»
Archives
»
Critical Analysis #2
»
Gone
| Critical Analysis #2 |
|
Gone |
|
|
TomMark Member Elite
since 2007-07-27
Posts 2133LA,CA |
He went to the cell to get a bottle of old wine collapsed by the weight |
||
| © Copyright 2007 TomMark - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
TomMark Member Elite
since 2007-07-27
Posts 2133LA,CA |
The true story One of my friend who finally could moved to the city where her fiance lived. Her fiance was struck to immediately death by a bus when he ride his motorcycle to train station to pick up her. Chops, don't cry. but it was true. Tomtoo |
||
|
Brad Member Ascendant
since 1999-08-20
Posts 5705Jejudo, South Korea |
I'd drop the form and concentrate on the story. Haiku look easy but prove difficult. |
||
|
TomMark Member Elite
since 2007-07-27
Posts 2133LA,CA |
you didn't get it!  |
||
|
chopsticks Senior Member
since 2007-10-02
Posts 888The US, |
“Chops, don't cry. but it was true.” It’s your poem, but I’ll cry if I want to. |
||
|
Brad Member Ascendant
since 1999-08-20
Posts 5705Jejudo, South Korea |
And, you know what, I still don't get it. the cell is the is the train station the old wine is the fiance the bus is the collapsed weight Fine, I guess, but I still think this can be a better poem if you don't make it haiku-ish. |
||
|
Balladeer
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-05
Posts 25505Ft. Lauderdale, Fl USA |
Beats me...if I have to think that hard to get something, I lose interest....but that's me. "Haiku look easy but prove difficult." ...and your first language is...what, Brad? |
||
|
Bob K Member Elite
since 2007-11-03
Posts 4208 |
Dear TomMark, if I'm trying to write for an audience and not only for myself, and I have to tell my reader "The true story" at any point I'm in trouble as a poet. I know there are people who don't agree with me. Yvor Winters, who certainly had a crackerjack brain, once wrote an essay trying to explicate Dylan Thomas's "Altarwise by OwlLight." Chops and anybody else with feeling should feel sad at the story. I do. But you don't convey the story in the poem, you convey the story in the footnote, and all we should really be offering you poetry feedback on is the poem itself. The late Richard Hugo offered a writing exercise. He might have gotten it from his teacher, Theodore Roethke, I don't know. The excercise was this: 1) Imagine you're talking to the best friend you've ever had in the world, someone you can say anything to with complete confidence. 2) Imagine the worst thing in the world has just happened to you (an alternative is The Best Thing, by the way, and the Worst Enemy You've Every Had or Could Imagine Having). 3) Write a poem to that person that is completely explicit in every detail except one; 4) You are not allowed to mention what that bad thing is. 5) Make it 15 or 20 lines long. 6) Break any rule you need to except rule Four. If people don't understand the plot of your poem and they are for the most part caring and sympathetic readers, you need to ask yourself about whether you've given them enough, or whether you want to offer some plot that you can get across cleanly and clearly in the space you've chosen for yourself. You don't have to say everything, just enough. Fetching a bottle Of a long cherished vintage— Shattered on the stairs. Enough to give some sort of real plot, enough to convey something emotional with an image. Let the emotion be the readers. It's worth another shot. My best, BobK. |
||
|
TomMark Member Elite
since 2007-07-27
Posts 2133LA,CA |
My dear sir Brad, "And, you know what, I still don't get it." Obviously, you have not drunk enough to know that wine is same as life. cell was earth Wine was life Bottle was the loved one(you can understand this  weight was death collapsed ..everything mentioned. ok,ok, I'll change form Dear Sir Balladeer, thank you for your taking a minute away from your golf. ( and away from important political thinking) Dear Bob K, thank you for the lecture. You are a very patient teacher. I will try to write one. I am thinking it. Thank you very much again. and do please post some of your poems. |
||
|
chopsticks Senior Member
since 2007-10-02
Posts 888The US, |
My dear Tom, I can’t think of anything to add to Bob K or Balladeers post . There are other interesting things in life, watercolors for example. |
||
|
TomMark Member Elite
since 2007-07-27
Posts 2133LA,CA |
Here is my hand, my dear friend. It is a shaky bridge full of holes, cracks and missing planks. Mourn to the river, my dear, let the water carry the silence to where it can be swallowed deep down. let crying, let my should be the bank So you will not flood on a colorless day a whole world blank You will, my dear friend walk out of your empty eyes one day. But now, take the flashlight because sun will be out for sometime. [This message has been edited by TomMark (12-23-2007 06:08 PM).] |
||
|
chopsticks Senior Member
since 2007-10-02
Posts 888The US, |
Brad, don't get to excited I just posted to the wrong poem . |
||
|
TomMark Member Elite
since 2007-07-27
Posts 2133LA,CA |
She did not go home that day Sitting on my poach she stared at the pool, the oval shaped still like a mirror only one or two clouds pass through glacially Mt.Angeles with white cap motionless Roses of all type beside her blooming couldn't shade colors to her face Tropical plant, big or small fancied themselves' aloofness tear shaped lemons peeked from the dark conner The sound of piano The sound of door's open and close The sound of TV She was in another world living the life of earth As it was getting dark I gave her a cup of tea that care the least what had happened. [This message has been edited by TomMark (12-23-2007 09:10 PM).] |
||
|
Bob K Member Elite
since 2007-11-03
Posts 4208 |
Dear TomMark, You work wonderfully quickly. I am very fond of the poem beginning, "She did not go home that day"[.] I think it takes some of the same material from the more personal but less understandable three line poem at the beginning of this section and the less distinct (than this) version but still more interesting and resonant (than the first) version (""Here is my hand, my dear friend.") just above, and works it beautifully into a still more interesting and distinct shape and feel. This is, from where I sit at least, very exciting to see. One very clear difference between the last two versions is your success in bringing in clear visual imagry. Not only do you have a pool, but the pool has a specific shape—oval—and a specific property. It is still, like a mirror. It has specific things it is reflecting, one or two clouds, and a specific speed at which they progress, glacially. You have a mountain, and it has a name. This is very exciting for me, TomMark. Mt. Angeles. And it has a white cap! Here you run into some trouble, but that's just fine when you consider what strides you've made so far! I am dancing, TomMark; this is fabulous stuff. You sometimes have problems knowing when to use singular and when to use plural. "Roses of all type" for example should be "Roses of all types." The actual sense of "couldn't shade colors to her face" is unclear to me. Part of the issue is the natural slipperiness of prepositions in general. You likely mean "of her face," but perhaps not. The "she" by this time needs to be distinguished between the "she" who did not go home that day and "Mount Angeles." You'll find it helpful, I think, to place the woman in relation to the mountain. It gives her a setting, along with the house, the pool and the mirror that anchors the poem in a sense of place. Poems often emerge this way, and the poet has to decide the way the elements need to relate to each other. The tear shaped lemons (wonderful description, that one) are trying to tell you something when they peek from the dark corner. I assume "corner," but something more interesting might be lurking behind that typo. They ask us, "The corner of What? and does it want to make an appearance in the poem?" You see, TomMark, you've taken some risks and already your lovely poem is talking to you, asking you questions. And now you've allowed sounds in. You've got the idea, TomMark, keep at it, you're doing great and doing yourself proud. Happily, BobK |
||
|
TomMark Member Elite
since 2007-07-27
Posts 2133LA,CA |
Thank you , dear Bob K. Merry Christmas to you and your loved ones.  Conner --corner. Shade color to her face---originally, it was "Couldn't add color to her face" Thank you Again for your taking time to make such wonderful comments. |
||
|
TomMark Member Elite
since 2007-07-27
Posts 2133LA,CA |
I went down the red brick stairs I walked into the rain as if my tears was not enough to wet the news I watched the flowing world catching my flying paper as wings but it was too heavy to fly to leave me alone If only I could hitch-hike for my heart to let it go somewhere no one could bother I would mind not going there down to the dark among the gray drips with all of you [This message has been edited by TomMark (12-25-2007 02:29 PM).] |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
