Stark Contrast (was Stark) rev #4.

[aschueler]

Version 4


[I am surprised at how stubborn I am on this.  this is attempt #3 to type this in, I hit the wrong button twice and it disappeared.  Anyway, thanks for patience on number of revisions and how long it's taken.  

In mid drought the dark parking lot
extends starkly from the boy and heats 
his face, the sun on his head.

His neck bent, brow on forearm, he pokes
listlessly
at the dried stick
of a dead worm
cooked by sunrise.

The direct sun yields no shadow,
and there is no wind to move the
toasted pine needles.
His sandy sweat sits on him with
no where to go.



Bree of cicadas at the edge of his hearing
draws him over, through a copse of trees.
Here a hidden spring boils up pure white sand
suspended in clear lens water.

The water streams past, 
as it defines the relief
of its shoulders well.

Cold water sheathes his skin as he reaches in.

A sudden wet wind turns leaves over,
beckoning the rain.  And it rains
it rains, it rains.  
Puddles form then rivulet into the stream and it rains
harder, faster, so hard

He thinks he can swim through it.
Up he swims, through the rain
over the trees
past it all.





[v3:  it's changed so much not really sure where it's going]

The silent air rises off black pavement heated
by an afternoon sun that yields no shadow.  
The parking lot extends starkly beyond
the feet of a sad boy who sits, neck bent.  
Drops of sweat that fail against the heat fall
near the brown hollow stick 
of a worm glued by its dried mucous.

Rare winds slide a little sand and toasted 
pine needles in the cracked empty paved lot.  
Bright sun lights everything to an afterimage of itself,
overexposed and bleached.

He knows he has lost or forgot
some innate essential piece of his being.

As his face lifts, sounds cease, the wind dies
Nothing happens.



[version 1]

The bright black pavement bakes back silent heat,
Pulling reluctant drops of sweat
Which drip impotently down,
Drying and leaving its salt on the ground.

The sun has left dried pathos --
The remains of a worm, now a hollow brown
Stick between paving stones;  glued
To the pavement by its desiccated mucous.

Rare, humid winds sometimes move toasted
Pine needles in the sandy lot, the roasting
Heat only stirred.  Everything
Is an afterimage of itself, radiantly shining.

Nothing happens.  The motel fronts heavily
Curtained windows, colored in burnt umber 
With oranges.  The window unit wearily
Labors in the darkened musty room.

A low low buzz, more sensed illusion than real 
Leads around the corner, and in the brush is revealed
The cicadas singing their coarse sibilant song
Defiantly hopeful, gathering around the hidden pond.

The light blue of the spring strikes you first,
A shimmering clear decal stuck here against
Expectations;  negating the starke thirst
of the sand.  Plants, trees hide along the banks.

Although just a small boil, its shoulders
Define the relief of its banks well.  Sand
Dances in the water so much colder
Than expected, tickling your hand.

There is a depth here you can just barely sense, 
But cannot see or measure.
It comes upward while it connects
To and from the greater whole.


[version 2]

[Okay, here is revision #2.  I plan to add back the spring at the end eventually]

The air is still, silent, rising,
heated by the afternoon sun directed
so it yields no shadow.  The parking
lot extends starkly beyond

A sad boy who sits, neck bent,  drops of sweat
impotent against the heat
fall near the dead dried hollow stick
of a worm stuck by its dessicated mucous.

Rare wind slides sand and toasted
pine needles in the empty black paved lot;  
bright sun lights everything to an afterimage of itself,
bleached yet glowing.

He knows he has forever lost or forgotten
some innate essential piece of being.
Sounds ceases, wind dies
Nothing happens.

[Achebe]

Except for the last stanza, which I don't understand (the greater whole?), I liked it. 'Define the relief of the banks well' is smart.
If you end the poem at "hidden pond", even though you lose the line I admired above, I think the poem has a nice conclusion.
And...get rid of the unnecessary alliteration in the first line. It's ugly and does not belong here.

[aschueler]

Except for the last stanza, which I don't understand (the greater whole?), I liked it. 'Define the relief of the banks well' is smart.
If you end the poem at "hidden pond", even though you lose the line I admired above, I think the poem has a nice conclusion.
And...get rid of the unnecessary alliteration in the first line. It's ugly and does not belong here.

Thanks for the response.  I kind of liked the alliteration  .  However, I admit I was being cute.  I will re do that 1st line.

The end might be a different poem, but it fits somewhere.

[Weeded]

[comment:  it's been a long while.  Please be gentle but I know I need the feedback]

The bright black pavement bakes back silent heat,
Pulling reluctant drops of sweat
Which drip impotently down,
Drying and leaving its salt on the ground.

The sun has left dried pathos --
The remains of a worm, now a hollow brown
Stick between paving stones;  glued
To the pavement by its desiccated mucous.

Rare, humid winds sometimes move toasted
Pine needles in the sandy lot, the roasting
Heat only stirred.  Everything
Is an afterimage of itself, radiantly shining.

Nothing happens.  The motel fronts heavily
Curtained windows, colored in burnt umber 
With oranges.  The window unit wearily
Labors in the darkened musty room.

A low low buzz, more sensed illusion than real 
Leads around the corner, and in the brush is revealed
The cicadas singing their coarse sibilant song
Defiantly hopeful, gathering around the hidden pond.

The light blue of the spring strikes you first,
A shimmering clear decal stuck here against
Expectations;  negating the starke thirst
of the sand.  Plants, trees hide along the banks.

Although just a small boil, its shoulders
Define the relief of its banks well.  Sand
Dances in the water so much colder
Than expected, tickling your hand.

There is a depth here you can just barely sense, 
But cannot see or measure.
It comes upward while it connects
To and from the greater whole.

Ok so I originally started on a line by line but I noticed my responses were growing redundant so I abandoned it. Basically I feel like this is prose with line breaks. I dont really see much connection between stanzas, and if I do I wonder how necessary the lengths you went to in order to make the connections are. For example, S1 and S2's connection is the temperature, but what I wonder is do you really need two stanzas to describe how hot it is? One could argue you can rework the first 2 stanzas into two or three lines; don't get me wrong its fine imagery, but I almost feel like every stanza in this poem could be the start to its own poem. I'm also left in bewilderment at the end, not sure what to take from this piece as a whole. I enjoyed the imagery, but maybe break it down and provide a better sense of direction/intention. Thanks for sharing,
Mike

[aschueler]

Thanks for the reply.  There is definitely a re write in the works.  I drew few responses, perhaps because I caused befuddlement?  

I am a little unsure where I am going with this as a whole.  I see what you mean with each stanza possibly being the start of antoher poem;  it's been about 20 yrs since I have put anything down, and I think my brain is a little constipated and trying to get a lot out at the same time.  They are all linked, but I think I can transition that better.

As far as prose goes....I will work on that a little, but I was playing with near rhyme in most stanzas, I had to drop it sometimes but mostly it's there just hidden.  I admit to goofing off little there, it's probably too subtle.  I tend lean more toward Whitman, William Carlos Williams and the like with regard to form.

I think what I might do is put a person in there somewhere, more clearly tying each stanza, and expanding them to make it more cohesive.  

It's meant to be very environmental (not "environmentalist"), and I think I have too much trying to come out at the same time.  For now I will see if I can help others with some workshopping, then throw up a new version when it's ready.  Might take a few weeks.


BTW since I am new, should I send a new version back to mild or go to more serious or ?  I need a barometer.  Thanks.

[QDeathstar]

just put it here.

[Weeded]

aschueler,
Thats awesome you have that problem, and getting all your thoughts out on paper while you're in surplus of them. I'm feelin the opposite lately but I think the length might be one of your issues, most people don't crit a poem if they haven't read the whole thing and this ones pretty long. And for future reference if you make a edit just edit it on your original post, and im pretty sure the workshops are just for how committed you are to the poem and how extensive you want the crit to be(I could be wrong, im still learning too).
Mike

[ellajam]

Hi, asch, I'll give it a go. For me you successfully create a mood and carry it through. I think you've put up some unnecessary roadblocks for the reader, some words that can be pared and for me the capitalization of each line really works against the poem, making it more cryptic than it truly is: off-putting.  Once I committed to plowing through I really liked it. Some suggestions are below.

[comment:  it's been a long while.  Please be gentle but I know I need the feedback]

The bright black pavement bakes back silent heat, No, immediate road block. I'd lose at least "bright", but still too much.
Pulling reluctant drops of sweat
Which drip impotently down,
Drying and leaving its salt on the ground.
For me this whole opening didn't really work: reluctant sweat? drip impotently? Not a hint of how the poem actually will make sense and be so successful if I continue.

The sun has left dried pathos -- dried pathos is not a suitable sound for me, I think you can do better.
The remains of a worm, now a hollow brown Hollow would be a stronger break.
Stick between paving stones;  glued
To the pavement by its desiccated mucous.
Not a fan of pavement after paving. Strong image.

Rare, humid winds sometimes move toasted Odd comma, I'd drop it, and maybe lose humid and sometimes.
Pine needles in the sandy lot, the roasting
Heat only stirred.  Everything
Is an afterimage of itself, radiantly shining.
I'm on the fence on "Heat only stirred, incomplete but I'm not sure that's so bad. Another strong image, especially in the last line.

Nothing happens.  The motel fronts heavily I like everything/nothing.
Curtained windows, colored in burnt umber 
With oranges.  The window unit wearily
Labors in the darkened musty room.
I don't know what "with oranges" bring to the party. The rest of the poem is outside, don't bring me inside for nothing.

A low low buzz, more sensed illusion than real 
Leads around the corner, and in the brush is revealed Maybe a semi or period after corner.
The cicadas singing their coarse sibilant song
Defiantly hopeful, gathering around the hidden pond.

The light blue of the spring strikes you first,
A shimmering clear decal stuck here against
Expectations;  negating the starke thirst Comma after expectations?
of the sand.  Plants, trees hide along the banks.

Although just a small boil, its shoulders
Define the relief of its banks well.  Sand
Dances in the water so much colder
Than expected, tickling your hand.
I'm not sure about the repeat of expects. Here especially those needless upper case words confuse and annoy me.

There is a depth here you can just barely sense, 
But cannot see or measure.
It comes upward while it connects
To and from the greater whole.
Meh on the ending, I could lose it altogether and be satisfied ending above.

So, it turns out I really like this. I hope the crit is not too much, I've just tried to point out what would improve my own  read. Hope this helps.

[aschueler]

Lovely suggestions all. Thanks again.

Although I am disturbed by the suggestion that it was "long". It's not THAT long, we just live in an era where microwaves cook too slowly, and our attention span and focus are broken. And depending on what I do, it might get even longer.

The repeat of expectations was sloppiness. The tickling of the hand is an attempt to pull physical sensation into it, will work on something else. I wasn't happy with it either.

Oranges are a somewhat inside joke I will expand on in the future.

Will take a few weeks at the pace I have to work on "work" versus poetry, so don't think I am ignoring everyone if it takes some time.

[Weeded]

Hey A,
Just wanted to clarify on the length. While I am a bit young(22) I don't think its a generational/attention span thing. I love a poem with content, The Raven is what first inspired me to put pen to paper when I was a little boy. But the thing with that work is despite its length, I finished the poem wanting to read more, so I ended up reading it again. Not comparing anything to such a classic masterpiece, but I'm just trying to say if you're going to make length a priority of sorts, make sure the reader is engaged. I think suspense is great for that, maybe introduce a bit?
Mike

[aschueler]

[Okay, here is revision #2.  I plan to add back the spring at the end eventually]

The air is still, silent, rising,
heated by the afternoon sun directed
so it yields no shadow.  The parking
lot extends starkly beyond

A sad boy who sits, neck bent,  drops of sweat
impotent against the heat
fall near the dead dried hollow stick
of a worm stuck by its dessicated mucous.

Rare wind slides sand and toasted
pine needles in the empty black paved lot;  
bright sun lights everything to an afterimage of itself,
bleached yet glowing.

He knows he has forever lost or forgotten
some innate essential piece of being.
Sounds ceases, wind dies
Nothing happens.

[QDeathstar]

you should also put the edit at the top.

[Okay, here is revision #2.  I plan to add back the spring at the end eventually]

The air is still, silent, rising, still, yes, silent, ok, rising, awkward and opposite
heated by the afternoon sun directed
so it yields no shadow.  Parking the air is directed by the afternoon shadow so it yields no shadow? I interpret this to mean it's suny, but that is a lot of work
lot extends starkly beyond grammatical error here, parking lots or a parking lot

A sad boy who sits, neck bent,  drops of sweat the flow and sound of this lone are nice, perhaps drops of swear could use improvement
impotent against the heatnot a fan of impotent here
fall near the dead dried hollow stick
of a worm stuck by its dessicated mucous. the sounds here aren't worth the wordiness

Rare wind slides sand and toasted
pine needles in the empty black paved lot;  
bright sun lights everything to an afterimage of itself,
bleached yet glowing. and

He knows he has forever lost or forgotten
some innate essential piece of being.
Sounds ceases, wind dies
Nothing happens.

[aschueler]

Thanks, Q.

I need to change that misplaced modifier there. And will also do SOMETHING with still air that moves.

The parking lot was a typo, added a "the"

No one seems to like impotent sweat, although it ties that it's so hot and humid sweating is worthless, please how helpless the boy feels. Will alter it.

Writing was easier when I was younger. I feel like I am trying to use an atrophied limb that refuses to be still.

[QDeathstar]

I would put your edit up top so people don't waste time critiquing your original.

[Apache]

For now I assume that the poem in the original post is now obsolete with this revision? In any case, I will just give my thoughts on this as it is more recent:

[Okay, here is revision #2.  I plan to add back the spring at the end eventually]

The air is still, silent, rising,
heated by the afternoon sun directed
so it yields no shadow.  The parking
lot extends starkly beyond

How can the air be both still and rising? Doesn't rising imply movement? Not that contradictory images are necessarily a bad thing, mind you, but it doesn't feel like it fits with the rest of your poem to introduce these competing ideas in the first line. Also, I think the rhythmic structure of your first stanza is a bit odd:
STILL, SI-lent, RI-sing, HEA-ted by the AF-
That is, the first line has a faster feel to it, which makes the sudden slowdown introduced in the second line feel out of place. 
Also, while different people's mileage may vary on this, I think it's better to try and avoid adverbs (like "starkly" here). Obviously there are situations where they can work well, but as a general rule of thumb you should try and avoid using them as a crutch (this is pretty common advice in writing workshops, by the way, not just a weird personal opinion of mine). 

A sad boy who sits, neck bent,  drops of sweat
impotent against the heat
fall near the dead dried hollow stick
of a worm stuck by its dessicated mucous.

The first line is great. I'm not sure impotent works here, though. Why would the drops of sweat be impotent against the heat?
I also like "the dead dried hollow stick / of a worm" bit, that sounds good. 
However, you spelled "desiccated" wrong. Further, desiccated really just means "dried," and you already described the word as dried in the previous line, so do you really need desiccated at all?

Rare wind slides sand and toasted
pine needles in the empty black paved lot;  
bright sun lights everything to an afterimage of itself,
bleached yet glowing.

I like this stanza. I MIGHT consider changing the word "toasted", or moving the word pine up on to that line to give it a more natural rhythm, but I think this stanza is overall very well crafted. 

He knows he has forever lost or forgotten
some innate essential piece of being.
Sounds ceases, wind dies
Nothing happens.

Again, I think this stanza is well-crafted. No specific complaints about it. I'm not personally 100% sure how it connects to the previous three on my first reading, but that isn't necessarily a bad thing. It is a bit of a haunting ending. 

[REW]

Hi,

I like your build up of contrasts with the damage caused by the scorching heat to the surprise of the refreshing stream.  I noticed that you are capitalizing each line of poetry.  I am under the understanding that this is not an ideal practice.  Capitalizing the start of the stanza or along grammatical constructions might be a better choice.  I also noted many uses of infinitives (ing).  I am under the impression that use of infinitives do not work well in poetry.  I made some edit suggestions to your piece accordingly.  I think your title could use a little more.  I am not sure just the word stark suits the poem as a title.  Perhaps Stark Contrast? 

There was a previous comment about a reader not understanding the ending.  I think I understand the marvel of this stream coming from within, a surprise from the planet's inner secrets so to speak.  I feel a little romance there and am going to suggest a little along those lines, a romantic reverence for Earth who provided this stream.  There are many great descriptive details in this.  I could feel the heat  

[comment:  it's been a long while.  Please be gentle but I know I need the feedback]

The bright black pavement bakes back silent heat,
Pulling pulls reluctant drops of sweat
Which drip impotently down,
Drying and leaving its salt on the ground.

The sun has left dried pathos --
The remains of a worm, now a hollow brown
Stick between paving stones;  glued
To the pavement by its desiccated mucous. (I think you can do without the extra description here).

Rare, humid winds sometimes move toasted
Pine needles in the sandy lot, the roasting
Heat only stirred.  Everything
Is an afterimage of itself, radiantly shining. I think your choice of radiantly shining here is problematic as radiant implies something beautiful and wonderful while you are emphasizing the damage of the heat.

Nothing happens.  The motel fronts heavily I think you could cut this stanza as I don't feel it adds to the poem other than cause wonder
Curtained windows, colored in burnt umber as to why the narrator is not in there.
With oranges.  The window unit wearily
Labors in the darkened musty room.

A low low buzz, more sensed illusion than real 
Leads around the corner, and in the brush is revealed
The cicadas singing their coarse sibilant song singing cicadas are revealed
Defiantly hopeful, gathering ed around the hidden pond.

The light blue of the spring strikes you first is striking,
A shimmering clear decal stuck here against
all Expectations;  negating the starke (spelling of stark?) thirst
of the sand.  Plants, trees hide along the banks.

Although just a small boil, its shoulders
Define the relief of its banks well.  Sand (You already said sand.  Cold ripples?).
Dance in the water so much colder
Than expected, tickle your hand. (You already used expectations in your previous stanza).

There is a depth here you can just barely sense, 
But cannot see or measure.
It comes upward while it connects
To and from the greater whole.

[aschueler]

Thanks for your reply, apparently i need to show the new version better.

I think I can put them up top together....

The title will have to stay.. . Its meant to be empty.

[aschueler]

Update posted, pls let me know if this works better

[Lizzie]

[quote='aschueler' pid='200950' dateline='1449427092']
Version 4



In mid drought the dark parking lot
extends starkly from the boy and heats -- I think that 'extends starkly and heats the boy's face' would read better. I'm not sure that you need 'sun on his head' since you highlight the baking sun at the beginning of the third stanza.
his face, the sun on his head.

His neck bent, brow on forearm, he pokes
listlessly
at the dried stick
of a dead worm -- this image is so surprising. Very evocative.
cooked by sunrise. -- I like how "cooked" meshes with "toasted." Not sure that you need "sunrise" since we all know what's doing the cooking.

The direct sun yields no shadow, -- I think you could choose a different modifier that highlights aloneness, stagnation, loss.
and there is no wind to move the
toasted pine needles. -- more good imagery here
His sandy sweat sits on him with
no where to go. -- Not sure about sandy, but liking all the rest. I don't think that you need to modify the sweat because the image of it sitting with nowhere to go is enough to carry the metaphor in my opinion. I think that sandy is actually distracting.



Bree of cicadas at the edge of his hearing
draws him over, through a copse of trees.
Here a hidden spring boils up pure white sand
suspended in clear lens water.

The water streams past, 
as it defines the relief
of its shoulders well.

Cold water sheathes his skin as he reaches in.


A sudden wet wind turns leaves over, -- like this image of hands lifted to the sky
beckoning the rain.  And it rains
it rains, it rains.  
Puddles form then rivulet into the stream and it rains
harder, faster, so hard -- the action seems to pick up here.

He thinks he can swim through it. --I'd put a colon here. I like how this final stanza wraps things up using the momentum of swimming to give a sense that he's leaving the past behind.
Up he swims, through the rain
over the trees
past it all.

---

 I wish you'd bring back "nothing happens." It was so deliciously bleak and nihilistic.

Apart from that, I do like this version the best. For me, you're moving in the right direction.

Enjoyed the read!

lizziep

[aschueler]

[quote='aschueler' pid='200950' dateline='1449427092']
Version 4



In mid drought the dark parking lot
extends starkly from the boy and heats -- I think that 'extends starkly and heats the boy's face' would read better. I'm not sure that you need 'sun on his head' since you highlight the baking sun at the beginning of the third stanza.
his face, the sun on his head.

His neck bent, brow on forearm, he pokes
listlessly
at the dried stick
of a dead worm -- this image is so surprising. Very evocative.
cooked by sunrise. -- I like how "cooked" meshes with "toasted." Not sure that you need "sunrise" since we all know what's doing the cooking.

The direct sun yields no shadow, -- I think you could choose a different modifier that highlights aloneness, stagnation, loss.
and there is no wind to move the
toasted pine needles. -- more good imagery here
His sandy sweat sits on him with
no where to go. -- Not sure about sandy, but liking all the rest. I don't think that you need to modify the sweat because the image of it sitting with nowhere to go is enough to carry the metaphor in my opinion. I think that sandy is actually distracting.



Bree of cicadas at the edge of his hearing
draws him over, through a copse of trees.
Here a hidden spring boils up pure white sand
suspended in clear lens water.

The water streams past, 
as it defines the relief
of its shoulders well.

Cold water sheathes his skin as he reaches in.


A sudden wet wind turns leaves over, -- like this image of hands lifted to the sky
beckoning the rain.  And it rains
it rains, it rains.  
Puddles form then rivulet into the stream and it rains
harder, faster, so hard -- the action seems to pick up here.

He thinks he can swim through it. --I'd put a colon here. I like how this final stanza wraps things up using the momentum of swimming to give a sense that he's leaving the past behind.
Up he swims, through the rain
over the trees
past it all.

---

 I wish you'd bring back "nothing happens." It was so deliciously bleak and nihilistic.

Apart from that, I do like this version the best. For me, you're moving in the right direction.

Enjoyed the read!

lizziep

Very good suggestions, thanks lizzie!  didn't think about the parking lot extending from the boy, as it were, until you mentioned that line;  makes me think I subconsciously see the parking lot emanate from him.  Hmmm.

The sunrise part was trying, too hard I guess, to express how worms come out in pre dawn to but then get baked suddenly when the sun comes out.

Sandy sweat is annoying sweat, that's why I put that there...will re think.  

Considering since its inception adding -- somehow -- the noise that comes with still heating like the ticking of iron.  But so far I can't figure it out so I have left it.