A poem which has baffled me as to how long it should be and which bits are important/not. Thanks in advance for feedback!
Stacks[/b]
Spines tear eventually
with great difficulty.
But see the ease of the checkout boy
who whipcracks open a plastic bag.
[ five pence well spent ]
Save my wrist strength for ripping
through tomes.
Time to return home.
[ The flat is four minutes from the supermarket not including a further minute for the lift and key fob fumbling, I save seconds everyday forgoing my letterbox ]
Pace fast glance only briefly at faces,
and never higher,
I warn you. I have a protractor;
don't tilt to the sixth, twelfth, eightieth stories,
cricking the neck to look
to the top of the glass sarcophagus.
The others, do they gaze up
Is one of them the mouth that will say:
mmmm skyscraper i love you!
Only a true story if
you work in postcard design, crane rental
or the manufacture of tuned mass dampers.
[ to soothe doomy office workers. ]
Perhaps they gather at set time; surround
the orb and pray. Those on lunch breaks turn to
face the building and blow sky kisses.
[ I'm being ridiculous ]
No matter,
just keep the cervical curve in check.
The paving stones will always be there to catch me.
Due to time constraints I have to take the lift;
simply a cheap iron coffin,
for up to 10 residents
to drown in together.
I have neighbours like a dog has fleas
like a teenage has spots
like a funeral has grief
Anyway, it's dinner time not simile time;
[ I must watch myself ]
I fold up the bag carefully and add it to the plastic totem.
I microwave all the food which gives me
4 minutes to page tear from a Wolfe.
I take the ingredients and place them in the centre of the page,
[ I think about an advert I saw earlier ]
fold the leaf carefully into a fat wonton
just the right size to be swallowed whole,
[I sometimes feel like a nested bird]
but it tastes fine and
it goes down easy.
[ and steadies my undreamed sadness from blowing free in the wind ]
Stacks
Spines tear eventually,
with some difficulty.
But see the ease of the checkout boy
who whipcracks open a plastic bag.
[ five pence well spent ]
Save my wrist strength for ripping
through tomes.
Time to return home.
The flat is four minutes from the supermarket not
including a further minute for the lift and key
fob fumbling.
[ I save seconds every day forgoing my letterbox ]
Pace fast, glance at faces,
never higher, I warn you.
I have a protractor;
don't tilt to the seventh, eleventh, eightieth stories,
cricking the neck to look
to the vertex of that glass sarcophagus.
The others, do they gaze up?
Do they weep and say:
mmm... skyscraper I love you!
Only a true story if
you work in postcard design, crane rental
or the manufacture of tuned mass dampers.
[ to soothe doomy office workers ]
Perhaps they gather at a set time; surround
the orb and pray. Those on lunch breaks turn to
face the building and blow sky kisses.
[ I'm being ridiculous ]
No matter,
just keep the cervical curve in check.
Paving stones are always there to catch me.
Due to time constraints I have to take the lift;
a steel coffin suitable
for up to ten residents
to drown in together.
I have neighbours like a dog has fleas
like a teenager has spots
like a funeral has grief
Anyway, it's dinner time not simile time;
[ I must watch myself ]
I fold the bag, add it to the blossoming pile
[ a plastic totem ]
I microwave all the food which gives me
five minutes to tear pages from Wolfe.
I take the ingredients and place them in the centre of the page,
[ I whistle a wormy advertising jingle ]
fold the leaf carefully into a fat wonton
just the right size to be swallowed whole
[ I sometimes feel like a nested bird ]
the flavour's forgivable and
it goes down easy.
[ and steadies my undreamed sadness from blowing free ]
(09-11-2016, 12:22 AM)Donald Q. Wrote: A poem which has baffled me as to how long it should be and which bits are important/not. Thanks in advance for feedback!
Stacks
Spines tear eventually
with great difficulty.
But see the ease of the checkout boy -- I think you can condense this simile or metaphor. Comparing spines to plastic bags is interesting, but it may work better with fewer words.
who whipcracks open a plastic bag.
[ five pence well spent ]
Save my wrist strength for ripping
through tomes. -- I guess tomes generally has a humorous connotation.
Time to return home.
[ The flat is four minutes from the supermarket not including a further minute for the lift and key fob fumbling, I save seconds everyday forgoing my letterbox ]
Pace fast glance only briefly at faces,
and never higher,
I warn you. I have a protractor;
don't tilt to the sixth, twelfth, eightieth stories,
cricking the neck to look
to the top of the glass sarcophagus. -- OK the topic seems to be like a stream of consciousness from the point of view of a sort of tech guy.
The others, do they gaze up
Is one of them the mouth that will say:
mmmm skyscraper i love you! -- Now it almost sounds as if this is written from the skyscraper's point of view.
Only a true story if
you work in postcard design, crane rental
or the manufacture of tuned mass dampers. -- This is intriguing industrial-type writing.
[ to soothe doomy office workers. ]
Perhaps they gather at set time; surround
the orb and pray. Those on lunch breaks turn to
face the building and blow sky kisses.
[ I'm being ridiculous ]
No matter,
just keep the cervical curve in check.
The paving stones will always be there to catch me. -- Now it sounds like a suicide poem.
Due to time constraints I have to take the lift;
simply a cheap iron coffin,
for up to 10 residents
to drown in together.
I have neighbours like a dog has fleas
like a teenage has spots
like a funeral has grief
Anyway, it's dinner time not simile time;
[ I must watch myself ]
I fold up the bag carefully and add it to the plastic totem.
I microwave all the food which gives me
4 minutes to page tear from a Wolfe.-- Not sure what you mean by Wolfe. Virginia Wolfe?
I take the ingredients and place them in the centre of the page,
[ I think about an advert I saw earlier ]
fold the leaf carefully into a fat wonton
just the right size to be swallowed whole,
[I sometimes feel like a nested bird] -- This nested bird comparison is interesting and could be flushed out, but I think doing too much of that here would clutter things.
but it tastes fine and
it goes down easy.
[ and steadies my undreamed sadness from blowing free in the wind ]
First off, while I'm critiquing you, I'm being a hypocrite because I am prolific producer of crappy writing. I also don't believe there are any hard and fast rules to creative things.
This poem has some cool language and interesting comparisons, such as the neighbors like fleas bit, the part about postcard designers, and the bit about a cluttered house being like a bird's nest.
That being said, in my mind, the main issue here is clarity. I'm confused about what this poem is really about. I think being very clear about what you're trying to say here will help get this poem into a better condition. Maybe start by defining what the poem is about in the title? I'm not sure what you mean by stacks. That's my main suggestion, which I hope provides something useful for editing. If other people comment and get your poem, clarity may not be an issue, but at that point, you should have something to work with. Good luck.
I'm assuming stacks refers to stacks of books (as well as "library stacks"), stacks of stories in a building,
stacks of pages in a book, stories in a book, a life, and various metaphors for abstracts -- stacks of
thoughts, feelings etc.
Kudos, I've never seen "tuned mass dampers" used in a poem before (and you've even included its
concomitant "orb"!). But, call me old-fashioned, I'm thinking it's use is a bit too esoteric.
"like a teenage has spots" -- "teenager"?
... or Tom Wolfe
The poem makes half-decent, even linear, sense to me, but I have a tendency to construct my own
fanciful narratives and willfully misinterpret any bits that get in the way.
Anyway... a very interesting poem. I love its metafictional bent, it's solid imagery, and the thorough
job you've done in extending its metaphor too much. I intend to mull it over a bit and return with
some trenchant crits based on my willful misinterpretations.
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
Hi Donald! So, this is obviously not the first poem you've ever written! I enjoyed it immensely, actually.
Like Ray, I'm also not having any trouble entering into the scenes through the details provided. I don't have any idea what the poem "means," but I'm not bothered by that if you're not.
(09-11-2016, 12:22 AM)Donald Q. Wrote: A poem which has baffled me as to how long it should be and which bits are important/not. Thanks in advance for feedback!
Stacks -- I would try to think of a title that wasn't so static. There's a lot of movement in the piece, and maybe you could reflect that in the title. Yet, I see that the stacks are like paperweights, yes? Holding everything intact? So, I feel conflicted: I think it appropriately tells me what the poem is about, but it doesn't compel me to read the poem. If I was flipping through an anthology, this title wouldn't seduce me.
Spines tear eventually
with great difficulty. -- it's personal preference here, but I don't like when a poem opens with something that feels like a summary statement or a wrap up of a plot. I like to be immediately introduced to imagery to help me get into the scene, and then you can start to throw Confucius at me. But, I do like how the difficulty bit moves so elegantly into the next stanza.
But see the ease of the checkout boy
who whipcracks open a plastic bag.
[ five pence well spent ]
Save my wrist strength for ripping -- the book lover in me says nooooo!
through tomes. -- great detail and sonics in this stanza. Very solid.
Time to return home. -- I don't know if the mention of the wrist (as in wristwatch) in the previous stanza was an intentional warning that time's a wastin', but for me that made this another nice transition between stanzas.
[ The flat is four minutes from the supermarket not including a further minute for the lift and key fob fumbling, I save seconds everyday forgoing my letterbox ] -- regarding the space before 'four,' I would make it larger if it is meant to be intentional. As it is, it looks like a mistake. Also, I love what you're doing with switching up the tone of the speaker's voice. The bits in brackets are my favorites, throughout -- I feel like I'm privy to their secrets. I like the sense of intimacy that this creates, especially since I feel like an ultimate "meaning" is being withheld, this keeps the poem from not engaging me or being simply infuriating.
Pace fast glance only briefly at faces, -- the choppiness of this line isn't working for me, although I do understand that you want to cultivate tension at this point. I think you should at least drop a comma after 'fast' for the sake of readability, but I'm also not in love with 'briefly.' Adverbs are tricky. I'm not even sure that you need it actually, because a glance is by nature brief. If it were my line I would phrase it: Pace fast, glance only at faces.
and never higher,
I warn you. I have a protractor; -- this is just delicious, the idea of a protractor as an intimidating weapon
don't tilt to the sixth, twelfth, eightieth stories,
cricking the neck to look -- cricking is a great word. It's cringetastic.
to the top of the glass sarcophagus.
The others, do they gaze up -- should there be a question mark at the end of this line?
Is one of them the mouth that will say:
mmmm skyscraper i love you! -- literally laughed out loud at this line. I love a poem that makes me laugh because something was well done, not because it was so bad!
Only a true story if
you work in postcard design, crane rental
or the manufacture of tuned mass dampers.
[ to soothe doomy office workers. ] -- love the 'doomy' modifier
Perhaps they gather at set time; surround
the orb and pray. Those on lunch breaks turn to
face the building and blow sky kisses.
[ I'm being ridiculous ]
No matter,
just keep the cervical curve in check.
The paving stones will always be there to catch me. -- this feels ominous, like foreshadowing a suicide or a fire where one leaps to their death, perhaps?
Due to time constraints I have to take the lift; -- I like the time repetitions throughout -- I'm sure there's some "meaning" in there that I haven't found yet.
simply a cheap iron coffin, 'glass sarcophagus' and then 'iron coffin.' I think it's interesting that you use the word cheap; is the lift rickety? I would think that glass would be cheaper material than iron, but more expensive to build with? No criticism here, just letting you know that the mind wonders all sorts of things around these issues, and, depending on your motives for the write, you may view this as satisfying or otherwise.
for up to 10 residents
to drown in together. -- I like the continued feeling of foreboding. And I like how you've tempered that with the conversational flow so that there's an underlying tremor but not any full on panic.
I have neighbours like a dog has fleas
like a teenage has spots -- I also raised an eyebrow at 'teenage'
like a funeral has grief -- loving books and hating neighbors is something I think a lot of poetry readers can relate to
Anyway, it's dinner time not simile time;
[ I must watch myself ] -- what I like about this is that it shows some swagger as a writer to put the cleverness out there nakedly, but you do run the risk of beating people over the head with that time theme. Although, I do like how it signals that we're moving into more of an action sequence.
I fold up the bag carefully and add it to the plastic totem.
I microwave all the food which gives me
4 minutes to page tear from a Wolfe. -- I'd prefer: 4 minutes to tear a page from Wolfe. I don't think you need to specify which Wolfe -- I think that this piece is content with letting people wonder a bit.
This stanza almost gives me a feeling like a bomb is being prepared, like the speaker has bought the needed ingredients, rushed home to avoid distractions or veering off course, rehearsed what needs to be done and now it's just 'go time.'
I take the ingredients and place them in the centre of the page,
[ I think about an advert I saw earlier ] -- it might be nice to include one detail about the advert that relates it to the narrative. Why was it memorable?
fold the leaf carefully into a fat wonton
just the right size to be swallowed whole,
[I sometimes feel like a nested bird] -- this is my favorite line in the poem. I like how it (and the one about the advert earlier) keep the action from moving too quickly or becoming boring. This 'confession' here, feels somehow pivotal because of its placement. I like how 'nested' seems to link with the stacked theme. However, I don't know how a nested bird feels, so I'm lacking that essential sense of, 'yes, I know what you're talking about,' 'yes, I see truth here.' I think that you're getting away with the ambiguity everywhere else, but this bit needs to speak plainly to the reader. That (imo) is your opportunity to push this whole poem right over the top. In a good way
but it tastes fine and -- 'tastes fine' is a little weak. It doesn't add anything in my opinion. I would add a more evocative word here or cut the line.
it goes down easy.
[ and steadies my undreamed sadness from blowing free in the wind ] -- I think that "in the wind" should be cut. It's implied. Also, 'blowing in the wind' sounds a bit cliche, but blowing free sounds nice to my ear.
I hope that some of my ramblings help a little! I look forward to reading your edits!
I see that lizziep has done a great line-by-liner for you - not much to add, except that second line in the third stanza bugs me - I can't find a reason for it to head off into the hills by itself.
This felt at first to me like a stream-of-consciousness of someone suffering a form of obsessive/compulsive disorder, with a bit of the misanthropist tossed in for good measure. Then, on rereading, I think it's just the mind of a writer. Tom or Virginia Wolfe?
I'm fascinated by the 'ingredients' that are folded into a sheet of paper, and swallowed. Maybe those were the incidents noted in the narrator's walk, and the poem on the page is the result of combining them. This leaves me with a great paradox, of the thing itself being about the creation of the thing itself, because it couldn't actually be that thing until it was created, and round and round again.
I enjoyed this, thanks for posting, I'll be back to check on revisions.
Thank you all for this great feedback, really overwhelmingly helpful response to the first poem I've posted here! My only shame being my spelling mistake you all noticed, whoops.
I'm currently working on some edits and looking forward to presenting it again. Cheers!
(09-14-2016, 10:39 PM)Donald Q. Wrote: Thank you all for this great feedback, really overwhelmingly helpful response to the first poem I've posted here! My only shame being my spelling mistake you all noticed, whoops.
I'm currently working on some edits and looking forward to presenting it again. Cheers!
You're entirely welcome. (Not that I was much help, but I'm always willing to accept thanks.)
And don't forget to take advantage of our brand new button for hiding, while still saving, previous versions.
(Keeping previous versions posted is a custom in "Serious Workshopping" because it reduces later critiquers' confusion.)
Here it is, click on it:
here's what you type in to get it to work: ignore "code:", don't type it in.
Code:
[pre verse]
your previous version
gets pasted in
here
your previous previous version
gets pasted in
here
[/pre verse]
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
Alright folks, a second edit is here; deffo not the finished product yet but some changes made, glad to hear any more comments it brings.
Not sure why it's all in bold though, can't seem to get it to look normal. I must be an old person who has forgotten how to make the internet do what I want.
(09-28-2016, 04:02 AM)Donald Q. Wrote: Alright folks, a second edit is here; deffo not the finished product yet but some changes made, glad to hear any more comments it brings.
Not sure why it's all in bold though, can't seem to get it to look normal. I must be an old person who has forgotten how to make the internet do what I want.
Code:
Change this line at the first:
[b][color=#333333][size=small][font=Monaco, Consolas, Courier, monospace][pre verse][/font][/size][/color]Stacks[/b]
to this:
[pre verse] [b]Stacks[/b]
and the bold problem will go away
I like the changes.
But (in both versions) that last line bothers me:
[ and steadies my undreamed sadness from blowing free ]
Ending it on:
it goes down easy.
seems much better to me.
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
(09-28-2016, 04:02 AM)Donald Q. Wrote: Alright folks, a second edit is here; deffo not the finished product yet but some changes made, glad to hear any more comments it brings.
Not sure why it's all in bold though, can't seem to get it to look normal. I must be an old person who has forgotten how to make the internet do what I want.
Code:
Change this line at the first:
[b][color=#333333][size=small][font=Monaco, Consolas, Courier, monospace][pre verse][/font][/size][/color]Stacks[/b]
to this:
[pre verse] [b]Stacks[/b]
and the bold problem will go away
I like the changes.
But (in both versions) that last line bothers me:
[ and steadies my undreamed sadness from blowing free ]
Ending it on:
it goes down easy.
seems much better to me.
Cheers Ray you wiz.
Yeah, I've had my doubts about the last line. Often I try to avoid having big unearned sweeping turns at the end of a poem, I think perhaps that last line is guilty of that. Might have to axe it in a next version.
First, this is my first post here so apologies if it's not yet up to the level of critique offered by the veterans. With that said, I will reiterate that you clearly have a solid piece of work here. I really enjoyed it, though in truth I think that having the brackets creates a bit of interruption at times.
Time to return home.
The flat is four minutes from the supermarket not
including a further minute for the lift and key
fob fumbling. [ I save seconds every day forgoing my letterbox ]
In the above case I think it provides a useful dynamic and a visualization of the time saved; however, there are some cases where I feel the lines stand strongly for themselves. One example:
The others, do they gaze up? Do they weep and say: mmm... skyscraper I love you! Only a true story if you work in postcard design, crane rental or the manufacture of tuned mass dampers. [ to soothe doomy office workers ] Perhaps they gather at a set time; surround the orb and pray. Those on lunch breaks turn to face the building and blow sky kisses. [ I'm being ridiculous ]
In both of the above I would suggest that the flow is actually broken up by the outside voice, and in fact the ridiculousness of the second stanza shown above is a nice idea. As the reader, I know you're being dramatic... but I like the suspension of that drama rather than pulling it down with the clarification.
Overall I love the piece, very powerful. I'd only suggest refining the use of the outside (logical) voice. Maybe find the places where it can stand strong without the support of those lines.
(09-11-2016, 12:22 AM)Donald Q. Wrote: Stacks This piece feels all lost --- in a good way. Mostly finished --- just a few remain, for me. Mainly the punctuation, among other things, but the inconsistency there is consistent enough for me to deem a matter of style, bar a few small places, so I shan't focus on that.
Spines tear eventually,
with some difficulty.
But see the ease of the checkout boy
who whipcracks open a plastic bag.
[ five pence well spent ]
Save my wrist strength for ripping
through tomes.
Time to return home.
The flat is four minutes from the supermarket not
including a further minute for the lift and key
fob fumbling.
[ I save seconds every day forgoing my letterbox ]
Pace fast, glance at faces,
never higher, I warn you.
I have a protractor;
don't tilt to the seventh, eleventh, eightieth stories,
cricking the neck to look
to the vertex of that glass sarcophagus. To or at? Both are correct, but I prefer at.
The others, do they gaze up?
Do they weep and say:
mmm... skyscraper I love you!
Only a true story if
you work in postcard design, crane rental I'm missing an Oxford comma here.
or the manufacture of tuned mass dampers.
[ to soothe doomy office workers ]
Perhaps they gather at a set time; surround
the orb and pray. Those on lunch breaks turn to
face the building and blow sky kisses.
[ I'm being ridiculous ]
No matter,
just keep the cervical curve in check. A return to the cricking, I suppose.
Paving stones are always there to catch me.
Due to time constraints I have to take the lift;
a steel coffin suitable
for up to ten residents
to drown in together. These three lines feel out of place. A clean rhythm has developed throughout the poem, and breaking it two thirds in like this, with such (eventually rejected) consistency, sounds awful. Plus, the image is somehow dulled, with the skyscraper already being a sarcophagus. You could even compress these three lines, then connect the stanza to the next -- or perhaps not.
I have neighbours like a dog has fleas
like a teenager has spots
like a funeral has grief And with those last three lines concerning the lift, this last line concerning neighbors feels somewhat too sappy. Like a teenager has spots is grief enough, with the advantage of humor. And with the consistency of your punctuation, here feels like a mistake: comma after fleas, spots, period after grief (or just spots, if you follow my earlier suggestion).
Anyway, it's dinner time not simile time;
[ I must watch myself ] This parenthetic feels unnecessary -- as if the speaker's really trying to hammer in his self-conscious cleverness. "dinner time not simile time" is clear enough. Although you seem to building up parenthetics here, for the end -- better perhaps to just change, rather than remove.
I fold the bag, add it to the blossoming pile
[ a plastic totem ]
I microwave all the food which gives me
five minutes to tear pages from Wolfe. In a wry voice: lovely thought. In a post-satirical voice: what a waste, budding fascist! xD
I take the ingredients and place them in the centre of the page,
[ I whistle a wormy advertising jingle ]
fold the leaf carefully into a fat wonton
just the right size to be swallowed whole
[ I sometimes feel like a nested bird ]
the flavour's forgivable and
it goes down easy.
[ and steadies my undreamed sadness from blowing free ] An outburst of emotion that simultaneously feels out-of-place, the speaker doesn't seem to be grimy enough to have earned the right to go down this path, and appropriate, the poem's been building to a shout. Overall, lovely work.
Thanks for the further feedback guys, really helpful. I'm a bit torn over this poem, I feel like it's still not quite right to me, and I'm not sure how heavily to edit it. I think it's probably correct to say that the last line can go, and some of the stanzas, like the lift one, need overhaul/deletion. Part of me is tempted to scrap all the bracket stuff and rework the whole poem to be less rambling and perhaps a bit more rhythmic.
I intend to mull it over a bit and return with 
I enjoyed it immensely, actually. 
But, I do like how the difficulty bit moves so elegantly into the next stanza. 
