Wednesday, June 19, 2002 :::
 
daytime truth on pot is painful

the little crevices all l it, no
place for egobugs to hide. daytime is for

the endless pace of work to hammer at you
until you wonder if breaktime is a myth
go off to steal another
cigareete

the numbers come at you sharp-angled snow
656-1579-0213-0089 enter
478-1258-4457-0255 enter
784-89875-35598-489 enter
9754-2558-4568-1199 enter
784-568-3255-48779-25598-54545-enter enter enter they come

to you at the end of the day
good job,here's you're penny
go eat but your bowl of rice sqirms with numbers
the pattern in each spoon
a keyboard, it sits on your tongue a rebellion
of appetite.

you know you've transposed some numbers to make more work for yourself.

the cloclk ticsntacs
a little man in a peanut suit slowly strips
the seconds off its face -- a minute may pass
when you don't see those scenes pushing your eyes
like a fuzzy gif. what was that morph and how did it sit
so long, why isn't memory removeable? you know

the answer lies in chlorophyl, efflorescence of knowledge.
you wish for a god to pray to:
give me my misiercorde, take
the psalter and & pass a new smpell
over my head.



::: posted by hiccup at 7:09 AM



Tuesday, June 18, 2002 :::
 
you know anders, for some reason none of your posts has an edit button on it. so we can't do to your pieces what you said you want done. i dunno if you set it up like the other board. dancer rarely needs editing. certainly this one needs no edit. it's pure nd good. if his poems fail, there's no way to fix em. some we write just for ourselves.

::: posted by hiccup at 1:25 PM


 
lynze,

i have read this several times since you posted it, and have come to some basic conclusions regarding it. you have chosen the setting well, and have lined the images up in the proper sequence, but it comes up short on something...and i think that may be poetic device. i believe a poem can be written that lacks poetic device, but crafts an image strong enough to suffice the absence of device...but then, that could also be seen as a single metaphor, or analogy, and not the lacking of a device. this poem comes close to being able to do that, but it comes up slightly short in it's evocative abilities. let's look closer and see what i can add, line by line...

split

-first, the title...this is not so bad a title...but i knew this reading the poem, almost immediately. it can probably stay as a title, but i would keep an ear open for another.

the beach is almost deserted
two girls drag
two picnic tables to the water
to use as slides. a black crow caws
on the branch above us
bold and ugly. it hops from tree
to tree, follows us through the sand.

-a perfect example of what i mean by the lack of device...is in the opening line. you have to admit, it is as cliche as it gets...and this was the first metaphor opportunity missed. there is a better way to say this, using an analogy or metaphor to snag the reader. miving on...the use of the word "two" as visual device, seems forced, and would have read better looking like this...

two girls drag two
picnic tables, to the water
to use as slides.

-continuing...beginning at "a black crow caws...", needs a language boost. "caws", "bold", and "ugly"..."hops from branch to branch", and "follows us through the sand", are old usages. keep in mind, a poem can tolerate a few cliches at times, and phrases or images that are overused, provided they don't comprise the entire poem. but in order for that to happen, you have to use your own invention of language to decorate the edges of the overused.

i don't believe in bad omens anymore.

-i know the end of this poem is dependent on this idea being turned around, but it tells me too much. i should be able to ascertain this from the material in the poem. the image prior to this remark should have carried enough weight, from the vocabulary you describe it with, to convey this sentiment, without telling.

the gulf is wild. waves push high
the current pulls out, but the sandbar
holds our heads out of water.

-this would seem to be a more pivotal strophe in the poem than the description implies, because here you are up to your necks. once again, there is something more to be implied here. i know your intent, but fuller language would say so much more. again, this is a missed opporunity. you are painting images...the right ones i might add once more...but you are merely painting. you need to be able to say two things at once...and you alost do that again...but miss.

after we said gone, after that-another beach,
a different we.

-this is vague, and the hyphen misplaced, though correct in it's usage, for being able to make an easy read of the line. and here again...on this very line, the two of you hinge, and that just doesn't happen to the degree it needs to. the language needs to accomplish more than change beaches here...it has to simultaneously show me how your relationship is failing. it hints...but only mildly.

the gulf is wilder, waves roll in like clouds
clouds roll across the sky like waves
the tide is too high where we stay,
there is no beach. if we try to swim here
only rocks will catch us.

-same here...same issue as above, same dilemma. i know what you are trying to do, but were it not for the title, i wouldn't. i would think you were merely describing a lousy day at the beach.

a pelican glides overhead, i call
to it silently. he loves
these birds, the way their tensile glide
appears effortless. it stops just
beyond the balcony, turns halfway back,
hangs there for a moment, then dives.

-now i want you to look at the poem above this strophe...this is the first time you have introduced any emotion into the poem, and emotion was needed all the way through, to get the reader's empathy. "i call to it silently" is a bit corny...but the rest of this strophe says something i can relate to...and draws an emotional analogy for me. this strophe works for me. you have a ton of stuff above that comes close, but fails in it's color. you seem to stay tight to the vest in word choices. i think it would benefit you to get a bit more experimental with words.

i don't believe in good omens either.

-i just don't like when the poet makes a statement for the reader. the poem should lead me to this conclusion...not conclude it for me.


all that said...i still enjoyed the effort of this. you are on the right road with this stuff...you just need to get more creative with language now. your ideas are ahead of your word choices, and often this represents the most difficult step up for a poet to make.

thanks...

mitchell

just a note. i pissed this guy off with a comment of mine, got a rant from him...he wrote a beautiful pome but it also had common useage language but that wasn't my crit of him. why i posted it another place is cos you guys let stand those omen lines and i tell ya, i was/am unsure about them. i can't see outside this n probly no one in my community would be able to either. but this guy, well, i think he's wrong about the language usage, tho right about poetic space, i don't think the poem's there. it leads too much.

::: posted by hiccup at 11:35 AM



Monday, June 17, 2002 :::
 
the beach is almost deserted
two girls drag
two picnic tables to the water
to use as slides. a black crow caws
on the branch above us
bold and ugly. it hops from tree
to tree, follows us through the sand.

i don't believe in bad omens anymore.

the gulf is wild. waves push high
the current pulls out, but the sandbar
holds our heads out of water.

after we said gone, after that-another beach,
a different we.

the gulf is wilder, waves roll in like clouds
clouds roll across the sky like waves
the tide is too high where we stay,
there is no beach. if we try to swim here
only rocks will catch us.

a pelican glides overhead, i call
to it silently. he loves
these birds, the way their tensile glide
appears effortless. it stops just
beyond the balcony, turns halfway back,
hangs there for a moment, then dives.

i don't believe in good omens either.


::: posted by hiccup at 12:11 PM

ARCHIVES :::

Any poem posted here is allowed to be edited by anybody here. No need to save the original version for comparison. Any final poems are considered the joint product of anyone who helped work on it. The conglomerate name for this amorphous ''poet'' consisting of the dabbling hands of every originator and editor is, let's say, ''Phylicia Drabble.''