- but I need the hook
to pull me, tempt me, keep me to the task...or I am alone.
I see the line twitch but hear nothing. The mist mutes all. the muting mist is a nice touch
Some days you just have to believe. A tugging from a distant fish
is like a message from you. Familiar feelings flood over me This all comes in too fast and totally left field
whenever my rod tip bends and dips…or when a letter arrives.
Fish and letters; it’s been a while. Sometimes I think
there’s no fish here at all…but I'll be back tomorrow.  Ok I could be changing my mind a little because I really like this throw away end line that makes what has gone before just what it reads like...just a passing thought. Im not sure, you can decide.

tectak beside an Esk pool 2016

Hope some of this helps, Best Keith

...a twist a the end of a tail is best kept 'til the end of the tale, my mother always said. I have no idea what the hell she was talking about but a core metaphor should last as long as the poem.
A mist spring-born...new as in spring ( the season of rebirth) and "from a spring" because mist often rises through woodland tree tops from a hidden spring. If it is just born, it crawls like a baby...so crawls. The "spills like milk" is a pictorial link to exemplify how white the mist and how it flows, to the "it's no use crying (over spilt milk)". I guess I am trying too hard.
Thanks, Keith, for you perseverence!
Best,
tectak

[QDeathstar]

It's cooler now, beside the stream; my floating line lies traceless.
A mist  crawls down, spring-born in woody fell, spilling like milk.
The light, white breath of dying day shifts and shimmies
surface sprites above the drift; rising and falling, rising and falling.
You get to thinking: it's no good crying...never was.
Another cast or two before the sun gives up its ghosts
then I will fish no more today. My net hangs empty in the shallows.
What is fishing without fish? A moment now and then of joy
-- anticipation isn’t what it used to be-- but I need the hook
to pull me, tempt me, keep me to the task...or I am alone.
I see the line twitch but hear nothing. The mist mutes all.
Some days you just have to believe. A tugging from a distant fish
is like a message from you. Familiar feelings flood over me
whenever my rod tip bends and dips…or when a letter arrives.
Fish and letters; it’s been a while. Sometimes I think
there’s no fish here at all…but I'll be back tomorrow.  

tectak beside an Esk pool 2016

tektak, this is one of your better ones, for me, which means I can feel attached to it.

It's down to earth... I could easily grasp the emotion, it's no good crying... never was catches me. Nice hook.

Seems like growing old is a growing theme around these forums but the feelings you are able to conjure regarding the loss of appreciation of anticipation through age, and the timelessness of hope, makes this poem one of the better attempts.

However, the first several lines come off sounding like a tounge twister, they wear me out... if that was on purpose, making the reader feel "age", congrats... I felt old and tired after reading those lines. I feel you got too cute with the sounds. floating line lines traceless is especially difficult. giving up the ghost is also cliche.

[tectak]

It's cooler now, beside the stream; my floating line lies traceless.
A mist  crawls down, spring-born in woody fell, spilling like milk.
The light, white breath of dying day shifts and shimmies
surface sprites above the drift; rising and falling, rising and falling.
You get to thinking: it's no good crying...never was.
Another cast or two before the sun gives up its ghosts
then I will fish no more today. My net hangs empty in the shallows.
What is fishing without fish? A moment now and then of joy
-- anticipation isn’t what it used to be-- but I need the hook
to pull me, tempt me, keep me to the task...or I am alone.
I see the line twitch but hear nothing. The mist mutes all.
Some days you just have to believe. A tugging from a distant fish
is like a message from you. Familiar feelings flood over me
whenever my rod tip bends and dips…or when a letter arrives.
Fish and letters; it’s been a while. Sometimes I think
there’s no fish here at all…but I'll be back tomorrow.  

tectak beside an Esk pool 2016

tektak, this is one of your better ones, for me, which means I can feel attached to it.

It's down to earth... I could easily grasp the emotion, it's no good crying... never was catches me.  Nice hook.

Seems like growing old is a growing theme around these forums but the feelings you are able to conjure regarding the loss of appreciation of anticipation through age, and the timelessness of hope, makes this poem one of the better attempts.

However, the first several lines come off sounding like a tounge twister, they wear me out... if that was on purpose, making the reader feel "age", congrats... I felt old and tired after reading those lines. I feel you got too cute with the sounds. floating line lines traceless is especially difficult.  giving up the ghost is also cliche.

Thanks q,
If it made you feel old I failed...if it made you feel lonesome OK, if it made you feel away from home and old and lonesome then great. Yep, there does seem to be a bunch of regret-me-lots in the northern hemisphere right about now...it's been a long winter but spring brings the regret of time passing. I used to write oh woe is me I'm sixty-three stuff, but I'm younger than that now.
I hoped that cliches pulled apart and mixed in to the piece might make the reader hesitate and drink in the poem more deeply...you know what I mean when you  can taste  something familiar but cannot quite say what it is.  That really is why I kept "spilling like milk" away from "no good crying" and why "gives up its ghosts" is the end of sprites lit by sunlight. You win some, you lose some with cliches
Oh, the "line lies traceless" is nothing complicated. Do you fly-fish? A floating line does just that but the trace, no matter how gently it rolls on to the surface with its dry fly attached almost always sinks if it is just on the water for way too long. It happens if you get lost in thought.I gave up fly-fishing when I retired. Who wants to get lost in thought when fish are cheap?
Best,
tectak

[Achebe]

It's cooler now, beside the stream; my floating line lies traceless. ...Reads better with a full stop after "now" and then a comma after "stream", at least to my ear.
A mist  crawls down, spring-born in woody fell, spilling like milk.
The light, white breath of dying day shifts and shimmies ...I think you need enjambment in L2 to avoid the monotony of 3 straight, long sentences. This line in particular, has a problem with double adjectives
surface sprites above the drift; rising and falling, rising and falling. ...
You get to thinking: it's no good crying...never was. ...I don't know how ellipses help in a poem. There are so many other ways to indicate a pause - line breaks, spacing, etc. To me, ellipses indicate that words have been left out.
Another cast or two before the sun gives up its ghosts ...why the plural? either sun gives up its ghost and dies, or the wood gives up its ghosts and they swarm out
then I will fish no more today. My net hangs empty in the shallows. ...From this point on, I must say the poem gets interesting
What is fishing without fish? A moment now and then of joy ...The question is asked, but no answer attempted. RAther than confuse the reader, you might consider replacing the question with a statement such as "fishing without fish:" or "I fish without fish."
-- anticipation isn’t what it used to be-- but I need the hook
to pull me, tempt me, keep me to the task...or I am alone. ...wonderful line. ditch the ellipsis please.
I see the line twitch but hear nothing. The mist mutes all. ...wonderful
Some days you just have to believe. A tugging from a distant fish ...again wonderful
is like a message from you. Familiar feelings flood over me
whenever my rod tip bends and dips…or when a letter arrives.
Fish and letters; it’s been a while. Sometimes I think
there’s no fish here at all…but I'll be back tomorrow.  

tectak beside an Esk pool 2016

The poem sounds like the transcript of a conversation that you're having in your head while fishing. And one of those rare poems where the second half is infinitely superior to the first. Thanks for the read

[Mattp]

tectak - hello! This is my first critique in this forum. I hope you find it useful.

On the whole I like the way this hangs together. There are some aspects I really like, but some of your imagery isn't working for me. In particular -

"A mist crawls down, spring-born in woody fell, spilling like milk."

To me, mist and milk are so dissimilar they don't work as a simile. I can't wrap my head around the image.

"Another cast or two before the sun gives up its ghosts"

Is this a reference to the passing of shadows? I don't get it.

"The mist mutes all"

Not sure if this qualifies as imagery, but does mist mute? I don't know. Gave me pause.

On a more positive note, this line: "whenever my rod tip bends and dips…or when a letter arrives" comes right out of left field and works wonderfully. Loved it. It speaks to the rest of the poem beautifully and simply.

Well done, looking forward to reading more of yours,

- Matt

"

[tectak]

tectak - hello! This is my first critique in this forum. I hope you find it useful.

On the whole I like the way this hangs together. There are some aspects I really like, but some of your imagery isn't working for me. In particular -

"A mist  crawls down, spring-born in woody fell, spilling like milk."

To me, mist and milk are so dissimilar they don't work as a simile. I can't wrap my head around the image.  

"Another cast or two before the sun gives up its ghosts"

Is this a reference to the passing of shadows? I don't get it.

"The mist mutes all"

Not sure if this qualifies as imagery, but does mist mute? I don't know. Gave me pause.

On a more positive note, this line: "whenever my rod tip bends and dips…or when a letter arrives" comes right out of left field and works wonderfully. Loved it. It speaks to the rest of the poem beautifully and simply.

Well done, looking forward to reading more of yours,

- Matt

"

Hi matt and thanks.
You are more than permitted not to "get" imagery. It is my fault if you do not. I write more often than not from an "as seen" stance. The "mik like mist" or "mist like milk" was a spontaneous occurence. At dew point on the day a dense white mist poured slowly down a stream-formed crevice from a moorland copse, and spilled out across the surface of a deep,still loop of the Esk river. The sun caught it. The image was immediate and probably more descriptive than metaphorical.
Swirling white columns lifted from the surface water as the sun dropped and temperature differences caused breezes to shift; the sprites (ghosts) moved into the shade of surrounding trees and vanished...as would they all when the sun dropped. OK...that's the long version How well this scene was encapsulated is a measure of the poetry. Mist DOES mute sound...I have found this many times though I suspect it is not a physical muffling but more a "bending" of sound in static temperature "bands"...like hearing cocks crow or distant church bells on still mornings. Not very poetic...more cold science.
Now, why the explanation. Well, as I said at the beginning, it is an excuse indeed. Think no less of me. This one wrote itself
Best,
tectak