Posts: 45
Threads: 7
Joined: Feb 2018
Revision#2
Oratorio
In thumbed pages, slow-turning, penned
by men stiff collared in candlelight, their names
unpronouncible to young tongues, I find you.
Your head resting on a scattering of dust covered pages,
glasses akimbo, legs creased. By your feet, a teapot.
Wool cosied, breath perfumed sweet. Your eyes closed
as Jennens’ oratorio whispers in your ear.
You look much like me but older; simpler more reserved.
In thumbed pages, slow turning, I first notice your hands.
Funny little stick men live between thumb and pointer.
It looks like you’ve doodled them. Didn’t Granny tell you,
not to draw on yourself? Was there a shortage of paper
when you were young?
In thumbed pages, slow turning, I find you;
head resting on a scattering of dusted pages
your glasses akimbo, legs creased. You squint to see me,
eyes swimming through the dark. I can’t sleep and you
beckon me to you…
No longer flesh and blood but ink smeared paper,
your face is lost, forgotten, hidden somewhere amongst adjectives,
expletives and verbs.
In thumbed pages, slow turning, you have gone.
Revision#1
Oratorio
In thumbed pages, slow-turning, penned
by men stiff collared in candlelight, their names
unpronouncible to young tongues, I find you
Head resting on a scattering of dust covered pages,
your glasses akimbo, legs creased. By your feet,
warm hearted and wool cosied, breath perfumed sweet,
a teapot. Jennens’ oratorio whispers in your ear.
You look much like me, but older, simpler more reserved.
In thumbed pages, slow turning, I first notice your hands.
Funny little stick men live between thumb and pointer.
It looks like you’ve doodled them. Didn’t Granny tell you,
not to draw on yourself? Was there a shortage of paper
when you were young?
In thumbed pages, slow turning, I find you.
Head resting on a scattering of dusted pages
your glasses akimbo, legs creased. You stir to see me,
small palms pushing on the door. I can’t sleep and you
beckon me over…
no longer flesh and blood but ink smeared paper,
your is face lost, forgotten, hidden somewhere amongst adjectives,
expletives and verbs.
It is in thumbed pages, slow turning, I find that you have gone.
After a few technical issues and me seemingly not having the original saved here is what was originally posted before some rather unfortunate deletes.
Oratorio
It is in thumbed pages,
slow-turning, penned by men
stiff collared in candle light
their names unpronouncible
to young tongues, that I find you
Head resting on a scattering
of smudged pages your glasses akimbo,
your legs creased. Your shirt tails are
dysfunctional, as you would say each morning
when I on the way to school would try to
sneak out shirt untucked and top button un-done,
I was setting a example of both myself and you,
I understand that now.
It is in thumbed pages, slow turning
that you have that warm hearted
and wool cosied, teapot with its breath a sweet perfume
sat ever present by your feet.
It’s whistling Jennens’ oratorio.
It is in thumbed pages,
slow-turning, that the topography
of your face is written, it’s formed in simple words.
I can see them, finger running from adjective, expletive
to verb, your features are simple and reserved. They look much
like mine but older. Your hair is crumpled on your scalp,
when was the last time it saw a brush?
It is in thumbed pages,
slow turning, that I first notice your hands.
Funny little stick men live between
your thumb and pointer it looks like
you’ve doodled them. Didn’t Granny
tell you not to draw on yourself?
Was there a shortage of paper
when you were young?
It is in thumbed pages,
slow turning, dense beyond belief
that I find you. Head resting on a scattering
of smudged pages your glasses akimbo,
your legs creased. You stir to see me, small palms
pushing on the door. I can’t sleep and you
beckon me to you…
It is on turning the page that I find you’re gone
no longer flesh and blood but ink smeared paper,
your is face lost again, forgotten,
hidden somewhere amongst adjectives, expletives and verbs.
Posts: 45
Threads: 7
Joined: Feb 2018
Few technically difficulties on this thread, below is TecTak's original response.
F[b][b]irst of all, apologies. Frozen finger hit edit instead of delete. I will PM you with suggestion.[/b][/b]
Best,
tectak
Oratorio
It is in thumbed pages,
slow-turning, penned by men
stiff collared in candle light
their names unpronouncible
to young tongues, that I find you...if I treat this opening stanza as pure intrigue then you, as narrator , could expect that it was the overall meaning that fascinates...but no, it is the italics...the bloody italics. What meaneth the italics? Thing is, the imagery IS compelling but the message mixed. I read whilst correcting both the stanza and my interpretation of it. First off, then, and you will not hear me say this often...more commas to clarify. There are other ways to write this without sly inversion. "...penned in candle light by men with stiff collars, their names unpronouncible to young tongues. There I find you." Admittedly, it is bloody distant location from the thumbed pages but you wrote it. Incidentally, you usually find things there, not that.6
Head resting on a scattering
of smudged pages your glasses akimbo, punctuate. Akimbo? Huh....?
your legs creased. Your shirt tails are
dysfunctional, as you would say each morning
when I on the way to school would try to
sneak out shirt untucked and top button un-done,
I was setting a example of both myself and you,
I understand that now. Your tense is all over the space-time continuum. It needs sorting out....punctuation would help in this process.
It is in thumbed pages, slow turning
that you have that warm hearted
and wool cosied, teapot with its breath a sweet perfume If you have no commas left there is a spare one here, after cosied.
sat ever present by your feet. No....not sat...sitting.
It’s whistling Jennens’ oratorio. "It's"...get rid of "it's"...way too unrelated. I cannot help thinking this is Whistling Jennie's Oratorio...sorry, cheap point...but you wrote it...almost.
It is in thumbed pages,
slow-turning, that the topography No. You do not write topography..no one does.
of your face is written, it’s formed in simple words. Bloody it's again. Just remove the thing. Simple
I can see them, finger running from adjective, expletive
to verb, your features are simple and reserved. They look much Utterly pointless enjambments... jumps off a cliff...not poetic...not purposeful...not even indicative of any pensive input. Stop with the enjambments until you have a valid reason for using the device. It makes the piece seem randomly cut up to resemble poetry...surely not?
like mine but older. Your hair is crumpled on your scalp, Period or at least a semi-colon. No...I have thought about it...a period
when was the last time it saw a brush? Can I suggest a new title? Why not just call it "It"?
It is in thumbed pages,
slow turning, that I first notice your hands.
Funny little stick men live between
your thumb and pointer it looks like
you’ve doodled them. Didn’t Granny
tell you not to draw on yourself?
Was there a shortage of paper
when you were young? Wonderfully typical of your quite remarkable off-the-wall thinking. Excellent stuff...but spoiled by the sparce punctuation. Read it out loud
It is in thumbed pages,
slow turning, dense beyond belief
that I find you. Head resting on a scattering
of smudged pages your glasses akimbo,
your legs creased. You stir to see me, small palms
pushing on the door. I can’t sleep and you
beckon me to you…
It is on turning the page that I find you’re gone
no longer flesh and blood but ink smeared paper,
your is face lost again, forgotten,
hidden somewhere amongst adjectives, expletives and verbs. A rush to the finish but as a piece of Form Prose ( I made that term up...but doesn't everyone?) the thing cries out for recognition and conversion into something real and definable. I accept that this may be seen as a conformity call...well, it is.
Best,
tectak
Posts: 2,357
Threads: 230
Joined: Oct 2010
Hi Johnny, some comments for you.
(03-01-2018, 07:44 PM)20_Hamilton_18 Wrote: Oratorio
It is in thumbed pages,--nice opening and semi-refrain
slow-turning, penned by men--it's a preference but I'd prefer the break on penned and add by stiff collared men in the next line.
stiff collared in candle light --Candlelight is one word.
their names unpronouncible
to young tongues, that I find him.--I like this sequence. On the whole, effective setup and opening.
Head resting on a scattering
of dust covered pages his glasses akimbo,--I like the creative use of akimbo here.
his legs creased. By his feet,
warm hearted and wool cosied,--You should consider using hyphens stiff-collared, warm-hearted.
its breath perfumed sweet,
sits a teapot. Jennens’ oratorio --This syntax sounds awkward: its breath perfumed sweet, sits a teapot.
whispers in his ear.
It is in thumbed pages,
slow-turning, that the topography
of his face is written, formed in simple words.--Nice tight observational writing in this strophe.
I can see them, finger
running from adjective, expletive
to verb, his features are simple --simple and reserved feel like placeholders. I'd spend some more time considering your imagery here.
and reserved. They look much
like mine but older. His hair is dark and--don't like the and here as a word or a break. I think I'd move into the very cool sleep-crumpled without the conjunction. (and add the hyphen).
sleep crumpled on his scalp.--possibly to instead of on.
It is in thumbed pages,
slow turning, dense beyond belief--dense beyond belief is a conclusion not an image
that he stirs to see me, small palms
pushing on the door. I can’t sleep
and he beckons me to him
But on turning the page
I find that he has gone. --I think you would be better served ending on these lines and reversing your final two strophes.
No longer flesh and blood
but ink smeared paper, his face lost again,
forgotten, hidden somewhere amongst adjectives,
expletives and verbs.
Hope the comments help.
Best,
Todd
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
Posts: 45
Threads: 7
Joined: Feb 2018
Hey guys, thanks to Tectak and Todd for the feedback which I think has helped with the re-write. Trying to be a little tighter in terms of lineation and I hope this revision marks the turning of the tide, I'm sure you'll let me know.
Once again ta for the feedback
Johnny
Posts: 2,602
Threads: 303
Joined: Feb 2017
(03-01-2018, 07:44 PM)20_Hamilton_18 Wrote: This is becoming beautiful but you MUST punctuate to clarity.
Revision#1
Oratorio
In thumbed pages, slow-turning, penned
by men stiff collared in candlelight, their names
unpronouncible to young tongues, I find you period
Head resting on a scattering of dust covered pages, This will not a sentence be
your glasses akimbo, legs creased. By your feet, ...beside your feet...but the inversion is strangling things. Sorry to all supporters but "akimbo" is still (and commonly) the wrong word. I have difficulty with warm-hearted feet and perfumed sweet. You are rushing this. Calm down and READ what you are writing with your ears not your eyes.
warm hearted and wool cosied, breath perfumed sweet,
a teapot. Jennens’ oratorio whispers in your ear.
You look much like me, but older, simpler more reserved. You look much like me but older; simpler, more reserved.
In thumbed pages, slow turning, I first notice your hands.
Funny little stick men live between thumb and pointer.
It looks like you’ve doodled them. Didn’t Granny tell you,
not to draw on yourself? Was there a shortage of paper
when you were young?
In thumbed pages, slow turning, I find you. If you insist on this extended sentence then semi-colon on this line end and no capital on "head", next line and stanza 2
Head resting on a scattering of dusted pages
your glasses akimbo, legs creased. You stir to see me, ...stir to see...?
small palms pushing on the door. I can’t sleep and you
beckon me over…
no longer flesh and blood but ink smeared paper, begin with a capital to show the reader that you can be trusted
your is face lost, forgotten, hidden somewhere amongst adjectives,
expletives and verbs. Just beautiful
It is in thumbed pages, slow turning, I find that you have gone. Wot is "it"? Try "In thumbed pages, slow (but I would like to see "slowly turning" throughout) turning, I find that you have gone."
Almost there. Worth all the effort.
Best,
tectak
After a few technical issues and me seemingly not having the original saved here is what was originally posted before some rather unfortunate deletes.
Oratorio
It is in thumbed pages,
slow-turning, penned by men
stiff collared in candle light
their names unpronouncible
to young tongues, that I find you
Head resting on a scattering
of smudged pages your glasses akimbo,
your legs creased. Your shirt tails are
dysfunctional, as you would say each morning
when I on the way to school would try to
sneak out shirt untucked and top button un-done,
I was setting a example of both myself and you,
I understand that now.
It is in thumbed pages, slow turning
that you have that warm hearted
and wool cosied, teapot with its breath a sweet perfume
sat ever present by your feet.
It’s whistling Jennens’ oratorio.
It is in thumbed pages,
slow-turning, that the topography
of your face is written, it’s formed in simple words.
I can see them, finger running from adjective, expletive
to verb, your features are simple and reserved. They look much
like mine but older. Your hair is crumpled on your scalp,
when was the last time it saw a brush?
It is in thumbed pages,
slow turning, that I first notice your hands.
Funny little stick men live between
your thumb and pointer it looks like
you’ve doodled them. Didn’t Granny
tell you not to draw on yourself?
Was there a shortage of paper
when you were young?
It is in thumbed pages,
slow turning, dense beyond belief
that I find you. Head resting on a scattering
of smudged pages your glasses akimbo,
your legs creased. You stir to see me, small palms
pushing on the door. I can’t sleep and you
beckon me to you…
It is on turning the page that I find you’re gone
no longer flesh and blood but ink smeared paper,
your is face lost again, forgotten,
hidden somewhere amongst adjectives, expletives and verbs.
Posts: 2,357
Threads: 230
Joined: Oct 2010
I don't have a lot of critique for this revision. This is much improved. There are still some areas I may come back to address after I sit with it more. I do like the longer line lengths--best fix you've done.
I do want to point out one thing though (bolded below).
(03-01-2018, 07:44 PM)20_Hamilton_18 Wrote: Revision#1
Oratorio
In thumbed pages, slow-turning, penned
by men stiff collared in candlelight, their names
unpronouncible to young tongues, I find you
Head resting on a scattering of dust covered pages,
your glasses akimbo, legs creased. By your feet,
warm hearted and wool cosied, breath perfumed sweet,
a teapot. Jennens’ oratorio whispers in your ear.
You look much like me, but older, simpler more reserved.
In thumbed pages, slow turning, I first notice your hands.
Funny little stick men live between thumb and pointer.
It looks like you’ve doodled them. Didn’t Granny tell you,
not to draw on yourself? Was there a shortage of paper
when you were young?
In thumbed pages, slow turning, I find you.
Head resting on a scattering of dusted pages
your glasses akimbo, legs creased. You stir to see me,
small palms pushing on the door. I can’t sleep and you
beckon me over…
no longer flesh and blood but ink smeared paper,
your is face lost, forgotten, hidden somewhere amongst adjectives, --do you mean "your face is lost" I think you do and this is a typo because it doesn't make sense.
expletives and verbs.
It is in thumbed pages, slow turning, I find that you have gone.
Still not fond of the lack of hyphens but I can live with it.
Best,
Todd
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
Posts: 45
Threads: 7
Joined: Feb 2018
Hey guys, once again I can't thank both of you enough for the feedback, it almost feels like you've put as much thought and effort into everything I've posted since joining PPP as I myself have. I've made a few alterations on the previous revision but not many.
Again thank you so much
Johnny
Posts: 2,602
Threads: 303
Joined: Feb 2017
(03-01-2018, 07:44 PM)20_Hamilton_18 Wrote: Revision#2
Oratorio
In thumbed pages, slow-turning, penned
by men stiff collared in candlelight, their names
unpronouncible to young tongues, I find you.
Your head resting on a scattering of dust covered pages,
glasses akimbo, legs creased. By your feet, a teapot.
Wool cosied, breath perfumed sweet. Your eyes closed
as Jennens’ oratorio whispers in your ear.
You look much like me but older; simpler more reserved.
In thumbed pages, slow turning, I first notice your hands.
Funny little stick men live between thumb and pointer.
It looks like you’ve doodled them. Didn’t Granny tell you,
not to draw on yourself? Was there a shortage of paper
when you were young?
In thumbed pages, slow turning, I find you;
head resting on a scattering of dusted pages
your glasses akimbo, legs creased. You squint to see me,
eyes swimming through the dark. I can’t sleep and you
beckon me to you…
No longer flesh and blood but ink smeared paper,
your face is lost, forgotten, hidden somewhere amongst adjectives,
expletives and verbs.
In thumbed pages, slow turning, you have gone.
Revision#1
Oratorio
In thumbed pages, slow-turning, penned
by men stiff collared in candlelight, their names
unpronouncible to young tongues, I find you
Head resting on a scattering of dust covered pages,
your glasses akimbo, legs creased. By your feet,
warm hearted and wool cosied, breath perfumed sweet,
a teapot. Jennens’ oratorio whispers in your ear.
You look much like me, but older, simpler more reserved.
In thumbed pages, slow turning, I first notice your hands.
Funny little stick men live between thumb and pointer.
It looks like you’ve doodled them. Didn’t Granny tell you,
not to draw on yourself? Was there a shortage of paper
when you were young?
In thumbed pages, slow turning, I find you.
Head resting on a scattering of dusted pages
your glasses akimbo, legs creased. You stir to see me,
small palms pushing on the door. I can’t sleep and you
beckon me over…
no longer flesh and blood but ink smeared paper,
your is face lost, forgotten, hidden somewhere amongst adjectives,
expletives and verbs.
It is in thumbed pages, slow turning, I find that you have gone.
After a few technical issues and me seemingly not having the original saved here is what was originally posted before some rather unfortunate deletes.
Oratorio
It is in thumbed pages,
slow-turning, penned by men
stiff collared in candle light
their names unpronouncible
to young tongues, that I find you
Head resting on a scattering
of smudged pages your glasses akimbo,
your legs creased. Your shirt tails are
dysfunctional, as you would say each morning
when I on the way to school would try to
sneak out shirt untucked and top button un-done,
I was setting a example of both myself and you,
I understand that now.
It is in thumbed pages, slow turning
that you have that warm hearted
and wool cosied, teapot with its breath a sweet perfume
sat ever present by your feet.
It’s whistling Jennens’ oratorio.
It is in thumbed pages,
slow-turning, that the topography
of your face is written, it’s formed in simple words.
I can see them, finger running from adjective, expletive
to verb, your features are simple and reserved. They look much
like mine but older. Your hair is crumpled on your scalp,
when was the last time it saw a brush?
It is in thumbed pages,
slow turning, that I first notice your hands.
Funny little stick men live between
your thumb and pointer it looks like
you’ve doodled them. Didn’t Granny
tell you not to draw on yourself?
Was there a shortage of paper
when you were young?
It is in thumbed pages,
slow turning, dense beyond belief
that I find you. Head resting on a scattering
of smudged pages your glasses akimbo,
your legs creased. You stir to see me, small palms
pushing on the door. I can’t sleep and you
beckon me to you…
It is on turning the page that I find you’re gone
no longer flesh and blood but ink smeared paper,
your is face lost again, forgotten,
hidden somewhere amongst adjectives, expletives and verbs.
It is a thing of timeless beauty...you are in this piece much more than you realise right now, but in years to come you will read it again through goosebumps and a held back tear. Congratulations for your acceptance of the crit which you felt you COULD accept...and for holding on to what was precious to you. Very well done...now leave it alone
Best,
tectak
Posts: 703
Threads: 141
Joined: Oct 2017
Hi Johnny,
much to like, but I found the repetitions of certain phrases
and of 'your' (particularly S2) and 'you' (S4) got in the way,
as did the passive voice.
May just be me, but the phrase 'in thumbed pages' didn't
roll easily off the tongue (in well-thumbed... was slightly
better). Overall, it wasn't quite as 'musical' as I was expecting
from the title.
Some cut and paste thoughts.
Oratorio
(Not sure this is doing enough)
I find you In thumbed pages -
penned by [stiff-collared candlelit] men,
their names unpronouncible to young tongues
(perhaps 'faltering on' for unpronounceable' ?
- also check spelling.
'young tongues' isn't that great when spoken,
- anything wrong with 'younger' ?)
[perhaps describe the 'feel' of the paper?] slow[ly] turn[ed],
[Looking] much like me [yet] older;
simpler more reserved. Your head
rest on [s]a scattering of[/s] dust covered [leaves/sheets],
glasses akimbo, legs creased. [At] your feet a Wool cosied teapot.
Not a fan of 'akimbo' here, particularly as it is followed by 'legs'
breath perfumed sweet., eyes closed, glasses akimbo,
as Jennens’ oratorio whispers in your ear.
I first notice your hands, slow[ly] turning thumbed pages
(possibly this should start 'I find your hands...')
Funny little stick men live between thumb and pointer.
the repetition of 'thumb' so soon after 'thumbed' weakens
both lines I think.
(they've funny little stick men, alive on your skin ?)
It looks like you’ve doodled them. Didn’t Granny tell you,
('funny little...' strongly suggests 'doodled')
not to draw on yourself? Was there a shortage of paper
when you were young?
'Granny' rather implies this line
(I don't think the repetition of the first three lines
does anything for the piece)
I find you slow[ly] swimming through the dark,
turning [from] thumbed pages squint[ing]
to see me, I can’t sleep and you beckon me to you…
No longer flesh and blood but ink smeared paper,
your face is lost, forgotten, hidden somewhere
(Lost, forgotten, hidden - pick one.)
amongst adjectives, verbs and expletives
(Even if you keep this change the order, it doesn't
seem natural)
In thumbed pages, slow turning, you have gone.
Hope some of this is useful.
Best, Knot.
Posts: 56
Threads: 12
Joined: Apr 2016
No longer flesh and blood but ink smeared paper,
your face is lost, forgotten, hidden somewhere amongst adjectives,
expletives and verbs.
In thumbed pages, slow turning, you have gone.
Really lovely - fully evocative.
I find the rest flawless as well. I find no impilse whatever to crit this piece.
It evokes, for me, an age, perhaps closer to Donne than you intended, but
from the first few line I found myself cloistered with a writer from that era.
Very well done - RC
|
