letting go

[GMan]

letting go......


how do I let go when the 5 million pores in my body simply refuse



and grasp onto the solid trunk that roots me to the center of the earth



as the rest of my body swirls in red and purple tornadoes



and, I, notice my body writhing, below, in the dusty ground



and I leave it behind, for another day



until dusk, to start over.

[mlea]

Thank you for sharing this! I had a few thoughts:

I was a little confused by the image of pores grasping and being unable to let go. I think of a pore as being an opening or an outlet, something that excretes toxins. Perhaps you could say they "refuse to open". Pores are most commonly associated with the skin, so I was imagining the skin (or outside) being solidly rooted to the center of the Earth, while the rest of the body (the inside) was being blown around in a tornado. When the narrator's mind steps back and looks at his (presumably intact) body writhing on the ground, this image stopped making sense to me.

I would think a little more about the metaphor you are going for. From the title and first line, it seems like the narrator wants to let go of this solid trunk that is rooting him to the Earth, but as the reader, I don't understand why. That trunk seems like the most peaceful part of the story. Then instead of physically letting go, he keeps holding on, but mentally abandons his body. Is that the type of letting go you were after all along? Why does he need to return another day, and why at dusk?

I think that elaborating on the reason for letting go would help clarify the message of this poem. I also think more reflection about the image of the narrator's body is warranted. Carefully consider how you want the reader to picture the physical manifestation of this internal conflict.

Overall a great start! I like the drama of the imagery and the open-ended nature of the struggle. Keep writing!

[GMan]

@mlea: thank you for your comments. really appreciate it. i will mull over your comments and post again.
g

[unpolished]

Thanks for sharing, a few thoughts:

Like mlea, I too was confused by the pore metaphor. Perhaps atom might be a better word choice, unless you were going into this metaphor to mean that your skin (like an outer shell) refused to let go of the earthly tethers. Especially when the second line comes, I cannot see a pore "grasp".
Maybe another way of wording it would be to say that your arms and hands refuse to let go in order to connect it more to the second line. Especially since the poem evokes "the body" so much, calling out more tangible parts (arms, hands, legs) could be good. And if you were to do this you could write something really cool like

how do I let go when my arms and hands simply refuse

and grasp onto the solid ground rooting me to the center of the earth

Which like you become rooted instead of holding onto somethings that's rooted. Instead of having an intermediary between you and the Earth (which is what you want to let go?)


and, I, notice my body writhing, below, in the dusty ground

Here I just think that the first two commas are just superfluous. It is too awkwardly broken apart.


Also in your last line, I think you might have meant "dawn" instead of "dusk". As if a new day if you didn't mean that just ignore it.

But really cool draft, I really enjoyed it.

[Mark A Becker]

Hey GMan-

The mix of images may work inside your own head, but they aren't piecing together inside of mine. This one is a bit too abstract for me to form a reaction to.

The fact that there are about 5M pores in a human body is a "stand alone" fact that needs to be tied in better. There are about 90 billion neurons in my little brain, but that fact may only be interesting if I relate it to something else. Facts, here, require context.

I can't tell if a tree is a metaphor for your body, or the other way around.

Also, the ground is solid, then dusty... and that's confusing.

The red and purple tornadoes speak of some general pain that you may feel, but I can't feel it without more to grab on to.

Less is usually more, but please open the door a bit wider, otherwise I feel left out.

Thanks,
... Mark