Memories of him

[savannah]

I am struggling with the flow in this poem. My personal feeling is that some of the lines are stilted. Please let me know your thoughts.

Incense drifts through the air
like a scented cloud
hoping to quell the grief in the room.

Their words are jumbled.
Murmurs of pity and shock, and
the occasional stab at empathy.
Words reel like wires, criss crossing
until they stitch a safety net
over the pain, still infant, resting
in a quiet stupor until a sudden memory
pries its lips open.

His photograph looms over the incense sticks.
The flowers around his garland*** are still fresh, virginal,
like the wound.
His smile is rapturous as ever,
stirring memories of
our wedding day.

Rings of smoke from the pyre
mingled with tender jasmine
as i glanced sidelong at him, finding the
corners of his mouth tilt,
erupting into a smile.
Waves of conversation, undulating,
faded into the background
as he curled his fingers over my chin, damp with tears.
The tears flowed like rivers of ecstasy,
soaking his palm as he looked at me,
eyes softened, reaching over
to wipe my cheek.

The murmurs die slowly
as still silence pervades the room.
I hold his lifeless hand over my warm cheek,
soaked in tears
from the memory, still fresh.

***Flower garlands around a deceased person's photograph tend to be a custom at Indian funerals

[busker]

I am struggling with the flow in this poem. My personal feeling is that some of the lines are stilted. Please let me know your thoughts.

Incense drifts through the air
like a scented cloud
hoping to quell the grief in the room.

Their words are jumbled.
Murmurs of pity and shock, and
the occasional stab at empathy.
Words reel like wires, criss crossing
until they stitch a safety net
over the pain, still infant, resting
in a quiet stupor until a sudden memory
pries its lips open.

His photograph looms over the incense sticks.
The flowers around his garland*** are still fresh, virginal,
like the wound.
His smile is rapturous as ever,
stirring memories of
our wedding day.

Rings of smoke from the pyre
mingled with tender jasmine
as i glanced sidelong at him, finding the
corners of his mouth tilt,
erupting into a smile.
Waves of conversation, undulating,
faded into the background
as he curled his fingers over my chin, damp with tears.
The tears flowed like rivers of ecstasy,
soaking his palm as he looked at me,
eyes softened, reaching over
to wipe my cheek.

The murmurs die slowly
as still silence pervades the room.
I hold his lifeless hand over my warm cheek,
soaked in tears
from the memory, still fresh.

***Flower garlands around a deceased person's photograph tend to be a custom at Indian funerals

Hi Savannah - your observation is correct in that the lines are stilted, the phrases hackneyed.
The good thing is that you're aware of it, so you can fix it.
Let's look at the first strophe:

Incense drifts through the air

like a scented cloud
hoping to quell the grief in the room.

You could try and find a better substitute for 'drifts through the air'. The moment you say incense, the 'drifts through the air' is a cliched, boring expression.
Then there's 'like a scented cloud'. First, it is exactly that - a scented cloud of incense smoke. Not sure why there's a simile. But even if you went for the simile, 'scented cloud' is about as cliched as it gets.
Then there's the third line - 'quell the grief' - also weather-worn, but as importantly, the whole line comes across as clunky. Why would the incense 'hope' to do anything? It's a throwaway attempt at anthropomorphisation just because (well, because you were trying to finish that line, the reader would think).
Other cliches in the poem:  'rapturous smiles', 'silence pervades', 'stirring memories', 'waves of conversation' (the last being more ham-handed than cliched).

I would also avoid the use of hyperbolic / cliched expressions such as  'ecstasy', 'virginal', 

On the other hand, this strophe is quite good, and could be the whole poem:

Their words are jumbled.
Murmurs of pity and shock, and
the occasional stab at empathy.
Words reel like wires, criss crossing
until they stitch a safety net
over the pain, still infant, resting
in a quiet stupor until a sudden memory
pries its lips open.

Maybe if you just focused on that flash of insight and did away with the preamble and the epilogue, you'd have better results.

[newsclippings]

Hi Savannah,

Sometimes it helps to remove articles in poems to sort of simplify your thoughts. For example, instead of

Incense drifts through the air // like a scented cloud // hoping to quell the grief in the room.

I would consider:
Incense drifts through air // like a scented cloud // hoping to quell grief in the room.


This reads narratively, and I am a fan of poems that could be turned into paragraphs or novel passages. I see you've taken a slice of an event, but I can't help but feel slightly unconnected from it despite the vulnerable nature of the poem. I imagine the location is a funeral, so I would perhaps sink into that location a little more. Maybe expand on the flitting condolences and pity talk. The poem sort of paints the situation but doesn't open up anything new about what's actually going on with either the narrator or the surrounding situation.

I do hope this helps. The piece does a good job of conveying pain but I'm not certain every aspect is folding back into an objective narrative. And maybe that's not the point of it! What do I know anyway!

[John]

Hi, Savannah,

Some good learning points, there. I'm sure you've read that the essence of poetry is concentration: of mind, thought, word usage, form and layout. Succinctness. As far as possible, show, don't tell, and draw the reader in. Let them fill in the blanks as much as they can. Lay the trail of gunpowder to the kegs, and give the reader the match. And let them enjoy the explosion of emotion.

Don't get caught in the free-verse trap: no rules so anything goes therefore it's easy... It's not. It's much harder.

This piece has a lot going on (and not always clear), and as already suggested, it could be broken down into separate works with different themes. That will keep it tight and meaningful, and allow the reader to assimilate it for themselves.

For example (a wake):

Thanks for coming. Immortal lines of a grieving host
Condolences Double meaning as a plural noun or the spoken word
drift through the air on sweet incense An indication of the cultural setting, and suggesting how the grief permeates through the mourners
Love and remembrance roll down cheeks Because that's what shedding tears is about without telling the reader that mourners were crying
A garlanded photograph Cultural indication and a treasured souvenir that the reader will keep
framing life and love and loss These latter two lines allow the reader to picture their own loved one in the frame and what it means to them. Consider the alliteration

Aching A summation of loss giving the reader chance to consider all their emotions

Why her?
Why now? The eternal questions that have no answers. We've all asked them. Reader's empathy for the host. And then as is common, there's nothing left to say, except...

Thanks for coming.

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

I haven't paid strict attention to using longer vowels, punctuation, particular word choices, line breaks etc. It's just an indication of concentrated emotion in far fewer words.

If any of it is of any help, have at it. 

[TranquillityBase]

I am struggling with the flow in this poem. My personal feeling is that some of the lines are stilted. Please let me know your thoughts.

Incense drifts through the air
like a scented cloud
hoping to quell the grief in the room.

Their words are jumbled.
Murmurs of pity and shock, and
the occasional stab at empathy.
Words reel like wires, criss crossing
until they stitch a safety net
over the pain, still infant, resting
in a quiet stupor until a sudden memory
pries its lips open.

His photograph looms over the incense sticks.
The flowers around his garland*** are still fresh, virginal,
like the wound.
His smile is rapturous as ever,
stirring memories of
our wedding day.

Rings of smoke from the pyre
mingled with tender jasmine
as i glanced sidelong at him, finding the
corners of his mouth tilt,
erupting into a smile.
Waves of conversation, undulating,
faded into the background
as he curled his fingers over my chin, damp with tears.
The tears flowed like rivers of ecstasy,
soaking his palm as he looked at me,
eyes softened, reaching over
to wipe my cheek.

The murmurs die slowly
as still silence pervades the room.
I hold his lifeless hand over my warm cheek,
soaked in tears
from the memory, still fresh.

***Flower garlands around a deceased person's photograph tend to be a custom at Indian funerals

Maybe I'm just getting old, but I do not feel any stilty-ness in reading this aloud in my mind.  There are a few points of confusion though, for me:

l. 2 "like a scented cloud"....it is a scented cloud, no need for "like"

the "still infant", did you mean "like an still infant"?  

and lastly, further down, "like the wound", whose wound?  If it's referring to your grief, say "my wound", or maybe I'm just complete mis-reading your poem.

thanks for putting it up for us to read

[ISawASpaceship]

I am struggling with the flow in this poem. My personal feeling is that some of the lines are stilted. Please let me know your thoughts.

Incense drifts through the air
like a scented cloud
hoping to quell the grief in the room.

Their words are jumbled.
Murmurs of pity and shock, and
the occasional stab at empathy.
Words reel like wires, criss crossing
until they stitch a safety net
over the pain, still infant, resting
in a quiet stupor until a sudden memory
pries its lips open.

His photograph looms over the incense sticks.
The flowers around his garland*** are still fresh, virginal,
like the wound.
His smile is rapturous as ever,
stirring memories of
our wedding day.

Rings of smoke from the pyre
mingled with tender jasmine
as i glanced sidelong at him, finding the 
corners of his mouth tilt,
erupting into a smile. (I think this is the only bit I'd change. I'd personally like to see "as they erupted into a smile", instead. That's just my preference though.)
Waves of conversation, undulating,
faded into the background
as he curled his fingers over my chin, damp with tears.
The tears flowed like rivers of ecstasy,
soaking his palm as he looked at me,
eyes softened, reaching over
to wipe my cheek.

The murmurs die slowly
as still silence pervades the room.
I hold his lifeless hand over my warm cheek,
soaked in tears
from the memory, still fresh. (Heartbreaking and yet, immensely beautiful picture. I might actually be in tears in a moment if I think about it too much. My heart hurts now. Very well-written last stanza.)

***Flower garlands around a deceased person's photograph tend to be a custom at Indian funerals

[Kerbonzo_beenz]

When you say incense smells like a scented cloud, that is what it is for. Maybe not the best simile to use in this sense.