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Tides
| Critical Analysis #2 |
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Tides |
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howpeculiar Member
since 2000-12-12
Posts 56 |
(submitting this poem for publication, any and all help is needed. thanks!) Yesterday I became the deus of your niece Goddess Heroine saving her from worse than death (the eager, rolling tongue of the ocean) as we crossed one tiny bay to climb serrated black rocks and explore the tide pools. The Covenant of the Holy: “Hold tight. I have to walk through the water, but I won’t let it touch you. Promise.” Her small arms, rigid around my neck: pure in trust and fear; which relaxed to turn two brown reverent eyes to me, drowning instead, in gratitude and awe. We poked at snails, giggled at the clicking feet of Hermit crabs on our sand-and-salted palms, learned that sometimes the dust we stirred was red and alive, and that the world was too big to capture in just one pair of hands (or even two). She kept her distance on the peak of a dune -- tiny fingers clenching a blanket to her chest, jaw agape -- as I danced in the spray and let the tide rush me to the shore. We buried her aunt to the neck (and got sand in her ear), walked to the base of a lighthouse and held our arms out to steady our legs (understanding for once the phrase “dizzying heights”), filled the car with songs of llamas eating pajamas and rolling meatballs as we traveled home, And then, at their grandmother’s house, a pallet was made on the floor with blankets and two snoring slack bodies were laid side by side, stuffed animals tucked inbetween. The soften-smile still curling my lip from watching them breathe, I receded to the chair in the living room (that use to be yours when you were hers, and before that belonged to her parents) and instead of basking -- as I should have, I guess -- in the summer memory of the day, I felt a stinging splash and a sinking. thought of how less you design me: small as the salt on the ends of my finger, touched to my tongue Of finding, that one anguished evening we stopped at your office to close the deal that would keep your long hours at home a letter you had written to her only two days before Imagine my stupefied grief when I opened the screen to compose some girlish note, and instead of a blank page: words that were stamped with remorse and barren pain longing stretching fiercely out to another name I had barely divided my lips in bewilderment when you walked back in, I closed it, and swallowed, never spoke a word. I would still rather drown in the long deep of certainty than choke from the harsh shallow of deception. Questions dot the cognitive clouds in my head like circling gulls... Punching sharp, startling cries in the air as I mourn for your past. The long, white stream of my indifference must be focused on your previous lovers (that call still, and ask for your name as if I am only temporary restriction, some storm over their control of you. I feel the breath in their mouths panting, waiting ...) guiding them to the safe shores of my forgetting, or tolerance, or both. I think often of floating in water, or slowly submerging, and everything is green and green. But our love feels like a whirlpool, and sometimes I am the ship fighting its turrets with my sails and sometimes I am the sea itself, swirling, as though the water -- not the force -- were the source of power. And sometimes I am a mermaid trapped in its eye, crushed to the sea floor waiting to see if you will save or devour me. [This message has been edited by howpeculiar (10-03-2002 07:14 AM).] |
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Robtm1965 Member
since 2002-08-20
Posts 263 |
HP Most regrettably I don't have time to look at this in any detail. The writing is interesting, the story compelling, some of the imagery really quite excellent. My immediate reaction is that it needs some clarification, especially in relation to who is who, and some parts seem a little longwinded. Having said that I read through to the conclusion without getting at all bored, which has to be a good sign for what is a relatively long poem. If there's anything left to say when I get back from my trip away in a few days, I'll get back to you. Rob |
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Capricious Member
since 2002-09-14
Posts 89California, USA |
First, let me say that I believe this to be the work of a talented poet. The imagery was engaging, the stories each compelling in their own manner, and the phrasing eloquent. That being said, I wonder why you decided to combine two entirely different poems into one? I realize that and instead of basking -- as I should have, I guess -- in the summer memory of the day, I felt a stinging splash and a sinking. is probably intended as some transition from one focus to the other. However, I found the shift from an obviously pleasant experience to a painful turning point in a romance somewhat more disjointing than I believe you could have intended, even were your intention to use the juxtaposition of these opposites to strengthen the emotional impact. Both ideas are powerful, but in my opinion they do not belong on the same page. Thank you for the opportunity to read and respond. |
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brian madden Member Elite
since 2000-05-06
Posts 4374ireland |
This probably isn't going to help, and I know that poets come to CA for advice not for praise, but that is all I have, I really enjoyed this piece. El riesgo vive siempre! |
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Robtm1965 Member
since 2002-08-20
Posts 263 |
Ok, I’m back. I’ve now read this several times and to be honest I’d be astonished if you manage to find a publisher of any repute for this piece in its present form. My first impressions I think were more or less on the mark, and also, as it is presently drafted, I agree with what the previous reviewer said about two different poems. The real problem in my opinion is however the absolutely mind boggling confusion over family relationships and just who the heck is who. I read to the end of the piece only by basically “giving up” trying to bottom out the characters and by just concentrating on the good imagery and the second by second action, which as I said before, is good. For this reason I think you should definitely work at revising the piece, and moreover I see no reason why you shouldn’t maintain the volta into “another poem”, but I do feel strongly that if you are going to do this you need to make the linkage between the two sections clearer. In this respect the title might shed some light on your intention - but at present I’m pressed to see how it binds them except perhaps as showing how some kind of movement in life’s fortunes. What you seem to be doing is simply taking the seashore imagery from the first section and then incorporating it as a series of metaphors in the last two stanzas. In my opinion this is not really sufficient linkage. You really need to be making some clear point or parallel or contrast - maybe you are, but right now I’m having difficulty in seeing it! Let’s do the detail: Yesterday I became the deus of your niece Goddess Heroine >>> Not a huge fan of one word lines, and I can’t see any point in “yesterday” being alone. Goddess and Heroine, ok, maybe. saving her from worse than death (the eager, rolling tongue of the ocean) >>> Later the parentheses get irritating. “Worse than death” usually indicates rape or near rape! I am not at all sure this is what you intended, and in any case surely the engulfing in the sea would lead to drowning which IS death. This needs to be re-thought. as we crossed one tiny bay to climb serrated black rocks and explore the tide pools. >>> fine The Covenant of the Holy: ““Hold tight. I have to walk through the water, but I won’’t let it touch you. Promise.”” >>> Humm .. I know we have had Deus and Goddess but Covenant of the Holy seems to be getting a little over the top to me, especially as the religious/deific angle is absent from here on in. I just think that the words “I have to walk through the water” are sufficiently close to “on water” that the allusion is pretty clear without the covenant/holy stuff. Her small arms, rigid around my neck: pure in trust and fear; which relaxed to turn two brown reverent eyes to me, drowning instead, in gratitude and awe. >>> I liked this. Eyes drowning in anything is though getting perilously close to cliche. We poked at snails, giggled at the clicking feet of Hermit crabs on our sand-and-salted palms, learned that sometimes the dust we stirred was red and alive, and that the world was too big to capture in just one pair of hands >>> This is the best section so far. Nice sounds and imagery. You don’t need to capitalize hermit. (or even two). >>> I see why you added this, but it spoils the rhythm and imo is not essential. If you have to do it then remove the parenthesis and move it onto a line of its own. Although I really wonder whether the message behind it warrants any sort of emphasis at all let alone a separate line. She kept her distance on the peak of a dune -- tiny fingers clenching a blanket to her chest, jaw agape -- as I danced in the spray and let the tide rush me to the shore. >>> another nice clear passage. Just one point: it isn’t really the tide which rushes you to the shore, but the waves or surf. We buried her aunt to the neck (and got sand in her ear), >>> pointless parentheses and also I am starting to get alarm bells at the sudden shift into third person. walked to the base of a lighthouse and held our arms out to steady our legs (understanding for once the phrase ““dizzying heights””), filled the car with songs of llamas eating pajamas and rolling meatballs as we traveled home, >>> this section is good as well (you are at your best when you write to project clear and simple pictures), but again I just find the parentheses and their contents unnecessary. And then, >>> And then thing start to go down hill !! Rapidly!! at their grandmother’’s house, a pallet was made on the floor with blankets and two snoring slack bodies were laid side by side, stuffed animals tucked inbetween. >>> ok lets look at this. So far we have a niece and an aunt on the beach with a “your” as in “your niece” right a the start. Three characters, yes? If the niece is the niece of “your” (and we assume “your” is a he - lets call him Mike for clarity - then that means that in all probability the Aunt i.e. the speaker in the first section is (or was) the wife of Mike. Ok so far? But now wait, we have a “their” as in “their grandmother’s house”! Are there now two nieces all of a sudden or maybe a niece and a nephew or cousin? Humm.. maybe the “their” was a typo. But no! TWO bodies!? Humm .. puzzling... well wait ..maybe the third person aunt is one of the bodies - seems kind of funny but lets read on..... The soften-smile still curling my lip from watching them breathe, I receded >>> Damn!! That theory out the window the aunt has “receded” (horrible word to use btw). There MUST be two children where there was previously just one ..ok ..let it pass... On we go ....(bearing the grandmother in mind) ... whos grandmother? And was it important to know it was the grandmother’s house? to the chair in the living room (that use to be yours when you were hers, and before that belonged to her parents) >>> OMG more parentheses and this time the contents are terminally confusing! I am beginning to think I am in a new TV quiz show ... “Figure the Family!!” or some such. Or maybe one of those intelligence tests ... “if Bob was second cousin to Amy and Amy was sister to Carol’s half brother then how is Greg related to Sarah?” you have 10 seconds to answer ...... >>> but lets have a try – the “yours” clearly HAS to be the nearly forgotten Mike! But who the heck is the “hers”, surely not the niece (or the other niece(or nephew) (or cousin)). “When you used to be hers” is a weird weird way of describing an uncle/niece relationship. No, clearly another character has slunk onto the poetic stage unannounced! The “hers” is a brazen hussy of some kind I guess - pick a random name ... humm ...lets call her Madonna. Forging on here: “belonged to her it used to belong to her parents” - YIKE. Is this the SAME “her” - is this Madonna? Or is this back to the niece “her”? I am near to giving up here .. in fact I just did give up .. stop all attempts at interpretation and read on ... and instead of basking -- as I should have, I guess -- in the summer memory of the day, I felt a stinging splash and a sinking. >>> this felt too much like dull narrative thought of how less you design me: small as the salt on the ends of my finger, touched to my tongue >>> nice Of finding, that one anguished evening we stopped at your office to close the deal that would keep your long hours at home a letter you had written to her only two days before >>> ok now you are really starting to “tell” and its is also getting very “telly” Imagine my stupefied grief >>> ugh when I opened the screen to compose some girlish note, and instead of a blank page: words that were stamped with remorse and barren pain >>> ugh ugh longing stretching fiercely out to another name I had barely divided my lips in bewilderment >>> nice when you walked back in, I closed it, and swallowed, never spoke a word. I would still rather drown in the long deep of certainty than choke from the harsh shallow of deception. >>> telling telling telling Questions dot the cognitive clouds in my head like circling gulls... Punching sharp, startling cries in the air as I mourn for your past. The long, white stream of my indifference must be focused on your previous lovers (that call still, and ask for your name as if I am only temporary restriction, some storm over their control of you. I feel the breath in their mouths panting, waiting ...) guiding them to the safe shores of my forgetting, or tolerance, or both. I think often of floating in water, or slowly submerging, and everything is green and green. But our love feels like a whirlpool, and sometimes I am the ship fighting its turrets with my sails and sometimes I am the sea itself, swirling, as though the water -- not the force -- were the source of power. And sometimes I am a mermaid trapped in its eye, crushed to the sea floor waiting to see if you will save or devour me. >>> The last section of this is weaker than I first realized. You have some redeeming imagery, but generally you have lapsed into a narrative which is “age-old” and it IS nearly narrative prose in some places rather than poetry. I think you can get away with the story, but you really need to find some way to tie it to the strong imagery of the opening section and for heavens sake clarify the personal relationships!!!! Good luck. Rob |
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