"Should I close the window?"
I whispered. "No, I love the smell
of freshly cut grass." you answered,
your unsymmetrical breasts reminding me of us.
Our odor deadened
by my neighbor's maintained lawn,
I planted your money in an envelope,
but couldn't imagine what would grow.
Two years later, my spade stuttered through soil
after you ended this transaction-
I didn't think you capable of unsolicited love.
Our eyes would have never met that day
if not for that cheap perfume,
sweeter than any rose I bought for you.
I buzzed around you like a hungry bee,
your proposition a flower with a stigma.
First Edit:
A Gardener's Folly
So pungent that a nose bleed was inevitable...
Do you remember the first time penetrated by my fingers?
They smelled of you for days, your satisfaction
quieter than my neighbor's lawnmower.
Your money planted in an envelope,
brown as the dirt under my nails.
"Should I close the window,"
I whispered. "No, I love the smell
of freshly cut grass." you answered,
naked, yet so much still unknown;
your unsymmetrical breasts reminding me of us.
Two years later, my spade stuttered through soil
after you ended this transaction-
I didn't think you capable of unsolicited love.
Our eyes would have never met that day
if you didn't drench yourself in that cheap perfume;
artificial sweetness washed away
the shit stench stuck in my nostrils' memory
as I buzzed around you like a hungry bee,
your proposition a flower with a stigma.
Original:
A Botanist's Love Song
So pungent that a nose bleed was inevitable...
Do you remember the first time penetrated by my fingers?
They smelled of you for days, your satisfaction
quieter than my neighbor's lawnmower.
Your money in an envelope,
brown as autumn leaves.
"Should I close the window,"
I whispered. "No, I love the smell
of freshly cut grass." you answered,
naked, yet so much still unknown-
your unsymmetrical breasts reminding me of us.
My spade slices through soil with greater ease
than saying goodbye after two years.
Our eyes would have never met that day
if you didn't drench yourself in that cheap perfume;
I buzzed around you like a hungry bee,
your proposition a flower with a stigma.
08-29-2018, 05:50 PM (This post was last modified: 08-29-2018, 05:55 PM by RiverNotch.)
Today's haze blocks out any minor notes (although I do have them), forcing my eye on a major one: this reads nothing like a botanist's love song. It does have a hint of scientific praxis (Your money in an envelope, / brown as autumn leaves --- although normally leaves collected this way aren't already colored by the season, instead coloring as they are dried out by the press), but it's a hint too subtle, considering how digging up dirt is not exclusive to the profession. It also has a hint of scientific lexis, what with stigma and the focus on asymmetry, but there's little stock in jargon if it isn't supported by something solid.
And, as a love song, I refrain from judging this piece's foundations, but as a love song to be associated with botany.... I wouldn't ask for something more arcane, of course, although that would certainly make your piece more interesting, but take the one example I almost always refer to when it comes to plant-based poetry: Louise Gluck's The Wild Iris. What makes it shine as a botanical work is its eye for detail, with each plant's speech evoking a quality inherent to the plant itself (such as the Witchgrass's ubiquity or the Jacob's Ladder's verticality), and the speakers who aren't plants only referring to the more specific, universal-only-by-the-metaphor aspects of the featured garden.
The level of detail to be considered by a poet when writing on a specific, well-studied object may form itself into a sort of pyramid. At its base are the broad ideas almost everyone knows, yet few understand, at which point the pyramid is at its heaviest: the poem must go into great depth in order to effectively use them. Certainly something like Roses are red, violets are blue is not to be considered "botanical". At its peak, the pyramid lightens: specificity shifts the burden from a thorough understanding of concepts, such as pollination or double fertilization, towards a more superficial yet no less evocative series of details, such as the habit of a Trillium or the seasonality of a Wild Iris.
Your piece, so far, seems to fall near the bottom of the pyramid, yet without the necessary weight. The ubiquitous details of plants smelling and plants (sometimes) being asymmetrical are not explored with the right depth: why does the speaker consider his lover's sensual perfume so vital to her existence, as the intrinsic nature of a plant's allure to its pollinators makes pollination seem to be to the plant? Why does the speaker compare his lover to a plant in the first place, yet, even in the face of his lover's seeming activity (the focus on her money, or the speech she has in the second stanza), the comparison stops at details where a plant, at the basic level the poem treats with it, would seem most passive? In fact, this piece seems less like a botanist's love song and more like a gardener's love song, the focus is more on how to work plants to suburbia's aesthetic advantage rather than on the study of plants as themselves.
Of course, if it's already so arcane, then, pending your response, consider that it might be too arcane. At any rate, with this big problem in mind, I'm not certain how minor notes will help, my ultimate suggestion is wholesale revision (or, if not that, a change in focus, starting with the title), and, either way, this is moderate. I hope this helps.
Hey RiverNotch,
Thanks for the feedback. I was unsure about the title when I came up with it last night, so I appreciate what you had to say about that. I need to give this some thought.
Thanks again,
Richard
Hey RiverNotch
Your feedback got me thinking a lot about this piece, so that inspired me into an edit already. Feel free to let me know if it's going in the right direction.
(08-29-2018, 12:27 PM)Richard Wrote: A Gardener's Folly
So pungent that a nose bleed was inevitable... -wistful line. Sets the tone.
Do you remember the first time penetrated by my fingers?
They smelled of you for days, your satisfaction
quieter than my neighbor's lawnmower.
Your money planted in an envelope,
brown as the dirt under my nails. -I confess I'm not a fan of this stanza, which- for me- fails to transform the mundane into something more. It remains simply odd. The innuendo borders on comedic, was that the intended effect?
"Should I close the window,"
I whispered. "No, I love the smell -ah, nice line break.
of freshly cut grass." you answered, -small, but parallelism/grammar calls for 'grass," you'.
naked, yet so much still unknown; -with the next line, this one seems unnecessary.
your unsymmetrical breasts reminding me of us. -wish you could elaborate on the asymmetry between the two lovers, which seems to be a primary focus in this poem.
Two years later, my spade stuttered through soil
after you ended this transaction- -love these two lines, especially the word 'stuttered'; reveals so much about the nature of this relationship.
I didn't think you capable of unsolicited love. -unsolicited throws me off. Who is the giver & receiver? Am I lost? Is this referring to the money in the envelope? Help...
Our eyes would have never met that day
if you didn't drench yourself in that cheap perfume; -bit wordy. Perhaps, 'if not for that cheap perfume'?
artificial sweetness washed away -lost again by the placement of this line. How does it connect to the next line?
the shit stench stuck in my nostrils' memory -'nostrils' memory' makes me deeply uncomfortable, & not in a good way.
as I buzzed around you like a hungry bee,
your proposition a flower with a stigma. -strong closer.
A Botanist's Love Song
So pungent that a nose bleed was inevitable...
Do you remember the first time penetrated by my fingers?
They smelled of you for days, your satisfaction
quieter than my neighbor's lawnmower.
Your money in an envelope,
brown as autumn leaves.
"Should I close the window,"
I whispered. "No, I love the smell
of freshly cut grass." you answered,
naked, yet so much still unknown-
your unsymmetrical breasts reminding me of us.
My spade slices through soil with greater ease
than saying goodbye after two years.
Our eyes would have never met that day
if you didn't drench yourself in that cheap perfume;
I buzzed around you like a hungry bee,
your proposition a flower with a stigma.
won't match river's crit but hopefully some thoughts will be useful--i think the middle stanzas are the strongest, the first and last suffering from a lack of strong focus; it is botany, and love, perhaps, but all a bit randomized. enjoyed the read, there really were some lovely lines here.
