First Edit: Wannabe/Death of a Poet

[Richard]

Death of a Poet


Is it normal to fantasize
about an award named for me?
To imagine myself
beneath the weight of soil,
my lipless teeth trying to smile,
my rotted brain telling the worms,
with each bite they take,
of a legacy summed up in a title?
My eye sockets might even feel useful again.

But like those dying, who open
their eyes one last time,
I know there is no man-made
immortality-  all words are but gasps
lost in the night.

Original:
Wannabe

I fantasize,
like a teenager dreams about sex,
that they'll name an award after me.
I imagine myself
beneath the weight of soil,
my lipless teeth trying to smile.
I imagine my rotted brain tells the worms
with each bite they take.
I imagine my eye sockets feel useful again,
their legacy summed up in a name.
I then pretend
to forget the elegies, the dirges,
they require too much effort
like life.

But I know,
like an old man who closes his eyes for the last time,
there is no man-made immortality:
all names are eventually lost
like a dying breath in the night.

[Todd]

Richard, this has some great elements to it.  Your phrasing draws me in. I love "weight of the soil," "lipless teeth trying to smile," the "rotting brain tells the worms," and "dying breath in the night."

All so very good. Where I bogged down is in the overabundance of similes. They feel stacked one on top of the other. Could you maybe smooth some of them out into metaphor? Each one individually is fine. The whole of them though draws too much attention to the effect and away from the content. If that makes sense.

Just some thoughts.

Best,

Todd

Wannabe

I fantasize,
like a teenager dreams about sex,
that they'll name an award after me.
I imagine myself
beneath the weight of soil,
my lipless teeth trying to smile.
I imagine my rotted brain tells the worms
with each bite they take.
I imagine my eye sockets feel useful again,
their legacy summed up in a name.
I then pretend
to forget the elegies, the dirges,
they require too much effort
like life.

But I know,
like an old man who closes his eyes for the last time,
there is no man-made immortality:
all names are eventually lost
like a dying breath in the night.

[Richard]

Hey Todd,
That does make sense to me. I noticed the word "like" in there a lot when I typed this up, so it's something I'm going have to tackle. I only wrote this yesterday, so I felt it was still a bit rough the edges, so I greatly appreciate your feedback.

Thanks again,
Richard

[Yjack123]

I don't understand how the first three lines tie in.  They set a path that you immediately stray from with the grotesque balance.  I think I would have liked the way you started, the bulk of the divergence felt unoriginal.

[Keith]

Hi Richard
Your opening lines brought me into the poem but the comparison of teenage sex set up a very different image to were the poem takes us, not that that is a bad thing, I'm just not sure how effective that simaly is as it quite light on imagery. That said I loved all the other descriptive lines lipless smile etc, not sure about worms biting though they eat with strong mouth muscles, they don't have teeth. I like the reference to the difficulty in life about writing literature and song, nicely worked in. Not sure the last line really adds anything and it think it would be stronger to finish on lost. All in all I very much enjoyed the poem, it drew me in and held my attention throughout, best Keith

[Richard]

Hey Yjack123 and Keith,
Thanks for the feedback. I've been letting this one sit for a bit because I'm not sure where to I went to take it from here.

Thanks again,
Richard

[roo3471]

Being new to this game, I'll have a go with your poem, but forgive (in advance) if it's a bit shaky!

Firstly, like the overall melancholy feel of the poem and its recognition of the transience of 'celebrity' or star status.  

Recognise the big contrast between the title and 1st metaphor and then the rest of the grave ones.  Not necessarily a bad thing and personally on the fence about it.

Wonder if should be 'my rotted brain telling the worms' as you had 'trying to smile' in the line before?

Why 'pretends'  - is it showing the duality within us: that we know the unreality of getting the recognition, but even in that still want it to happen?  Or that having something 'worthy' about us in order to have an award/elegy etc. is too much hard work?  May be being dense, but just trying to understand the idea.

Enjoy the end 2 lines and their imagery.  Makes me imagine all our names drifting up into the empty universe.

Thanks for sharing it and look forward to where it'll go after you stay with it for a while!

Richard, this has some great elements to it.  Your phrasing draws me in. I love "weight of the soil," "lipless teeth trying to smile," the "rotting brain tells the worms," and "dying breath in the night."

All so very good. Where I bogged down is in the overabundance of similes. They feel stacked one on top of the other. Could you maybe smooth some of them out into metaphor? Each one individually is fine. The whole of them though draws too much attention to the effect and away from the content. If that makes sense.

Just some thoughts.

Best,

Todd

Wannabe

I fantasize,
like a teenager dreams about sex,
that they'll name an award after me.
I imagine myself
beneath the weight of soil,
my lipless teeth trying to smile.
I imagine my rotted brain tells the worms
with each bite they take.
I imagine my eye sockets feel useful again,
their legacy summed up in a name.
I then pretend
to forget the elegies, the dirges,
they require too much effort
like life.

But I know,
like an old man who closes his eyes for the last time,
there is no man-made immortality:
all names are eventually lost
like a dying breath in the night.

[Richard]

Hey roo3471,
Thanks for the feedback. For some reason, I keep hitting a wall when I try to edit this one. I will get around it eventually.

Thanks again,
Richard

[Richard]

Hey all,
It took a while, but I finally got around to editing this one. Feel free to let me know if it's an improvement.

Thanks in advance,
Richard

[danny_]

Hey Richard, this latest revision was the first I read. Comparing it to previous, I like this one best. I agree the dreams of teenagers didn't really fit well, even though I think I understand what you were intending; better left out. Also it's overall more clear and succinct. As far as clarity: "My eye sockets might even feel useful again." I take it that such an imagined award might cause your eyes to feel useful again... but why sockets? Or are they already buried when they feel useful? In that case they cannot feel anything. I mean really, what would those eye sockets see but darkness? But if alive, they would be just "eyes", right? That line throws me. Everything else feels pretty intact.

"Is it normal" could possibly be improved, especially as the opening line. Whether or not it's normal may be irrelevant. Is that the real issue of the poet, how normal it is? I have a little idea:

Here again I am fantasizing
about an award named for me,
imagining myself deep
beneath the weight of soil

Well, I only write this to help you consider what is the real concern of the poet? Being normal, or maybe not even knowing what the concern is? Or is it something in particular?

For the last line: all words are but gasps / lost in the night. 

This reminds me of a song where the lyrics go:
"Let the poets cry themselves to sleep.
All their tearful words will turn back
into steam."

This is a well-done poem expressing a viewpoint that nothing we say could ever really matter that much. (I personally disagree on that   )

Final notes: Wannabe doesn't do any justice to this poem as a title. (I think you already changed it, good!) Even Death of a Poet could be better, because he hasn't died yet... just dreaming of it. Maybe just sounds a little... cliche, in terms of using words like "death" and "poet" in a title. I mean, the poem is kind of a specific heart-felt pondering of a certain individual. Maybe... My Death as a Poet? Just thoughts, but it's not a bad title if you decide to stick with it.

Good work.

Death of a Poet

Is it normal to fantasize
about an award named for me?
To imagine myself
beneath the weight of soil,
my lipless teeth trying to smile,
my rotted brain telling the worms,
with each bite they take,
of a legacy summed up in a title?
My eye sockets might even feel useful again.

But like those dying, who open
their eyes one last time,
I know there is no man-made
immortality-  all words are but gasps
lost in the night.

[Richard]

Hey Danny,
Thanks for the feedback. I quite like your suggestion about the phrasing of "Is it normal", and I will give that some serious thought. As for the title, I wasn't super happy with "Wannabe", so that was the reason for the change. I'll probably give the title some more thought as well.

Thanks again,
Richard