Somewhere an Alaskan Mountain

[egr]

Somewhere an Alaskan Mountain


I dig when you bring up
that affair with the therapist.
I dig into permafrosted heart,
gouge out my wandering lie.

It digs not because of the lack
of trust, or the insult thrust
like a sippy cup at the back
of Mommy’s indiscretion.

It digs up dead soil full of
fossilized worms. The clangs
of its pick at each dark depth
turn old stones new with time.

Fallow fields make feeble harvest,
but I plow and I plant. You pick
at the scabs, ruby and topaz
tombstones for grave wounds.

I still dig that poem you wrote
but this silence is not golden.
Our promises did not harden
into diamonds under the snow.






-------------------

Hi!

Just a heads up, this is my first post for critique on this forum, and I may be slow to respond while I'm getting my bearings.
This poem was shopped in a college poetry course which has devolved into a G-rated circle jerk, so here I am.
Please be brutal. I appreciate honest and frank criticism. 

Thanks,

EGR

[ellajam]

I'm struggling with this in a few spots but I hope my comments will be of some help.

Our poor Narrator must be exhausted with all that digging.

Somewhere an Alaskan Mountain


I dig when you bring up
that affair with the therapist.
I dig into permafrosted heart,
gouge out my wandering lie.
For me opening with I dig was confusing because of its alternate meaning of "I like", I assume that is intentional and The N likes it being brought up. I'm unsure about "wandering lie", I think you may be able to do that better but on the whole I like L3/4.

It digs not because of the lack
of trust, or the insult thrust
like a sippy cup at the back
of Mommy’s indiscretion.
These first 2 lines are lovely, then the next two confuse me and bring a sort of silly image. I thought the N was dealing with a partner, is she calling herself Mommy to her partner (ugh) or is she dealing with a child? Confused, plus it's hard to imaging a sippy cup doing much damage. It occurs to me at this point that opening the poem with the actual "insult" rather than the current opening lines might be more effective. The poem is becoming a mix of being too much tell with odd images thrown in.

It digs up dead soil full of
fossilized worms. The clangs
of its pick at each dark depth
turn old stones new with time.
Strong strophe, my only issue is with "time", I'm getting that it is the action of the pick polishing the stones, not time.

Fallow fields make feeble harvest, Over-allitterated for me.
but I plow and I plant. You pick
at the scabs, ruby and topaz
tombstones for grave wounds.
Mixed metaphor here, I like the colors/semi-precious gems of the scabs but can't put it together with the planting.

I still dig that poem you wrote I don't know what you're referring to here.
but this silence is not golden.
Our promises did not harden
into diamonds under the snow.
Beautiful two lines to end it.

Welcome to the site, hope you enjoy it.

[almonds]

Greetings, EGR.
That was quite a lot of fun.
Evoked my inventive flare; see how you feel about it.

Somewhere an Alaskan Mountain                  - What about 'Somewhere on an Alaskan Mountain'?


I dig when you bring up                                   - Seems to me better just 'I dig' or 'I dig when you' - more intriguing for the start
that affair with the therapist.                            - Could continue with '(when you) bring up that affair with the therapist'
I dig into permafrosted heart,
gouge out my wandering lie.                           - What about 'my ever wandering lie'? Would fit along the number of 'r' sounds

It digs not because of the lack                         - Could be interesting if you leave just 'It digs not', then continue the rest next line
of trust, or the insult thrust                               - Two rhymes in one line, hmmm.. what about end it ', or the thrust of insult'?
like a sippy cup at the back
of Mommy’s indiscretion.

It digs up dead soil full of                                  - Again, see how it would work just 'It digs up', the rest starting next line
fossilized worms. The clangs
of its pick at each dark depth                            - The 's' at the end of 'its' a mistake?
turn old stones new with time.

Fallow fields make feeble harvest,        ^                              However, what about   You pick
but I plow and I plant. You pick             Sounds quite good                                          Fallow fields make feeble harvest, but I plow and I plant.
at the scabs, ruby and topaz                                                                                         at the scabs, ruby and topaz
tombstones for grave wounds.              v                                                                      tombstones for grave wounds.  

I still dig that poem you wrote                            - 'I still dig'?
but this silence is not golden.                            -  'that poem you wrote but this silence is not golden.'?
Our promises did not harden                            - 'Our promises did not harden into'?
into diamonds under the snow.                        - 'diamonds under the snow.'?  - more showstopper ending, no? :v






-------------------

Hi!

Just a heads up, this is my first post for critique on this forum, and I may be slow to respond while I'm getting my bearings.
This poem was shopped in a college poetry course which has devolved into a G-rated circle jerk, so here I am.
Please be brutal. I appreciate honest and frank criticism. 

Thanks,

EGR

[burrealist]

Somewhere an Alaskan Mountain Maybe you like the mysterious sound, but this title doesn't seem to make sense. Some people may just disregard the whole thing. A comma could be placed right after "Somewhere".
This title also only seems relevant at the end- something to consider.


I dig when you bring up The line break is awkward. It does pull you in to the next one, but then upon the second line, the words "I dig" sound out of place. I suggest, "When you bring up that affair//With the therapist, I dig," because the flow is more sensible, and the line-break still pulls the audience in. An introduction to the affair in the first line may also sound more interesting. That being said, you've immediately spoken intriguing thoughts. I like the double-meaning used for dig.
that affair with the therapist.
I dig into permafrosted heart, I've learned repetition should be scarce and purposeful. Why are you saying "I dig" twice?
gouge out my wandering lie. 

It digs not because of the lack Here's another awkward line-break that you can reassemble. This spot might also be an appropriate place to repeat the words "I dig". I think shifting from "I" digging to "It" digging is odd.
of trust, or the insult thrust 
like a sippy cup at the back
of Mommy’s indiscretion. You must have put a lot of thought into this stanza. I only say that because I struggle trying to understand other people's metaphors/symbolism, and this is a section I'll have to strain to try and understand. I usually believe this means you've written something insightful. I am expecting more integration of childhood objects as I read on.

It digs up dead soil full of
fossilized worms. The clangs
of its pick at each dark depth This is strangely worded. It takes some unnecessary strain to understand it.
turn old stones new with time. I like this part. I imagined turning over stones, and it was vivid. Now it seems, as the poem progresses, you may be digging into deeper information for the audience to unearth. 

Fallow fields make feeble harvest,
but I plow and I plant. You pick
at the scabs, ruby and topaz
tombstones for grave wounds. Having said that last thing, this stanza felt disappointing. Not that it is written badly- but my expectations were buried. I thought you would let the audience dig into you, but you went down an unexpected path. That can be both enlightening and disappointing. What disappoints me most is that now you're planting seeds for yourself. This idea of planting seeds may have come too soon. 

So, maybe you can write another stanza that really, really digs. Dirty fingers gripping whatever lies beneath, mud stuck in your nails, you know?

I still dig that poem you wrote This is a bit silly.
but this silence is not golden. "Silence is not gold." Gold is a metal; "golden" is a descriptive color. You spoke of stones and metals earlier, so I think you should stay on that path.
Our promises did not harden
into diamonds under the snow. I like this part. It's pretty, but not happy. Melancholy? Anyway, "diamonds" and "snow" go well together. Or maybe not? 

Some information feels missing, and some of the phrasing is weird. The ending comes too soon. The imagery/metaphors/symbolism is pretty solid. Except for that weird sippy cup part. That was so out of place. (It makes sense from a Fruedian stand-point, but the rest of the poem is so different.)

I hope this helps, sorry to hear about the boring circle jerks.