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A Year in the Life (A longer piece)
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A Year in the Life (A longer piece) |
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Wordshaman Member
since 2000-01-17
Posts 110Illinois, USA |
This poem is in four parts. Fall She looks at me with deep autumnal eyes As I pop an antacid into my mouth And says, "You’re killing yourself." Burn, baby, burn. My stomach is lit and I haven’t Even been drinking in a while. The angry tone in her voice is just A thinly veiled disguise for a caring Of some sort--platonic, whatever. I cradle the canister of Rolaids Against my stomach, maybe in the hopes Of gaining relief through osmosis, I close my eyes. It’s awful cold outside--do you Know my teeth chatter when I get Really cold, just like when I was little? Sometimes I feel that old again, But right now I feel a hell of a lot Older as I clutch my stomach, Clench my eyes and put my head Into my friend’s lap. "I know. Ow. . ." I mumble into her stomach. Winter She looked at me with pure, wintry eyes And sat like a five-year-old in her Bedroom, legs crossed, showing me Her music and lyrics. I think her lyrics need a lot of work, But I tell her the polite thing (Chicken**** bastard that I can be-- I hate politeness.) And go on talking with her. At the time, the funeral dirge Music seemed so contrary to her Personality. Obviously it went with her Looks--she painted herself white Like a corpse and dyed her hair to match. As I got to know her, As I saw the debilitating depression And confusion about love, I came to realize that she Wrote her music like she lived her life, How she saw her life. Her eyes didn’t seem to reflect the Purity of winter when last I saw her. Just the cold deadness. Spring Just as spring starts, I look into her dark Eyes that really don’t have a color And feel something for her. But spring means The beginning of decay, And I find so soon that she’s Rotting inside Before she’s even begun And she goes away. But not before I think to myself That she could’ve been a good friend And a strong natural entity to lean on In times of need. Just a damn shame low self-esteem Was eating away at her And making her act out To feel good. I pushed her gently and she fell. Summer At the beach her happy hazel eyes (Sometimes brown, sometimes green.) Dance enjoyment as we lie without Muscles in the salty lake water Being thrown around by lake waves. I don’t know if we’ve gone out far Enough, I don’t know if we can get Back anyhow, and I grip her Against my skin in half-playful, Half-desperate exhaustion. The sun blasts down, magnified by The rippling water, And we’re castaways Looking at a mirage oasis. She swims back in-- I look at her, hurt by The fact that she didn’t stay in The water. I crazily decide I’ll drown myself. I look at her on the shore And tell myself it’s over. Summer’s a lonely time for me-- So lonely awash in a sea of thoughts. |
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jbouder Member Elite
since 1999-09-18
Posts 2534Whole Sort Of Genl Mish Mash |
WS: This may get me in trouble with some free-versers but I must point this out. What is with the stanzas in this? It reads like parenthetical prose but it appears to be forced into stanzas in order to make it "look" poetic. I can't see any "visual" reason for most of the line breaks, there is no consistent syllable count to the lines, and I can't detect any stylistic reason for the lines breaking where they do. So why, why, why force perfectly good prose into unnatural stanzas? Is this your "style"? Secondly, you begin many of your stanzas with conjunctions, especially during "Spring". Try substituting "Never-the-less" or "However" for "But". This, I think, will tighten up your grammar in this writing. You may want to develop the "Spring is the beginning of decay" thought a little bit. Without some explanation the line reads as a bit of a non sequitur(I assume your train of thought is along the pessimistic lines of "birth is the beginning of dying"). Lastly the word "entity" seems out of place (entity: something that exists alone) and "crazily" might read better as "foolishly". This is how I would break your writing down in to paragraphs: Fall She looks at me with deep autumnal eyes as I pop an antacid into my mouth and says, "You’re killing yourself." Burn, baby, burn. My stomach is lit and I haven’t even been drinking in a while. The angry tone in her voice is just a thinly veiled disguise for a caring of some sort--platonic, whatever. I cradle the canister of Rolaids against my stomach, maybe in the hopes of gaining relief through osmosis. I close my eyes. It’s awful cold outside--do you Know my teeth chatter when I get really cold, just like when I was little? Sometimes I feel that old again, but right now I feel a hell of a lot older as I clutch my stomach, Clench my eyes and put my head into my friend’s lap. "I know. Ow. . ." I mumble into her stomach. Winter She looked at me with pure, wintry eyes and sat like a five-year-old in her bedroom, legs crossed, showing me her music and lyrics. I think her lyrics need a lot of work, but I tell her the polite thing (Chicken**** bastard that I can be -- I hate politeness) and go on talking with her. At the time, the funeral dirge music seemed so contrary to her personality. Obviously it went with her looks--she painted herself white like a corpse and dyed her hair to match. As I got to know her, as I saw the debilitating depression and confusion about love, I came to realize that she wrote her music like she lived her life, how she saw her life. Her eyes didn’t seem to reflect the Purity of winter when last I saw her. Just the cold deadness. Spring Just as spring starts, I look into her dark eyes that really don’t have a color and feel something for her. But spring means the beginning of decay, and I find so soon that she’s rotting inside before she’s even begun and she goes away. But not before I think to myself that she could’ve been a good friend and a strong natural entity to lean on In times of need. Just a damn shame low self-esteem was eating away at her and making her act out to feel good. I pushed her gently and she fell. Summer At the beach her happy hazel eyes (sometimes brown, sometimes green) dance enjoyment as we lie without muscles in the salty lake water being thrown around by lake waves. I don’t know if we’ve gone out far enough, I don’t know if we can get back anyhow, and I grip her against my skin in half-playful, half-desperate exhaustion. The sun blasts down, magnified by the rippling water, and we’re castaways looking at a mirage oasis. She swims back in--I look at her, hurt by the fact that she didn’t stay in the water. I crazily decide I’ll drown myself. I look at her on the shore and tell myself it’s over. Summer’s a lonely time for me--So lonely awash in a sea of thoughts. *** I am relatively new to poetry but I've been reading and writing prose for as long as I can remember. I may not have all of the paragraph breaks right but, hey, they are only suggestions. < !signature--> Jim "If I rest, I rust." - Martin Luther [This message has been edited by jbouder (edited 01-25-2000).] |
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Hawk183 Member
since 1999-12-24
Posts 130 |
I'm with Jim on the breaks...I think this would read better in Prose style...however...I enjoyed this one and the format did not take too much away from the content.Thanks. Hawk |
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Wordshaman Member
since 2000-01-17
Posts 110Illinois, USA |
Jim...I'm glad you had trouble reading this piece. That's how it was supposed to be. I used gentle words (Latinates, for the most part), and so the uneasy, fragmented breaks are used to bring turmoil into the poem. The conjunctions are used in a similar way. So, yes. The poem IS better off as a prose piece, but the relationships were chaotic, so the poem is, also. |
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Poertree Senior Member
since 1999-11-05
Posts 1359UK |
WS This poem I liked very much indeed ... this morning (Wednesday) I'm not liking at all ... no time to comment in detail now but i hope to get back to it later Philip |
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Songbird Member Elite
since 1999-12-15
Posts 2184Missouri |
This is an interesting read, but I do agree with jbouder'd formating of it, it helps the flow when reading it to not appear as choppy, but you still get the meanings that you intended. That is my opinion for what it's worth. |
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Poertree Senior Member
since 1999-11-05
Posts 1359UK |
WS I won't concern myself with whether this should or should not have been "prose" or "poetry", certainly I see what you were trying to do in this stanza especially: I don't know if we've gone out far Enough, I don't know if we can get Back anyhow, and I grip her Against my skin in half-playful, Half-desperate exhaustion. The sun blasts down, magnified by The rippling water, The line breaks and caesurae are such that they couldn't have been anything other than deliberate, and they come at a point in the piece when there is clearly a lot of tension and disruption in the speaker's mind. I like poems that use natural metaphor or imagery in close juxtaposition to a commentary upon human emotions, so for that reason alone I was attracted to this. It follows that the bits I specially enjoyed were lines such as: She looks at me with deep autumnal eyes Her eyes didn't seem to reflect the Purity of winter when last I saw her. Just the cold deadness. But spring means The beginning of decay, And I find so soon that she's Rotting inside The recurring "eye" theme was also attractive, coming as it did regularly at the opening to each stanza and again reflecting the seasons and the developing, decaying and deteriorating relationship. I wondered slightly why you used "eyes" at the end of Fall and Winter but not Spring and Summer? Was there a particular reason for this? I know there is an awful lot more in this piece, but right now I can't do a Leviathan type critique i don't have the time unfortunately. Philip PS I forgot to say .. I cradle the canister of Rolaids Against my stomach, maybe in the hopes Of gaining relief through osmosis, Was such a great idea. The concept of osmotic assimilation both funny and pathetic at the same time .... kudos [This message has been edited by Poertree (edited 01-28-2000).] |
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Wordshaman Member
since 2000-01-17
Posts 110Illinois, USA |
Here you go faith...read the replies, also. They give great insight into the misunderstandings that can exist when you write in the style I've chosen, and when you choose to do something that may not be exactly conventional. That's okay though. If you get an idea, give it a shot. You might mess it up the first few times, but it could eventually be what someone remembers your poem for (even if it does have to be explained to them sometimes--lord knows I didn't appreciate Shakespeare until I saw everything he was doing with his writing). I wouldn't dare say that this is an exemplary piece of poetry--I just thought it would be interesting for you to read, as it parallels the idea you had in the poem I just commented on (the name of which escapes me now). So think me not presumptious or egotistical. I just thought it would be of interest to you. See you around. Wordshaman |
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rich-pa Member
since 2000-02-07
Posts 317New Orleans, Louisiana |
i'm gonna hafts actually go with word shaman on this one, i dig the broken up choppy verses. some of them are a bit too forced but i like it better in the forced stanzas instead of the almost paragraphical style rich-pa |
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roxane Senior Member
since 1999-09-02
Posts 505us |
to me this poem illustrates a lot of what i've always felt: nature, particularly the season's have a way of affecting what we feel for people. you chronicle this relationship with this woman, and do so excellently. fall you feel some affection towards her, not much. winter you see her as dead, as cold. by spring, you show a bit of false happiness overclouded by the fact that you seem to think she's decaying on the inside. then in summer, your lonely time, you seem to have reconciled, but you push her away again. i swear reading this, i thought i must have met you long ago or something. i find this very poetic, and very moving. i only hope i am near correct in my analysis. i think it's excellent though, with great imagery. didn't even mind the "burn baby burn" i actually thought it worked well, |
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Wordshaman Member
since 2000-01-17
Posts 110Illinois, USA |
Well, Roxane, you "get" the metaphor, as it were--but why do you assume it to be about one girl? I describe the eyes to be distinctly different each time (and one of them--winter--just got colored contacts, on a personal note), so I don't know how this is, exactly. Well, to each their own. Adieu et au revoir. Wordshaman |
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roxane Senior Member
since 1999-09-02
Posts 505us |
shaman- i thought that the various descriptions of the eyes had more to do with the way you saw her than her literal eye color. its different women? i'll have to read it again with that in mind. |
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