Words

[JamesG]

I have read too many words,
so many that I can no longer see them.
They blur together, inadequate.
They stand naked in the storm,
puckered flesh no defense
against the wall of lead and steel.

Words stirred together
like so many battered pigments,
‘til mixed to the ancient smear,
the old blood hue that we all know
brown and unremarkable,
never to be as sharp
as the shrapnel that
cuts across the landscape
from east to west,
and back again.

The old man's scythe
drones back and forth,
back and forth,
‘til all the words,
those useless words
are cut to pieces,
crushed under the cheap concrete rubble,
dazed, broken, forgotten,
lying weeping on the floor.




An oldish one. Feel free to pull it apart and make it better, if possible.

[rowens]

"I've wept too many tears, heartbreaking dawns"

I have read too many words,
so many that I can no longer see them.
They blur together, inadequate.
They stand naked in the storm,
puckered flesh no defense
against the wall of lead and steel.


This first part can be excused for its mixed elements, as that's what it's talking about. And needn't be excused.



Words stirred together
like so many battered pigments,
‘til mixed to the ancient smear,
the old blood hue that we all know
brown and unremarkable,
never to be as sharp
as the shrapnel that
cuts across the landscape
from east to west,
and back again.

Destruction and death are weaved in maybe too subtly. And would be just right, with more memorable phrasing or an apparently minor word removed or a more suggestive one added here and there. 

Could build on the concrete (in both senses) aspects, though the disparate concrete imagery from stanza to stanza isn't a problem and adds to the poem. 

Take the conscious or unconscious or unaware allusions before and after the poem as you will. Others will too when they read poems. 



The old man's scythe
drones back and forth,
back and forth,
‘til all the words,
those useless words
are cut to pieces,
crushed under the cheap concrete rubble,
dazed, broken, forgotten,
lying weeping on the floor.

"I'm cold and I'm shamed
lying naked on the floor"

[JackTredden]

>> I’m new the forum and joined because this seems to be one of the few places to offer real genuine critiques of work, rather than the “It’s lovely” approach you find elsewhere. I offer the following in the spirit of helpfulness and not at all wishing to be mean or critical for the sake of it.
 
 
I have read too many words,
 
>> Good opening. Plain but an reasonably interesting starting point.

so many that I can no longer see them.


>> Recognisable word blindness in the face of overload. Still good.
 
They blur together, inadequate.


>> The comma works well, adding that thoughtful qualifier. But “inadequate” doesn’t feel quite right. Why does their blurring become inadequate? In what way inadequate? Maybe “inseparable” or a short phrase that explains more.
 
They stand naked in the storm,
puckered flesh no defense
against the wall of lead and steel.


>> Leap into metaphorical language. Words as bodies in a storm. “puckered flesh” is good and urgent but you then leap to a secondary metaphor of the storm as a wall of lead and steal. Moving rapidly into poetic cliché. It might leave the reader metaphorically punch drunk.

>> Good that you break before the next shift.
 
Words stirred together
like so many battered pigments,


>> Words as pigment is another metaphor but fine. Let’s go with it. “Battered” looks back to the previous storm metaphor. It could tie them together, though you were already risking metaphor overload and, to borrow the pigment metaphor, you’ve already got a very full palette.
‘til mixed to the ancient smear,


>> “‘Til” is poetic language and archaic. Not in itself bad but is it necessary? Would “Until” do something you dislike in order to justify the overly poetic posture?
 
the old blood hue that we all know
brown and unremarkable,


>> Ancient smear and the old blood hue are good, grounding the argument in some kind of mythic world but what exactly is the “ancient smear”? You are straying into abstraction but I couldn’t as yet tell you what this poem is about. There are so many words that it’s hard to find meaning?
 
never to be as sharp
as the shrapnel that
cuts across the landscape
from east to west,
and back again.
 
>> Again another jump in metaphors. Words become pigments the colour of blood that isn’t as sharp as shrapnel?
>> Can the hue of blood be said to be sharp?
>> Then you jump back to landscape, which isn’t bad in itself but the metaphor overload is working against the clarity.
>> What I sense, so far, is that you’re saying that so much has been written and said that language embodies the forces that cause war.

The old man's scythe


>> Now you have the personification of Death. Could be a cliché. But let’s see…
 
drones back and forth,


>> “Drone” is a strong word but not effective. Does a scythe drone? Perhaps it does if it somehow cuts the air or vibrates. Then it implies sharpness and “drone” is a good word. But I’m not sure it’s better than something much simpler such as “arcs”.
 
back and forth,
‘til all the words,
those useless words
are cut to pieces,
 
>> ‘Til again.
>> Death kills the words. Chops them down. This could work. Death as a force that restores or changes meaning.
 
crushed under the cheap concrete rubble,
dazed, broken, forgotten,
lying weeping on the floor.
 
>> So words arer both chopped and now “crushed”.
>> “Cheap concrete rubble” comes from nowhere. Why is the concrete cheap? Were the words made of concrete? It’s all very poetic but lacks clarity. What exactly is “dazed” here? Words or the rubble? Why would words be dazed is they’re cut to pieces? And if it’s dazed, can it also be weeping?
Can rubble weep? Or words?
 
You’re trying to do something genuinely interesting here, grappling with the failure of language in the face of violence and history, as well as being the source of those prejudices that cross generations and civilisations. But you’re slipping into “poetic thinking”. It’s all very gestural towards depth but is too murkily abstract. The best poets are readable in the sense that it’s clear what they’re trying to say, even if they sometimes create moments where the language slips away from us and gestures towards deeper waters.
I’d stick with one metaphor and work it multiple ways.
Words standing naked in the storm was a strong opening. You could personify the words as innocents in a battlefield. Get rid of the pigment idea and stick with that. Find one core message you want to deliver and try to deliver it. Avoid poetic language for the sake of poetic language. It’s detracting from the central thesis.
 
I hope I did justice to the piece and I hope you find it helpful. Any problems or comments on my approach, I'm happy to hear them. 

Thank you for allowing me to read this.

[JamesG]

Hi Jack, thanks for your criticism, most appreciated, and I will certainly revisit this to see if I am better able to structure it around a single metaphor rather than several.

[dukealien]

I have read too many words,
so many that I can no longer see them.
They blur together, inadequate.
They stand naked in the storm,
puckered flesh no defense
against the wall of lead and steel.  First stanza:  good images, satisfactory free verse rhythm, and three characters:  speaker,  the fleshly words which have (somehow without enhancing their meaning) become melded, and the shitstorm of military dimensions (which is what?)

Words stirred together
like so many battered pigments,
‘til mixed to the ancient smear,
the old blood hue that we all know
brown and unremarkable,  emphasizing the mixing again rather than the meaning it should sharpen (right there on the next line)
never to be as sharp
as the shrapnel that
cuts across the landscape
from east to west,
and back again.  as in S1, contrasting weakness of the mix with sharpness of the... what?  Reality?   Opposition?  What opposes words?

The old man's scythe
drones back and forth,  Dynamite image, but I want to know what it personifies.
back and forth,
‘til all the words,
those useless words  OK, a test for words - not true or meaningful, just useful (or not)
are cut to pieces,
crushed under the cheap concrete rubble,
dazed, broken, forgotten,
lying weeping on the floor.  so the words have sentiments and regrets about... being useless?




An oldish one. Feel free to pull it apart and make it better, if possible.

(In Intensive, and without reading prior critiques...)

The problem here, as I see it (and I'm a little drunk and possibly not much use myself at the moment) is that the thing which interferes with the speaker's words, while metaphorically and well described, is not actually identified.  The author may have had something in mind - a lover's harsh rejection, the resort to violence when addressed with compelling rhetoric and willingness to listen (appropriate to the present September of 2025), or just failure of diplomacy against war.  But the essence of a metaphor is that its referent will be understood (and then better understood in light of the verse).  I may be missing it, but we are never told what the warlike, death-like mulcher and destroyer of words is.

Now it may be this is the point:  the melt and mashing of words is a howling meaninglessness indistinguishable from a confused clash by night.  But I want a hint, even to that.  Don't call it "The Defeat of Words," it doesn't have to be that blatant, but something.  Just because words are defeated doesn't mean yours must be, reflecting on that collapse.

There may be a hint of what to hang it all on in the call-backs to usefulness (and uselessness).  What is the use of words, that they fail in it?  You don't have to give us hope, only a suggestion about what brought the Tower down.  Communication, its failure, perhaps.

Hope that helps, or at least doesn't add to the disharmonium.