The Poets' Graves Workshop

Thank you Mac, Ray and T,

It looks like this needs some work. I'll be back!

Jackie

Perry, To me, the hardest thing in the world to do is to write when I'm low! If you can do that, maybe it's a good time to build up a group of early drafts and feedback to work on later. I also see many elements of a good poem here. A line of yours that I really like is I have, after all, started wr...

Trevor, For whatever reason I fastened on a lump (of clothes) growing increasingly hard under her arm (S1), and equating loss of the clothes to a burial (S5). You seem to continue the idea that the clothes and she are one as she feels massaged in S2. I like S4 a lot. S5 leaves me with a lot of quest...

He meets the scene visit of our Christmas burglary outside. Our former yardmen dismount and fall at his feet. “Tears can't apply,” he says like they aren’t men anymore. Amadu in his undershirt and neat, neat Sie dressed in screeching dirt. Like ghosts they trace what stood that night in each now dus...

Hi Eira, I enjoy so much of the imagery in this poem, but I stumble on the grammar. In S1, are the swallows curling? If it is the reeds that are curling, then surely in the next sentence, it is the reeds that are congregating? If it is the birds, then they congregate, swing, and flock, don't they? W...

Thank you Mac, Not, Trevor and Ray for giving me so many aspects to work on. I actually used "veil" as a synonym for shroud, without thinking of it in connection to a wedding, but I like the drama that brings. I need to work on this.

I thought you'd like to see what inspired it:

She wore her shroud for me
that last day we had together,
and with the slightest of shrugs
the burnt-orange wrap drifted,
barely touching her bareness,
on down upon me.
Through the winter it was her body
I recalled, not the trembling
orange veil fallen at her feet.

The car ahead turns right on red. She moves into place, checks nails, combs fingers through hair. Crouch. Watch. Crouch-leap sideways. Again. She’s off! She stole second! On down the road still tingling she’ll be tagged she recites It’s allowed, turning right on red; allowed now . Like Mom’s certifi...

I enjoyed reading this, Namyh. One thing about writing traditionally though, is that it doesn't leave you any leeway to play around with metrics and rhyme patterns. You look here like you're finding that too confining. Are you sure you don't want to venture into contemporary poetry?

Jackie

I like the sense of stream of consciousness, its liquidity, Thanks, Mac. Hearing from others that something I've written has "an original slant" or "liquidity" encourages me. I usually like to collect comments and swish them around in my mouth for a while to see if they're my voice before doing any...

Thank you so much Tristan, Not and Mac for your thoughtful ideas.

Mac, the number of times I've heard "I prefer the original" has convinced me I'm a lousy reviser. Nonetheless, I revise. See above.

Jackie

Let's see, Lotus. Sidewalks are inanimate and enclosing—they define where you can be. The ashtray (I'm calling it) is these things. Mermaids are alive, sensual, enticing, and the ripe tomato is these things. Yet their textures and colors and surfaces and shapes show even the inanimate and the alive ...

Thank you, Not and Tristan, for taking the time to review this and picking up on those things I didn’t see. I’m posting a version 2—still a work in progress. As you say, Tristan, I’m suspending conventions; this poem takes place in survival mode and caps and commas don’t live there. I appreciate you...

Amadis, may I make some translation suggestions? I don’t know how to tell you I don’t know how to explain to you There is no cure For how I feel For how I feel The moon tells me do one thing The stars tell me to do another And the light of day sings to me This sad song This sad song Those kisses you...

Amadis,

Why don't you edit your first post by placing this new version on top of it, and calling the original poem, version 1. That way, we can all see from the list that you have posted something new.

Jackie

Version 3 cashiers have stopped asking did you find everything all right ghost crowds down these aisles slaked their panic with paper buying skilled workers from abroad can’t get here to bring the harvest in new brands on the gap shelves sign me to want them instead isolated by the evening light I w...

Poet, I hear your voice and your passion clearly in this piece. So right! The problem is horrific, pervasive, and systemic. As a poem, though, right from the title, it may have bitten off more than it can chew. How can you narrow the topic to make it more powerful? Can you focus on a single image fr...

Not,

I enjoyed your conversion of nursery rhymes to taunts, but so far as political commentary goes, I try to keep to my own side of the pond.

Jackie

Amadis, This poem propels me into the scene and I keep wanting to like it but can't quite get there because the images don't work for me. For example, how can haze be brutal sunshine? And how can haze have consequences? I try starting the poem with S2 which reads beautifully, assuming by "ken" you m...

Amadis,

When this is read aloud, the ball is hit at regular intervals so there seem to be no misses, and I recognize the names of some of the songs, but I don't follow Bryan Adams so I think I'm missing a lot here.

Thanks for posting,
Jackie

Thank you, Amadis, this helps. I can see how the ending comes as a surprise.

Jackie

Hi Trevor As I understand it, N at first feels resentful that this child is verging on walking when N no longer can/now cannot, but later finds enlightenment or release in this…what? Spiritual connection? As you say, you could write only about the child, but this too is a very engaging topic. To me,...

Suzanne, this has the gentle feel of Roberta Flack singing, "Jesse, Come Home." Would you consider dropping the first two lines and starting the poem with the third line? I stumble on by describing the vessel rather than pointing out its lack of content. . How about shortening it to "by describing t...

JJ, to me there is a huge difference in the overall impression between the original and revised version. The original seemed like a controlled child's book illustration, framed, enclosed. The second is wide open, and the door with the detail of people becomes a secret revelation on the edge of a mas...

Anongirl, thank you for posting this. My sympathy for your loss. I do agree with Perry's suggestions, especially where he says the first step is to ask yourself if you're writing for yourself or for another audience. I'm a firm believer in using journals to get the pain out and clarify my thinking e...