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on poetry and the self
| Critical Analysis #1 |
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on poetry and the self |
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revolution Junior Member
since 2000-04-17
Posts 20atlanta, GA, USA |
*gulp* here goes nothing... i think of my repertoire this will work best for a first posting... and yes, i know it's too long and leggy and needs a better conclusion--would welcome any suggestions! __________________________ looking at a blank page and expecting it to speak to me i have so much burbling around in my head religion and money, sex and death, all the cliches. perhaps i should take them in order. my old poetry i see, print on virtual paper, full of fire and blood, sturm und drang. i could strum teen angst out of wailing heartstrings with the best of them. i can't say i don't feel it all still. i am not so old that i have forgotten those pains, not so wise that i can balance them all in perspective. the inside of my mind has never fit quite right, always too tight in some places, too loose in others, and scratchy besides. can't seem to break it in, after all these years. i can't say i've lost a part of myself, but my brain is full of barriers like a rat-maze trying to find my way through its folds.. and so many walls must be climbed over because they cannot be drilled through. i often wonder what it must be like to be easy in the mind, comfortable in thought, free in action, or to drift through life never contemplating much. i feel like i've got a worm virus, riddling my processes with unnecessary concers, halting my functioning, crashing me over and over. such, i suppose, is the need for poetry. gnashing of gears must make some noise... but i wonder, as i always have whether anyone will be around to hear it? [This message has been edited by revolution (edited 04-21-2000).] |
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bboog Member
since 2000-02-29
Posts 303Valencia, California |
Rev~ I think everybody's got some old teen angst written down somewhere, don't they? I liked your last stanza the best. Keep at it. This poem really gets going after the first two stanzas. Perhaps start with the line, "the inside of my mind has never fit quite right, and then work from it? best regards, bboog |
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revolution Junior Member
since 2000-04-17
Posts 20atlanta, GA, USA |
bboog-- thanks for the response  it's interesting what you say about the poem getting going after the first two stanzas... i wrote this about a year ago, in the midst of a very bad dry spell in terms of my writing--this poem was the result of my sitting myself down and forcing myself to write something. after about two stanzas, the words started flowing more easily. however, part of the second stanza really contains some of the nugget of what i wanted to say here. i'm making the point that as i look over what i've done as a young'un, i can tell that i've moved on, but that there are still parts of me that experience those sorrows i wrote about as a teenager--echoed by statements about how i've never felt easy in the mind, and this is why i write poetry still. perhaps there is a better way to phrase it, perhaps at a different place. i agree, at least, that the first stanza has to go. hmm... you've given me a thing or two to think about. The land sustaining us seemed to hold firm Only when we embraced it in extremis. All I believe happened there was vision. --Seamus Heaney |
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warmhrt Senior Member
since 1999-12-18
Posts 1563 |
Hi rev, I liked this a lot...it has great potential with a few tweaks here and there, IMHO. For example: looking at a blank page, expecting it to speak to me-- * i have so much knocking around in my head, religion and money, sex and death, all the cliches-- perhaps i should take them in order. my old poetry i see, printed on virtual paper, full of fire and blood, sturm und drang. i could strum teen angst out of wailing heartstrings with the best of them. i can't say i don't feel it all still,* i am not so old that i have forgotten those pains,* not so wise that i can balance them all in perspective.* the inside of my mind has never fit quite right, always too tight in some places, too loose in others, can't seem to break it in, after all these years. i can't say i've lost a part of myself, but my brain is full of barriers, as if in a rat-maze, trying to find my way through its folds..* and so many walls must be climbed over, because they cannot be drilled through. i often wonder what it must be like to be easy in the mind, comfortable in thought, free in action, or to drift through life never contemplating much. i feel as though something has infiltrated my processes, baring unnecessary concerns, and halting my functioning, shutting me down. such, i suppose, is the need for poetry, to open up pathways, clear out intruders, gnashing of gears must make some noise...* but i wonder, as i always have, whether anyone will be around to hear it? I won't explain all the changes I've made in my version. They should be taken as just a helping hand, suggestions to take or leave as you wish. The starred lines are ones I particularly liked, though I liked the entire piece...images of a poet who hasn't written for a while, looking through what he has...trying to write, but that old devil "Writer's Block" has come to visit. Nicely done, rev... Kris the poet's pen...gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name ~ Shakespeare |
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