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| Critical Analysis #2 |
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boh bros construction co. |
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rich-pa Member
since 2000-02-07
Posts 317New Orleans, Louisiana |
The early morning sun, just beginning to unleash its wrath, forced salty sweat down into my eyes, as it had every day so far that summer. My shovel, and the shovels of the others, sang against the limestone gravel, as well trained eyes and rulers of the black men I worked with calculated how to lay down the gravel at absolutely ten inches below the surface level of where the concrete would go. Those men I worked with were my best friends that summer: Head, all three-hundred and fifty bull-like pounds of him, at home behind the shovel or drinking a beer, Radio, who never once shut his mouth, for as long as I had known him, except when it came time to eat, Butter, the oldest of us all, smelling of gin every morning, but working non-stop all day long, Red, who told the kinkiest sex stories, and who was always playing a joke on someone, Then finally Chilly Phil, who didn’t speak much, but let his tools do the talking for him. And I was the kid with the summer job, who they gave a hard time for being white and the foreman’s son. My dad called me from my work that morning, he was angry because we had to go back, and fix a form that wasn’t done right. As I worked he uttered his usual profane racial slurs, calling my friends lazy and good for nothing, insulting the men that I had grown to love, and me unable to argue against his entrenched beliefs. Then later, as I toiled beside those men, our hands blistering from gripping the shovels, and me fighting with all my might to keep up with them but still slowly falling behind, I knew those men where nothing he had called them, but fallen gods struggling to do their best on Earth. |
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| © Copyright 2003 rich cooper - All Rights Reserved | |||
Stephanos
since 2000-07-31
Posts 3618Statesboro, GA, USA |
rich-pa, Overall, I think this is a great poem. I'll try to tell you some of what I especially liked: good descriptive imagery with some interesting verbs, such as ... "My shovel, and the shovels of the others, sang against the limestone gravel," Who would typically connect the word "sang" with shovels? But it worked! Sweaty metal against small bits of rock, oddly enough, is suggestive of kind of chanting music. Anyway I thought it was great. "Head ... Radio ... Butter ... Red ... Chilly Phil..." This method of brief introduction of characters is good. It helps the story-telling mood you seemed to be setting up. These nicknames coupled with brief descriptions create a very personal feel ... almost like the reader knows these guys too, with all their quirks and charms. "And I was the kid with the summer job, who they gave a hard time for being white and the foreman’s son." and ... "As I worked he uttered his usual profane racial slurs, calling my friends lazy and good for nothing, insulting the men that I had grown to love, and me unable to argue against his entrenched beliefs " There is a comparison here that is kind of interesting. Two expressions of prejudice are portrayed. One seems to be expressed through social jesting and bantering, and since perhaps from the more humble position of the "common" man's life, it is perhaps less venomous. Whatever it is, your love is able to disarm it and to socially blend in ... and to prove it's assumptions happily wrong. And these who discover they were wrong, seem benevolent and willing to be wrong, judging by their implied acceptance of you. But the prejudice of your Father is portrayed as more deep seated and inveterate ...Something perhaps that you had tried in the past to argue, but felt his iron resistance. It also seems somewhat offensive to you, since your observation of things does not comport with his prejudicial thinking. You even later pit experience against your Father's ideas, noting that you were the slowest worker among these "lazy" good-for-nothings. "I knew those men where nothing he had called them, but fallen gods struggling to do their best on Earth." Some things I see here. Optimism speaking against Pessimism and mercy triumphing over judgement. But a certain realism is also retained. These men are called gods for sure. But they are still "struggling" and "fallen" gods, trying to make it on earth. You mentioned human imperfections earlier, not in a bitter or judgemental way, but which serve to illustrate the same point. Gin drinking, profanity, and prejudice, are in these men whom you have grown to love and respect. Perhaps there is even a metaphysical / metaethical statement, as well? Man was meant to be more than he is, and he is to be treated and loved on that original basis. Fallen, yet once created in the image of God? If you didn't intend this, I still see it. Really enjoyed this one. Stephen [This message has been edited by Stephanos (10-29-2003 01:04 AM).] |
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hush Senior Member
since 2001-05-27
Posts 1653Ohio, USA |
I agree with everything Stephen says. I do wonder though- why a poetry format? This is very prose in style... I'm not sure line breaks really do much good in a poetic sense. I thought the stanza/paragraph about the father was especially plain, almost prosaic? It suggests that the narrator feels somewhat disconnected fomr the events- after all, he spent quite some time with descriptions, and so little with the actual action sequence. It's always good to see you around here. Come back more often.  |
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colifer Junior Member
since 2003-09-20
Posts 37Ohio |
i agree with Hush. I like the message alot. the story is very interesting and well said...though i'm just not sure it should be said in verse. but i liked the lines that tell us why we're here. "My shovel, and the shovels of the others, sang against the limestone gravel, as well trained eyes and rulers of the black men I worked with calculated how to lay down the gravel at absolutely ten inches" |
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rich-pa Member
since 2000-02-07
Posts 317New Orleans, Louisiana |
hey what's up hush, it has been awhile. you knwo this isn't my usual style and it is a little prosy... i actually wrote the poem for a intro poetry class and they can be rigid. thank you all for the criticism, i might work on the prosaic bit, i'm a bit lazy so who knows, but i may. but truthfully, i could have never said the same thing in prose, no matter how prosaic it may feel... make sense? i hope so. |
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