"Some Enchanted Evening" edit 1.0 markabec

[tectak]

The tear that crawls upon my cheek
feels wet and colder than my skin.
It salts my lips in falling and tastes new to me.
No dewy drops have ever run before;
when music played, I listened and I heard,
but felt no change, no heightened state,
no deep regrets.

Why now? When music plays-old tunes, old words-
I know I’ve found emotion's seat.
In truth this briny essence seeps
and weeps those thoughts I once thought dead.
Yet wickedly, at this late hour, in angst I find
that memories are saved and salted, preserved
within my mind.

In me there lives a thought new born.
I hold it tenderly, for it is a mewling child.
This infant sentience, part of me,
is never happy, always sad; yet fittingly,
it seems.

A paradox, maybe… I smile through tears;
a nitrous oxide moment, in a mirrored glimpse
of half-formed, former dreams.
I now see how it is and how it might have been.
The music lifts me high above my mortal form,
my soul is gently raised , then taut becomes
the saving Silver Cord.

How sweet the honeyed baritone,
smooth and sure of pitch.
The minor keys drift distantly,
but somehow match —then fit—
my played-out, mixed up memories of those useless,
youthful years.

In outline I remember many things,
yet not the things themselves,
just the bonded tight emotions...
While “Some Enchanted Evening” plays
I sink into my chair of dreams
and open up the locks that held.
Out pours the raw emotions
from all  those egos  I have been,
yet  never truly was. How can it be
that  music played my life...but all I was
became an old, old song?

tectak2010

[Mark A Becker]

Hey Tom-

Sounds like you are starting to be you again, and I mean that in a good way.

One gut reaction is that I can easily relate to is your age and mine being very close, so I know that I'm the "right" audience for this piece.  Younger ears will have a very difficult time with the content, but I hope that doesn't stop anyone from offering (actual) critique.    

Two reads ain't enough yet for me to offer any serious crit, but I did want to comment so that you know I am considering how best to respond.

Fair enough?  Hope so.  More later,
... Mark

PS: I did not see the "2010" until after I commented...

[Mark A Becker]

Hey Tom- I took liberties, by subtraction, below:

Tears that crawl upon my cheek
are wet and colder than my skin and taste
new to me. Before, when music played, I felt
no deep regrets, no heightened states.

Why now, when music plays, do I find
emotion's seat?  Those thoughts I thought
were dead, at this late hour, are all
saved and salted in my mind.

I smile through tears of half-formed,
former dreams, and now see how music
lifts me high above my mortal form,
my soul is gently raised, then taught.

How sweet the honeyed baritone,
smooth and sure of pitch.
The minor keys drift distantly,
but somehow match, then fit.

My played-out, mixed up memories
of those useless, youthful years:
I remember many things,
yet not the things themselves,

just the bonded tight emotions.
“Some enchanted evening”, I will sink
into my chair of dreams, and open
up the locks ,and out will pour

the raw emotions from all  those egos  
I have been, yet never truly was.
How can it be that music played my life
but all I was became an old, old song?

[tectak]

Hey Tom- I took liberties, by subtraction, below:

Tears that crawl upon my cheek
are wet and colder than my skin and taste
new to me. Before, when music played, I felt
no deep regrets, no heightened states.

Why now, when music plays, do I find
emotion's seat?  Those thoughts I thought
were dead, at this late hour, are all
saved and salted in my mind.

I smile through tears of half-formed,
former dreams, and now see how music
lifts me high above my mortal form,
my soul is gently raised, then taught.

How sweet the honeyed baritone,
smooth and sure of pitch.
The minor keys drift distantly,
but somehow match, then fit.

My played-out, mixed up memories
of those useless, youthful years:
I remember many things,
yet not the things themselves,

just the bonded tight emotions.
“Some enchanted evening”, I will sink
into my chair of dreams, and open
up the locks ,and out will pour

the raw emotions from all  those egos  
I have been, yet never truly was.
How can it be that music played my life
but all I was became an old, old song?

...but Mark, where is my Silver Cord? It is "taut" as tight not "taught" as learned
Best,
tectak

[Mark A Becker]

Dang Tom-

I went crazy  subtracting and cut the Silver Cord, which is an important metaphysical element, I suppose. "Taught" vs "taut" is my spell check  error, as the original contains the word written as "taut".  

I could un-cut the Cord, but it ain't my poem, and I've already taken too many liberties.

Anywho, the general crit is to remove enough words to let this one sing.  

What I really want to see is your revision, my friend.  Please understand I do no crit with fore thought of malice, unless I'm just a prick at heart (and that could be possible).

All that said, since I like this piece very much, I want to like it more.

ya da, ya da, you know what I mean,
... Mark


[/quote]

...but Mark, where is my Silver Cord? It is "taut" as tight not "taught" as learned
Best,
tectak
[/quote]

[Mark A Becker]

quote='Mark A Becker' pid='195804' dateline='1440099218']
Hey Tom- I re-inserted the Silver Cord, by addition, below:

Tears that crawl upon my cheek are
colder than my skin and taste new to me
now. Before, as music played, I felt
no deep regrets, no heightened states.

Why now, when music plays, do I find
emotion's seat?  Those thoughts I thought
were dead, at this late hour, are all there
saved and salted in my mind.

I smile through strange new tears
of half-formed dreams, and see now
how the Silver Cord, will soon enough
be severed from my mortal form.

“Some enchanted evening”
I will sink into my chair of dreams,
and open up the locks, and out will pour
the raw emotions of the person

I have been, yet never truly was.
How can it be that music moved
my days a long, but all I ever was
became an old, old song?


(hope not outta line)

[tectak]

Hey Tom- I re-inserted the Silver Cord, by addition, below:

Tears that crawl upon my cheek
are wet and colder than my skin and taste
new to me. Before, when music played, I felt
no deep regrets, no heightened states.

Why now, when music plays, do I find
emotion's seat?  Those thoughts I thought
were dead, at this late hour, are all
saved and salted in my mind.

I smile through tears of half-formed,
former dreams, and see now how
the Silver Cord, though taut, must soon
be severed from my mortal form.Holy shit, that's a bit heavy. I'm not dead yet...I just get a bit weepy over music

How sweet the honeyed baritone,
smooth and sure of pitch.
The minor keys drift distantly,
but somehow match, then fit.

My played-out, mixed up memories
of those useless, youthful years:
I remember many things,
yet not the things themselves,

just the bonded tight emotions.
“Some enchanted evening”, I will sink
into my chair of dreams, and open
up the locks ,and out will pour

the raw emotions from all  those egos  
I have been, yet never truly was.
How can it be that music played my life
but all I was became an old, old song?

I get the feeling you like this......

[Mark A Becker]

Hey Tom-- I cut even deeper. You must have responded while I was mid-edit...

Tears that crawl upon my cheek are
colder than my skin and taste new to me
now. Before, as music played, I felt
no deep regrets, no heightened states.

Why now, when music plays, do I find
emotion's seat? Those thoughts I thought
were dead, at this late hour, are all there
saved and salted in my mind.

I smile through strange new tears
of half-formed dreams, and see now
how the Silver Cord, will soon enough
be severed from my mortal form.

“Some enchanted evening”
I will sink into my chair of dreams,
and open up the locks, and out will pour
the raw emotions of the person

I have been, yet never truly was.
How can it be that music moved
my days a long, but all I ever was
became an old, old song?

Hey Tom- I re-inserted the Silver Cord, by addition, below:

Tears that crawl upon my cheek
are wet and colder than my skin and taste
new to me. Before, when music played, I felt
no deep regrets, no heightened states.

Why now, when music plays, do I find
emotion's seat?  Those thoughts I thought
were dead, at this late hour, are all
saved and salted in my mind.

I smile through tears of half-formed,
former dreams, and see now how
the Silver Cord, though taut, must soon
be severed from my mortal form.Holy shit, that's a bit heavy. I'm not dead yet...I just get a bit weepy over music

How sweet the honeyed baritone,
smooth and sure of pitch.
The minor keys drift distantly,
but somehow match, then fit.

My played-out, mixed up memories
of those useless, youthful years:
I remember many things,
yet not the things themselves,

just the bonded tight emotions.
“Some enchanted evening”, I will sink
into my chair of dreams, and open
up the locks ,and out will pour

the raw emotions from all  those egos  
I have been, yet never truly was.
How can it be that music played my life
but all I was became an old, old song?

I get the feeling you like this......  

[tectak]

Hey Tom-- I cut even deeper.  You must have responded while I was mid-edit...

Tears that crawl upon my cheek are
colder than my skin and taste new to me
now. Before, as music played, I felt
no deep regrets, no heightened states.

Why now, when music plays, do I find
emotion's seat?  Those thoughts I thought
were dead, at this late hour, are all there
saved and salted in my mind.

I smile through strange new tears
of half-formed dreams, and see now
how the Silver Cord, will soon enough
be severed from my mortal form.

“Some enchanted evening”
I will sink into my chair of dreams,
and open up the locks, and out will pour
the raw emotions of the person

I have been, yet never truly was.
How can it be that music moved
my days a long, but all I ever was
became an old, old song?

I get the feeling you like this......  

Control yourself....I am now unsure who we  both are. Let's reassign ourselves Now...you can be the crit again and I will be the author who edits
Seriously though, a cut too deep will make bits fall away that are structural. The silver cord is the out-of-body tether and an essential metaphorical tie...not just because of the cord/chord thing but because the whole piece is built around a song sung by a baritone (Georgio Tozzi), "Some enchanted evening". Of course, the whole piece, like any other, can be pared to death. In this case:

"Music makes me weep these days, it never did before.
Sometimes one song will set me off, sometimes it takes more"

..but where's the fun in that.
Best,
tectak (Shit, I like the short version...you wanna add to it?)

[Mark A Becker]

Tom-

I will use your poem, which I "shredded", for a future poem of my own.

Then, I hope you will return the "favor"

.... Mark

PS: I am quite familiar with the tune: I believe it was also covered by Perry Como, among many others.  Most say the Tozzi version is the "killer". My own ears are prone to all kinds of stuff bubbling up outta nowhere, causing leaky eye ducts.

Best,
tectak (Shit, I like the short version...you wanna add to it?)
[/quote]