A Girl Through The Glass (edit #2.2)

[Leanne]

Edit #2.2

She's set apart, she's floating upside down.
All else seems right within this verdant town,
the goats to milk and fields of hay to scythe,
deep satisfaction in a farming life —  beginning this line on deep creates a bump in the meter, and you also have a stress on in ("in a" is a very weak iamb).  Then you go on to rhyme life and life between stanzas and it's just not powerful.  I think this line is the one to change.  
a happy world, why does she tumble 'round?

Her feet branch out above her like a crown -- I like this line a great deal.  This concept of displacement and wrongness is strong.
but still a smile when turned becomes a frown,
why would she fret with such a peaceful life?
She's set apart

beneath her house whose roof points at the ground,
below the billow of her azure gown
her face is blank. Her empty arms are lithe
but though her husband's near he sees no wife.
Her head hangs low, in floods the first to drown.
Her part is set.



She sets her part and turns the world her way,
above each high-rise peak and alleyway
the city is her own; she plants her feet,
stance rooted deep to guard against defeat
and draws the bold to join in her soiree.

With street-smarts edging her naiveté
her pages age like slow-sipped cabernet:
tart on the tongue, bouquet complex yet sweet.
She writes her part:

to cherish but move on from yesterday, -- move on seems quite mundane among the more sophisticated language
maintain her joie de vivre, a bit risqué
but cognizant of when to be discreet.
Her husband revels in her grin, replete
upon the bed she's made; they meet halfway
within her heart.


(An attempt. Both Intensive and Mild critique are invited, critic's choice. )

From a form point of view, the retrements are a bother to me.  Most of the reason I really love rondeaux is because of the discipline it requires to keep that refrain working in different ways -- I can accept the reversal "she sets her part/ her part is set" just, although I am not keen and don't see the need for the change, and to a lesser extent I'd overlook "she writes her part" but the final refrain, just no.  Sorry.  A rentrement works like bookends or brackets to contain the poem within, not to set it off in another direction.  

But I like the poem.  I really enjoy the surrealism which juxtaposes against the prosaic nature of the opening scenes, and then displaces the entire poem (subject and all) into a fantasy land which is somehow more solid than the pastoral reality.  The hints of hedonism and danger are contained nicely.  

So it remains just the form I take a bit of issue with.  Simple fixes. 

Disclaimer: I haven't read any of the previous critiques (TLDR) but I probably wouldn't anyway because I just don't care what other people have to say   

[ellajam]

Thanks so much Leanne, that bum line is a new one, I guess I didn't think it through. I'm sure I can fix it, much obliged. I'll think on "move on", I can probably do better.

Ah, the retrements, very solid crit here. I'm always unsure about whether the varitity readers seem to like is worth the trade off. It will be fun for me to try to put this right.

Thanks for the read, Leanne.

[Erthona]

El,

A smoothly written surrealistic poem. Can't say I am fond of the flipped cliche "turn a frown upside down" to "smile when turned becomes a frown", nor the somewhat ad hoc french phrases.

"maintain her joie de vivre, a bit risqué" (even though it is a French form, there is nothing within the poem that sets that up.

both of which are near cliche in themselves.

A bit of a lunacy romp than a nonsense poem. Trees the charm.

Whenever does a husband see his wife?
It's sad but true:
still, it goes the other way too!

dale

[ellajam]

Thanks, Dale, I'll consider those points when I edit, which I have to, maybe with a machete.

I could say joy in life, but risqué I think has become part of the English language. I was looking for a different tone in the second part but that doesn't mean it's working. Much appreciate the read and comments.

[Erthona]

I was thinking that " risqué" stuck out as much for being a cliche as for it being French.

Oh well, c'est la vie!

[nibbed]

She's set apart, she's floating upside down.                      she's separated herself from where she was, though it doesn't seem right or wrong
All else seems right within this verdant town,                      
the goats to milk and fields of hay to scythe,
deep satisfaction in a farming life —
a happy world, why does she tumble 'round?                   good question

Her feet branch out above her like a crown                       that is clever, no, really clever
but still a smile when turned becomes a frown,                     
why would she fret with such a peaceful life?
She's set apart                                                                  floating in a strange existence

beneath her house whose roof points at the ground,
below the billow of her azure gown                                      
her face is blank. Her empty arms are lithe                         maybe is she stunned, or unable to figure something out, or forgets when she does
but though her husband's near he sees no wife.
Her head hangs low, in floods the first to drown.                 
Her part is set.                                                                   a journey



She sets her part and turns the world her way,                  relief from struggle
above each high-rise peak and alleyway
the city is her own; she plants her feet,                              she must control her destiny
stance rooted deep to guard against defeat
and draws the bold to join in her soiree.                             she's not alone forever

With street-smarts edging her naiveté                                she doesn't guard herself enough, but maybe on purpose for a thrill or curiosity?
her pages age like slow-sipped cabernet:                             age, but not
tart on the tongue, bouquet complex yet sweet.
She writes her part:

to cherish but move on from yesterday,
maintain her joie de vivre, a bit risqué                                  there's a reason for the French, but it can't be that simple
but cognizant of when to be discreet.
Her husband revels in her grin, replete                                 he strangely finds pleasure in her sadness, struggle, or inability to be complete
upon the bed she's made; they meet halfway                      troubling last two lines
within her heart.                                                                   but might be true


Hi Ellajam, I am sorry I can't offer much critique, mostly just comments as I see it. I liked your poem. I saw it as a sort of personification in part, but I don't know why, the image was just there in my mind. I imagined the character as a sort of paper sky lantern, blue, floating and tossing about, learning, & trying to remember where & why she should land. I suppose every sky lantern eventually lands, doesn't it? I hope she lands safely and someone finds her and uses her as a paper craft or lights a room with her. I don't want her destroyed on a craggy cliff or tangled in gnarly branches left only to the elements, hanging or falling into pieces of filthy litter. I hope she makes it! I thank you for the read and hope that you find many fine blessings and good fortune wherever you go! Have a great evening.

[ellajam]

Thanks so much for taking your time with this, nibbed. Your response to the final lines will surely help me in my edit. And thanks for the blessings, can't hurt.