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Critical Analysis #2
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Lineage
| Critical Analysis #2 |
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Lineage |
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oceanvu2 Senior Member
since 2007-02-24
Posts 1066Santa Monica, California, USA |
Lineage 1. The Auld Woman’s life condensed in a newspaper Clipping: “Ninety years, and still goes after after tatties.” A lifetime stooped behind a harrower Says much, yet leaves out almost all of import. It does not note her drunken John, crushed Beneath a drayman’s cart along their cotter’s Lane. No mention of the life-long poverty That saw her daughters sent abroad as servants. No mention of the hate engendered by this Act of desperate charity, the loss and loss and Loss of even harshest love. Addled Woman, She ended life with Katherine, a poor, brain damaged Soul who took her daughters’ place, attending To the simple needs. Kept fire on the hearth, This cousin Kate, to cheat the fieldstone walls, Boiled tea and swept the floor. She loved The Auld one more than long forgotten John And children ever might have done. Auld Woman’s Name was Margaret, and this is where I come from. 2. James Clow, so bold, perhaps our family’s strongest Man, apprenticed to a mason at age ten, Learned his craft and somehow flourished on Scant rations thrown impoverished boys. His hands And eye were made for carving stone, an honorable Trade. He lived in Edinburgh’s rough alleys, Stable more than home, and saved, as frugal Men were wont, half of every penny Earned to fire a dream. What was endured To purchase steerage to a country so unknown? The only telling was his stolid mien and ways. It took One hundred years to build Saint John’s Cathedral in New York. For twenty years He toiled at this task. Italian carvers Recognized his work and cried “Angeli,” Yes, “Angeli!” He married Fanny, done With her indentured servitude, and fathered James, then fell from scaffolding to street. Cotter, servant girl, and artisan is where I come from. [This message has been edited by oceanvu2 (06-25-2007 07:00 PM).] |
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| © Copyright 2007 Jim Aitken - All Rights Reserved | |||
moonbeam
since 2005-12-24
Posts 2356 |
Jim It's a pleasant tale, competently told. I feel it would benefit from a stricter blank verse which I think would compliment the archaic tone you've set with the diction. I have to say though that I'm not a great fan of narrative poetry at the best of times. Unless it's done stunningly well or innovatively I always find my self thinking "what's the point?", why not simply write a short piece of prose. Poetry, it seems to me, should be about showing something in words that cannot be shown in words. This: "A lifetime stooped behind a harrower/Says much, yet leaves out almost all of import" is about as far away from that as you can get. And, even in this piece, the second part of that sentence is extremely annoying, almost patronising, to the reader who can see very well from the next few lines precisely what the shortcomings of the cold factual newspaper clip are without being told. That's not to say that there aren't some good moments in this. I loved "to cheat the fieldstone walls,/ Boiled tea and swept the floor". Perhaps you are too "close" to the subject matter, perhaps all you wanted to achieve was a record of fact, but right now all I feel is that I might just as well be reading an entry in a dusty family journal. While for you there is clearly the interest of ancestral ties, for me, as a disinterested third party, there is no insight or revelation that grabs me. Ultimately, no point. Sorry I can't be more positive. M |
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oceanvu2 Senior Member
since 2007-02-24
Posts 1066Santa Monica, California, USA |
Thank you for reading, Moonbeam. "A pleasant tale competently told" isn't a bad asessment, since I don't think this was aiming for a lot more. RE: "Poetry, it seems to me, should be about showing something in words that cannot be shown in words." Much to agree with in that! And this, from Michael Lewis: "The power of poetry is the ability to express the inexpressible--and to express it in terms of the unforgettable." Nobody said it was supposed to be easy! Glad you noticed it was blank verse. For many posting Pipster's, even the term is not yet in their lexicon. There's an old joke which goes: "A tourist in New York City approaced an elderly gentleman and asked, 'How do I get to Carnegie Hall?' The old man thought for a moment, then replied, 'Practice my son, practice!'" And even that's no guarantee one will ever get it right. Best, Jim  |
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