Fly

[Caleb Murdock]

Fly


Poor fly – very small, a fruit fly –
floated 'round my bathroom five days if not a week.
So small that I could not hear you buzz.
I swatted at you every instant that I spied you,
but you nimbly made your escapes.

You fed on the scum on the sink bowl.
I washed the sink to stop you, to starve you.
Such a little fly, but well worth the obsession.

Then came that morning when you did not move,
that morning when I got you, then flicked you down the drain
with a tidal wave of water to make sure the threat was gone;
but suddenly I did not feel safe at all.

The winter had arrived, and you were trapped inside.
Perhaps you flew in before the cold came, or came to life
in my garbage bin, rising like a phoenix from the rotting meat.

Had I pulled the window up, the cold might have killed you,
stopped you from being my only companion for a week,
but I did not want to pee in the cold.

Perhaps when I got you, you were already dead,
dead from natural causes, sitting at the wing of God
in fly heaven.  I hope so.

Dead from starvation?  I hope not.
I feel ashamed.

Poor fly.  Doomed by everything.  By me.
By time.  By choices.  By life which always dies.
By God too.  Oh, I am also a fly!

[Lizzie]

Hi Caleb. Whether or not to swat a fly makes me think of all the existential questions, so I find the subject worthy.

Fly


Poor fly – very small, a fruit fly –
floated 'round my bathroom five days if not a week. -- maybe 'you floated' at the beginning to set the speaker's voice right off the bat. Encountering the 'you' in the next sentence made me do a double take.
So small that I could not hear you buzz.  -- this doesn't read as a complete sentence because of 'that.' Looks like a fragment. Maybe, 'you were so small' or just 'I could not hear you buzz' since you've noted the size of the fly already.
I swatted at you every instant that I spied you,
but you nimbly made your escapes.

You fed on the scum on the sink bowl. -- maybe 'in the sink bowl' to avoid having two on's
I washed the sink to stop you, to starve you.
Such a little fly, but well worth the obsession. -- I like how you're setting the plot as a kind of epic battle, requiring strategy, focus, persistence 

Then came that morning when you did not move,
that morning when I got you, then flicked you down the drain -- like the ambivalent feelings about winning against a worthy foe
with a tidal wave of water to make sure the threat was gone;
but suddenly I did not feel safe at all.

The winter had arrived, and you were trapped inside.
Perhaps you flew in before the cold came, or came to life
in my garbage bin, rising like a phoenix from the rotting meat. -- phoenix is good imagery to me

Had I pulled the window up, the cold might have killed you,
stopped you from being my only companion for a week,
but I did not want to pee in the cold. -- I like the contrast between the epic imagery of the last stanza and now talking about the temperature of the toilet

Perhaps when I got you, you were already dead,
dead from natural causes, sitting at the wing of God
in fly heaven.  I hope so. -- 'fly heaven' demeans the fly a little too much for me. I've come to see him/her as noble and regal in a way from the phoenix imagery. Fly heaven feels a little childlike for a poem on such adult themes.

Dead from starvation?  I hope not.
I feel ashamed. -- I don't mind this direct statement terribly, but I do think it can be inferred easily from the narrative you've provided. I think being too specific about the speaker's emotional state unnecessarily limits the range we can read in to the speaker's emotions.

Poor fly.  Doomed by everything.  By me.
By time.  By choices.  By life which always dies. -- this last stanza is where it falls apart for me, because I think you're trying to draw all the conclusions for the reader and not trusting that they'll get there themselves. I like the re-iteration of 'poor fly' to mirror the first sentence, but I think less will be more at the end here.
By God too.  Oh, I am also a fly! -- I wouldn't state so explicitly the link between the speaker and the fly -- it is obvious throughout the poem that the fly is all of us.

What about (for the ending), something along the lines of:

Poor fly.

Small fly.

Doomed fly.

Thanks for sharing!

Hope this is helpful in some way.

Lizzie

[Caleb Murdock]

Lizzie, your comments have been very useful.  Other people who have looked at the poem said similar things about the end.  The problem for me is that the end sounds and feels right to me, so it is hard for me to change it.  I tend to be more explicit in my poems than most modern poets, who imply a great deal more than I do.  I have a tendency to just come out and say it.  The question is whether there are others who have similar feelings about poetry, or whether I'm alone.  It has always been a struggle for me to know whether I should hold to my own vision or bend to the prevailing sensibility.

Your comments on the other lines were useful too.  You were the first one who thought that "floated" might apply to the speaker.  Changing "on" to "in" is a good suggestion. I thought "fly heaven" was clever; I'm trying to show that the speaker is realizing, now that he has killed it, that it was only a fly.  I may remove "I feel ashamed".

I'll see what I can do about the ending. I wasn't trying to speak for all of mankind in the poem, just a foolish person who has a silly battle with a fly and then realizes at the end that he is the same as the fly.

What about:

Poor fly. Doomed fly. All of us flies.

[Lizzie]

Oh, I didn't think you meant that the speaker floated. I was saying to maybe address the fly from the beginning as 'you' since you move toward that a few lines in. It sounded like the fly was going to be spoken about in the third person and then the voice changed to second, at least to my reading. If I'm wrong, no worries.

Yeah, I think that ending is much better since it's simpler and cleaner.  

In a sense, narrators always speak for the collective as well as the individual.

[Caleb Murdock]

Thank you, Lizzie. I thought that moving from the third person to the second person in the first stanza created an interesting effect, but perhaps I'm wrong.

So you really do like that ending better? When I first wrote the original ending, I just loved it -- but no one else has.

As for the role of the narrator, I agree with you when the poem is in the third person, but when it's in the first person/second person, I feel the narrator is speaking personally.

Thanks again!

[Lizzie]

So you really do like that ending better?  When I first wrote the original ending, I just loved it -- but no one else has.

Haha, I don't B.S. my critiques, so yes I really do like it better.

But, you know what they say: good poetry takes time. There's no need to rush edits.

[Caleb Murdock]

I hate to tell you this, but I may go back to my original ending with one or two changes:

Poor fly, doomed by everything.
By me, by time, by choices.
By life which always dies.
All of us flies.

The poem just feels too bare at the end with a one-line finish.  I have an explicit style, and it seems that I should carry that through to the end to be consistent.

I think that scrapping "Oh, I am also a fly!" for "All of us flies" will address some of the objections I've been hearing.

[amaril]

There's a lot of good stuff going on in this poem, but the pacing is weird and the ending, which draws a conclusion for the reader, is weak.

Poor fly – very small, a fruit fly –
floated 'round my bathroom five days if not a week.
So small that I could not hear you buzz.
I swatted at you every instant that I spied you,
but you nimbly made your escapes.

The first stanza is fine. It does a good job setting up the poem's conflict and melodramatic tone. I like "nimbly made your escapes." However, the syntax is a little awkward--"Poor fly... floated round my bathroom five days if not a week" establishes a very fluid speaking style, which is counteracted by the "that"s and "at" in the following lines. "So small [that] I could not hear you buzz" is a little odd because you are commenting on something that has no precedent for being there. 'I could hardly hear you whine' or something gives the line a reason to exist.

The middle stanzas are good, the highlight of the poem. I would cut some of the "but"s for the same reason I would cut the "that"s. In a similar vein, the "the" before "winter had arrived" could be trimmed. IMO, the third stanza could come after the fifth stanza and, with a little tweaking for fluidity, become the closing stanza of the poem. I don't think that you need to go on a tirade about the poetic significance of death to make the death of this fly poetically significant.

[Caleb Murdock]

amaril, you've made some very interesting points. It seems that the whole world agrees with you that my ending is terrible, which begs the question of why do I still like it? It's not as if I don't have any poetic sense. I've already changed "Oh, I am also a fly!" to something more understated, but there's still a lot that I like about the ending.

The two suggestions of yours that I can accept without reservation is removing "The" from before "winter" and changing "you buzz" to "your whine". As for business words in general (articles, prepositions, conjunctions), they make poetry sound more like natural speech, in my opinion.

Your comment about the rhythm is intresting. My free verse already has more rhythm in it than most free verse being published today, most of which sounds like prose. What I take from your comment is that, if I am going to be rhythmic, I should go all in and make it really smooth. I thought I had done that, but I guess not. Even my metered poetry sounds a little choppy.

Your comment that I should re-order the stanzas was interesting. I've decided that I'm going to try that (as an experiment) and post it here. I'll do that sometime in the next few days.

I've already made a decision that when I publish my first book or chapbook, I am going to publish the pre-shopworked and post-shopworked versions of many of my poems so that my original version is not lost -- just in case my original version had validity.

Thanks again.

[amaril]

Afaik i did not comment on meter.

In regards to your final chapbook idea, nothing has merit in and of itself. Ideally, you should have a rigorous vision for a poem and settle on the poem that nearest attains that.

Why would a reader want to read two versions of a poem? Why should your creative process interest someone who has not yet been convinced of the value of your poetry? A poem is not good just because you wrote it, no matter who you are. If one version of your poem is a more artful work, including the rough versions only weakens the overall quality of the book. One time i read a series of revisions of elizabeth bishop's art of losing (may not be the actual name) which was interesting because the final version is masterful, and her revision process was exhaustive. But the other versions weren't as beautiful in and of themselves. They were just interesting, not worthy of remembering or emulating. (people will disagree on what the best version of a poem is. I just believe u should publish the version you think is best)

Of course, you should trust your own poetic judgment more than mine or anyone else's. Critique is useful insofar as it reminds you what you have neglected, but probably already know.

[Donald Q.]

Fly


Poor fly – very small, a fruit fly –  These two statements don't lock together in tone, the first is a more formal start, then the second is more conversational.. maybe 'a poor fly, a very small fruit fly' or something...
floated 'round my bathroom five days if not a week. why use 'round?  also 'five days if not a week' seems a bit ungainly 
So small that I could not hear you buzz.
I swatted at you every instant that I spied you,
but you nimbly made your escapes.

You fed on the scum on the sink bowl. sink bowl scum is good, but the phrasing is awkward 
I washed the sink to stop you, to starve you. Do you wash a sink? you clean a sink, surely?
Such a little fly, but well worth the obsession.

Then came that morning when you did not move,
that morning when I got you, then flicked you down the drain
with a tidal wave of water to make sure the threat was gone;
but suddenly I did not feel safe at all.

The winter had arrived, and you were trapped inside.
Perhaps you flew in before the cold came, or came to life
in my garbage bin, rising like a phoenix from the rotting meat. Interesting imagery here

Had I pulled the window up, the cold might have killed you,
stopped you from being my only companion for a week,
but I did not want to pee in the cold.

Perhaps when I got you, you were already dead,
dead from natural causes, sitting at the wing of God
in fly heaven.  I hope so.

Dead from starvation?  I hope not.
I feel ashamed.

Poor fly.  Doomed by everything.  By me.
By time.  By choices.  By life which always dies. 
By God too.  Oh, I am also a fly! The tone is again out of whack here, it is both revelational and conversational? You undercut your own intent.

An interesting idea that needs work on the tone and meter.

I've already made a decision that when I publish my first book or chapbook, I am going to publish the pre-shopworked and post-shopworked versions of many of my poems so that my original version is not lost -- just in case my original version had validity.

This is patently ridiculous. You are the poet; create the version you want. 'Validity' is meaningless here.

[CRNDLSM]

Fly


Poor fly – very small, a fruit fly –
floated around my bathroom five days, if not a week,
so small that I could not hear you buzz.
I swatted at you every instant that I spied you,
but you nimbly made your escapes.

You fed on the scum on the sink bowl.
I washed the sink to stop you, to starve you.
Such a little fly, but well worth the obsession.

Then came that morning when you did not move,
that morning when I got you, then flicked you down the drain
with a tidal wave of water to make sure the (your) threat was gone;
But suddenly I did not feel safe at all.

The winter had arrived, and you were trapped inside.
Perhaps you flew in before the cold came, or you came to life
in my garbage bin, rising like a phoenix from the rotting meat.

Had I pulled the window up, the cold might have killed you,
stopped you from being my only companion for a week,
but I did not want to pee in the cold.

Perhaps when I got you, you were already dead,
dead from natural causes, sitting at the wing of God
in fly heaven.  I hope so.

Dead from starvation?  I hope not.
I feel ashamed.

Poor fly.  Doomed by everything.  By me.
By time.  By choices.  By life which always dies.
By God too.  

Oh, I am also a fly! Appreciate this sudden revelation, like you forgot something that was innate forever. OH!  I wish you could put a little more shock into the oh though.  This ending makes me happy, the rest is so contemplative of death treating life in all sides with careful observation.  But it's crap, all just crap, until the revelatory ending.  Oh!  Hit me again with it.  For I too, am a fly

The ending is the best part, the only part I'd care to read again and again, swatting with mind bullets!  I swat them all the time and duck for cover when the wings come out truly chicken!  But oh! I am also a fly!  Keeper

[Caleb Murdock]

Afaik i did not comment on meter.

You didn't comment specifically on the meter, but you did mention the "very fluid speaking style" which I didn't maintain throughout -- isn't that meter?

In regards to your final chapbook idea, nothing has merit in and of itself. Ideally, you should have a rigorous vision for a poem and settle on the poem that nearest attains that.

That's my point:  I DO have a rigorous vision for a poem.  I post my poems on critique forums only when they are finished to my satisfaction -- I never post drafts.  But the people who critique, like you, often don't like what they read.  This is the second forum where I have posted "Fly" and NO ONE on the first forum liked the ending, which is why I posted it here, to see if I could find someone who liked the ending.  When I talk about publishing two versions of a poem, I'm not talking about publishing the final and then one of the drafts.  I'm talking about publishing the poem that reflects my purest vision, and the poem which was revised in response to critiques.  (Yes, I do care what people think about my poems.)

---

Donald Q., thank you for your comments. I don't see the shifts in tone that you are seeing, but I'll examine the poem to try to figure out what you mean.

CRNDLSM, you're the only person who likes my revelatory ending. It saddens me, though, that you don't like the poem that builds up to it. The original ending had the exclamation point after the Oh, but I changed that in response to comments. The whole idea of the poem was to show a person battling against a minor opponent, only to realize right at the end that he has a great deal in common with the opponent -- but every one else was telling me that the ending could be inferred from the rest of the poem and was therefore redundant. They said that the ending -- Oh! I am also a fly -- was "obvious" and didn't need to be stated. You are the only one who sees my vision, but then, you don't like the rest of it.

[billy]

just the one comment which i apologize for as i know it's in mild.

there are twice as many words as you need. there are a lot of phrases that detract from any power the poem should have.

that morning when I got you, then, really sticks out and there are lots more that could be trimmed away.

as suggestion, if you put the original up as well as the end version, throw the feedback i as well, specially the feedback that states you need to work the shit out of this piece.
personally i don't see it as worthy of publishing any time soon. looking to see you workshop the piece. you've had a lot of constructive feedback so you have lots to think about.

[Caleb Murdock]

Billy, if you don't like the poem at all, and think it needs to be cut dramatically, then you just don't like it, and I didn't write it for you. I don't like about 80% of the poetry I read, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have some merit.

Talk of publishing was just speculative.

[Achebe]

Such a little fly, but well worth the obsession.
in my garbage bin, rising like a phoenix from the rotting meat.

these are good lines, while the cringeworthy ending kills it for any reader with half a brain

[Caleb Murdock]

Thank you for your thoughts, Achebe.

[billy]

too quick to judge me caleb. i said you need to work the shite out of the piece and that much could be trimmed off, this eludes to the the poem having some merit. that you talked of publishing was enough for others to respond to the fact. at present, the good of the poem; shall we call it the "heart of the poem" is buried under to many pieces of filler. i'm sad you didn't post it for me, and here i am thinking you wanted to read honest feedback but okay.

it's the best poem i've ever read,

Billy, if you don't like the poem at all, and think it needs to be cut dramatically, then you just don't like it, and I didn't write it for you.  I don't like about 80% of the poetry I read, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have some merit.

Talk of publishing was just speculative.

[Caleb Murdock]

Billy, your comments were mostly general and very negative, and you sounded dissatisfied with most of the poem.  How useful is it for me to hear that?  Good critiques are always constructive.