It's too easy placing foehns poem within some surrealist sphere and glossing it as therefore valueless. I don't see any hypergraphic outburst in the poem. It's fine not being comfortable with the places surrealism attempts to place the reader, or being unable to experience that hanging moment of wonder that is pleasurable to me. Foehns poem is more modern and relatable than anything we might call surreal though. Is the poem a children's poem? I have to admit if I found it in a kiddie book of poems I might take it less serious. I'm hesitant to analyze it as so because of presentation of form...more or less one line tells me there's a special intellect behind the sentimental facade.
Bflag's Pleasures of Criticism
- Thread starter bflagsst
- Start date
playcatch
Really Experienced
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ok here goes
Ascension
and my tongue was glad
He sees me in cotton and does not know
me from Dorothy
on a midnight walk from the train.
He's disguised as an accountant,
but I know the look of a predator.
He thinks I'm prey. He scuttles,
then swims, the full aquatic evolution,
aiming straight for me, crossing the empty
street, his side to mine.
His eyes on me,
his twice lensed eyes.
He lunges for my neck and my sleeve
What the fuck
do you think you're doing? I say,
only it doesn't come out right.
This is, after all, midnight:
the hour of vanished means,
my own tongue unknown to me.
Yet, I speak!
I have at long last,
after all those Pentacost years spent on my knees,
after all those washed years begging Jesus to speak,
to speak, to open my beak, to sing
God's synchronous song with outthrust tongue,
after all those years, this predator
is the one who hears the song:
Weeehuuraurereeee pours from my mouth,
overfills the small space between us,
forcing him back and I fly,
my sleeve free. I now believe
what graces come
come not when one expects them,
but when it is time.
Ascension
and my tongue was glad
He sees me in cotton and does not know
me from Dorothy
on a midnight walk from the train.
He's disguised as an accountant,
but I know the look of a predator.
He thinks I'm prey. He scuttles,
then swims, the full aquatic evolution,
aiming straight for me, crossing the empty
street, his side to mine.
His eyes on me,
his twice lensed eyes.
He lunges for my neck and my sleeve
What the fuck
do you think you're doing? I say,
only it doesn't come out right.
This is, after all, midnight:
the hour of vanished means,
my own tongue unknown to me.
Yet, I speak!
I have at long last,
after all those Pentacost years spent on my knees,
after all those washed years begging Jesus to speak,
to speak, to open my beak, to sing
God's synchronous song with outthrust tongue,
after all those years, this predator
is the one who hears the song:
Weeehuuraurereeee pours from my mouth,
overfills the small space between us,
forcing him back and I fly,
my sleeve free. I now believe
what graces come
come not when one expects them,
but when it is time.
twelveoone
ground zero
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- Mar 13, 2004
- Posts
- 5,882
Funny, bflagsst, I saw nothing either sentimental or cloying in this, and I am one very cold cynical muthafucker, what I saw was the horror of the unsaid and a very defined structure to support it. Mystified by your use of "surreal" here, though.
And I'm sure the term "hypergraphic" has a completely different meaning across the board. For me it is the insistent patterns of threes that avoids what it is realty about. He is emulating(?, creating?) a hole, a void.
Really would be interested in butters's take on this.
Trixareforkids
Silly Rabbit
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- Posts
- 5,789
This, and Mag's original post have made me wonder what an average reader is, or what writers believe an average reader is.
I'm a reader, a rather voracious one. I am not an analytical reader as a rule however. I don't delve into why I am, or am not, affected by whatever it is I'm reading. I like it or I don't, I understand it or I don't. If I like the sounds of it, but don't understand it, I will generally re-read it until I do or determine that I just don't have the background to understand it. On rare occasions something will stir me enough to keep digging, go further afield to try to understand, but as comprehension generally isn't an issue for me if I cannot comprehend something, and here I am speaking about poetry as I've never encountered an issue with prose of any type other than scientific/medical reading, I tend to go with Mag's view of it being elitist poetry and I prefer numerical puzzles to literary ones, so I will mostly move on unimpressed.
Historical poems mostly fall flat for me, though I have been stirred to look up the person/events being referred to when the writing was really well done. So, how much of the gap is actual reader laziness and how much of it uninspired writing? My tastes are varied. All that matters to me is does the piece grab my attention, what grabbed my attention doesn't make a piece more or less good or great, content vs sound doesn't matter, one can make up for a lack in the other if it's strong enough.
To me the point of criticism is to help the writer bring up the level of one or both. I'm a shit critic because I am not often able to explain the whys of what I feel is wrong with a piece, which to me means that pointing out what I see as flaws is just me being opinionated. For criticism you're either part of a solution or you're just being an opinionated ass. If what you're saying to the writer isn't designed to help them improve the piece, or their writing in general, it's just a bunch of annoying blather, even if the blather is occasionally entertaining.
Magnetron
Deep Under Groundhog
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- Posts
- 4,089
The only obstacle in the path of poetry being appreciated by a greater audience than it has now is poets.
The average reader is the everyday person - one who reads short stories and novels or watches television and movies or listens to music and watches music videos. Or some of these. Or all of these. People who surrender themselves to be entertained by others.
They should be the poet's target audience, not just people who like to read poetry. It isn't a matter of dumbing down the work for them to understand, but it is crucial that they get their money's worth within the first pass to encourage more reading.
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Magnetron
Deep Under Groundhog
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And I'm not saying Hanna it is a badly written poem.
My opinion is that it would be an above average to excellent poem if the writer chose to share more information and in a manner that was less prone to misinterpretation.
I assumed senna's comment was saying foehn was more stream-of-consciousness instead of analytic in his construction. That he only managed to stumble into seeming, or mirage meaning. Maybe I misunderstood.
butters
High on a Hill
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for what they're worth, i'll try and get down my impressions tomorrow. no guarantee i'm reading it ''right'', or as intended, but it'll be what strikes me on a personal level.
twelveoone
ground zero
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this is marketing, and here is where is where we agree or at I think we agree, it should not be dumbed down, ever.
as marketing you have to deal with segments also, so segments are going to drop out for one reason or another.
but back to poetry, a good poem will change on a second reading, and true it must hold an interest to begin with, but people that surrender themselves to be entertained are really not reading poetry regardless of what is in front of them.
todski had a good reaction, something happened...how? there is not an average reader.
now what you did, you put your ass on the line, I respect that. I just don't agree with the assessment. Major difference than mere dismissal.
anyway, I'm beginning to bore myself, sorry.
I don't recognize your Dorothy, whether of Kansas or the Algonquin Hotel lounge. The point of 'midnight' meaning something isn't really coming across. There is exposition which usually doesn't fit well in poetry. Poets aren't involved in 'he said, she said' all that often. But then "the hour of vanished means/my own tongue unknown to me." interests me as poet, and the second half of your poem is competent slam poetry, meant for performance and stage and open mic. I would be more lenient in my criticism while listening to this poem as opposed to reading, for whatever reason.
I'm lost at the point of "Weeehuuraurereeee". You tell me it means something, that it's a gift from God, but I don't get any of that. Taking the poem as a whole I get that your expressing an odd affirmation in deity, an agnostic history that is dispelled by your Deus ex machina guttural.
If you're interesting in poetry as performance I'd recommend writing your poem in your head, practicing the lines out loud before writing it down. There's just something about a spoken word performance that is really dull when it's clear the author has meticulously written a poem in silence sitting at their word processor before attempting to bring a performance out of it.
If you're interested in further information about how you can improve as a spoken word poet regarding this poem I have more to say, but I'm not positive you intended it as such.
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Forming opinions about poems and attempting to think critically is how you will improve as a poet. Criticism best serves the critic as far as I can tell. The reason we analyze other societies and groups of people is so we can reflect our organization against our neighbors and ultimately learn a great deal about ourselves as people. If criticism actually helps the criticized it's just a fringe benefit. Most people will be angry with you if they don't like your opinion about their effort.
Trixareforkids
Silly Rabbit
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If you're not doing it to aid someone else in some way, what is your purpose in making your analysis public? Who are you trying to benefit? What benefit are you striving toward? Is the way in which you are presenting your analysis actually beneficial to the audience you're directing it toward?
Butters, Todski, Angeline break things down in a way that is understandable for the lay poet. 1201 has knowledge that he attempts to transmit, though I often feel he's speaking in a different language. I can see the purpose of their criticism. The best breakdown so far has been Mag's, as he provided a clear analysis of what he perceived as flaws. Were I the author of the piece he broke down I'd have been quite appreciative of his efforts as they gave good insight in to how the piece was received and pointed out the things that could be improved upon. To me THAT is the purpose of criticism.
I put a piece up for criticism so that it could be improved upon. You and 1201 offered up opinions. Personally I found 1201's vaguer opinions of more value than yours. The most valuable information I gleaned from you is that you missed the point of the piece. So now it's up to me to determine how much of that is writer based and how much of it is reader based. In this case I'm leaning towards the reader as all your advice was to make it more personal when a main point of the piece was the stripping away of her as a person. My reason for wanting to edit it and make it cleaner, I already know the language could flow better, is to make it more of a statement about the treatment of patients in general and not just a tragic clinical recounting of my sister's tale. It's original intent was an adjunct to another piece, I want it to stand on it's own.
ETA: I am very open to criticism, analysis, impressions and appreciative of the time that anyone spends doing any of those things, even if in the end it's not something that I can use or even understand. There are many things that I want to learn and I don't take a criticism of my writing as a criticism of my self.
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I don't think you absorbed much of what I said about the value of criticism. I said, in the portion you quoted and elsewhere, criticism benefits the critic then possibly, not that it only should in some selfless altruistic way, benefit the one who accepts the gift of criticism. Most people are going to blow off any and all criticism, even ones who open themselves up to the world of criticism and really try hard at taking criticism still end up with the same poem they started <---- and there's good reason for this because once there are too many inputs the poem loses an ethereal quality and you should protect your creation from too much intrusion from the material realm(lulz).
What is the point of this thread? I take pleasure in criticism because it helps me understand poetry better through interacting with other poets. I need a public forum for material to analyze and hopefully interact with the criticized in such a way that I get a more correct understanding of this or that mode of expressing oneself through poetry. Going over to new poems and offering criticism or shouting at the wall on Bin Ramke's web page and getting no response has been of little value to me.
I'm sorry you've gleaned nothing from my initial readings of your poem. I told you:
a) b/s is not a good way to shorten 'before she' because it's confusing
b) it doesn't resemble a poem until a certain point that I mark, then it breaks off again into a strange realm of non-poetry, technical prose, prose
c) if your point of juxtaposition was clinical listing and then emotional revelation, you failed due to lack of detail about why we should care about the uniqueness of the patient as opposed to every other patient with cancer(which was a criticism I leveled at the author of the child abuse poem who never responded) ------ she at one time danced and was a fun girl... really underwhelming
d) you could shorten your listing then have a really stellar personalized ending, or keep length and add in further juxtapositions among the clinical listing revealing more about why we should care about the patient from your POV
adept indexing for x number of lines
she was this and that, giving us a sentimental education about her character, desires
back to indexing for x number of lines
sentiment
index
final sentiment
fin.
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(which was a criticism I leveled at the author of the child abuse poem who never responded)
Sorry about the lack of response on the child abuse piece Bflaggst I took your analysis and have been trying to rework the piece, it felt that your critique was dismissive in terms of the pieces poetic value/effectiveness and that it was more prose.
when I looked at it from that perspective you were correct, it was a snap shot of a moment in time that relied on human sympathy on a broad level and failed on a poetic level to convey the emotion. I left the emotion for the reader to bring to the table but it is a ploy I believe I have seen criticised before, regardless of it being a personal memory. so your critique was not dismissed, I merely failed to acknowledge it,
I apologise.
Sorry about the lack of response on the child abuse piece Bflaggst I took your analysis and have been trying to rework the piece, it felt that your critique was dismissive in terms of the pieces poetic value/effectiveness and that it was more prose.
when I looked at it from that perspective you were correct, it was a snap shot of a moment in time that relied on human sympathy on a broad level and failed on a poetic level to convey the emotion. I left the emotion for the reader to bring to the table but it is a ploy I believe I have seen criticised before, regardless of it being a personal memory. so your critique was not dismissed, I merely failed to acknowledge it,
I apologise.
Additionally, I felt that this re: deserved a separate text so anyone interested can really think about it. There are different levels of criticism and different levels of critic. In this thread I've hinted at some fairly obscure ideas as a way of looking at poems while also re-writing poems to make myself perfectly clear. This thread isn't called, "Bflag's pleasures of educating the unwashed masses in poetry", and it's not because it might be too long as a thread title.
I would hope that anyone who advances to the stage of thinking of themselves as poet would be interested in a variety of information about poetry from the hand holding goading and encouragement to a challenge of intellect. If you're reading this thread you're probably not an idiot and have a keen interest in developing as a poet, you should pay attention to someone who's speaking over your head without immediately going into defensive posture that the speaker herself is posturing.
The question above is easiest answered by my own limited abilities as a writer, I don't have the skills or polish to write this as a short story.
the concept was an attempt at universalising by exposition that domestic violence is bad. you highlight one of my main flaws,a lack of poetic education to bring forth a metaphor or symbolism to draw on to create a better poetic piece as opposed to a stunted short story.
I recall your imagery, your details immediately as I re-read to make sure I gave the poem a fair reading. I'm interested in it as a universal statement, I just read your http://www.literotica.com/p/depression-house and it is a successful poem. You were able to convey a hint of a fairly universal experience to the reader and you also had nice personal details while utilizing some of the familiar sounds and mechanics of poetry. I would have enjoyed criticizing Depression House, I couldn't find a point of really connecting with the poem you submitted because I don't see poetic elements to bring out in it at this point. It approaches domestic violence in an interesting way, it's just more of a practice in imagery as outline for future story or poem.
Feel free to take a look at depression house if it suits you
butters
High on a Hill
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for me, the overall impact of this piece lays in all that remains unsaid. Hanna loves Horses seems a phrase used to sum up a quintessential of Hanna, avoiding all that might be spoken about illness, an impending loss of Hanna (either through growing up/physical loss through death/mentally) - it's as if an outsider (the reader) has asked the N to 'tell me about Hanna'. for everything said, there's a weight unsaid, and for all that's said or unsaid, everything comes down to this one thing: Hanna loves Horses.
as a reader who loves horses, i take this beyond the physical imagery of their flesh and 'see' their spirit (as i saw it in my childhood) - their nobility, huge hearts, wild power that can be reined in or unleashed - their 'thunder'. it's what is left for me when everything else is stripped away - their thunder. and in this piece, Hanna (the child?) is being stripped away; what will remain when all else is gone is her own special thunder in the N's heart.
There is, as 12 pointed out, a diminishing... the future doesn't stretch as far as the past from the point of the poem's now
on the surface, simplistic language and imagery - could apply as easily to a dementia patient as a child
reps of sound/phrasing - it sinks into my head, an almost-mantra. Hanna loves Horses is what will remain after everything else is gone - the wild thunder.
Hanna Loves Horses
byfoehn©
We all love something. N loves Hanna
Hanna loves horses. their essence
Horses galloping through dust and yucca plants. an image that can be seen as a wall-poster but through the eyes of a child it's rich with movement, noise, sensation, power
Horses trotting on grassy Tennessee slopes. contrasting image, power reined in, different quality of movement, grace, a softening through the use of colour and sound - from 'galloping' to 'trotting', the hard-baked surfaces that raise 'dust' (a short, clipped word that echoes the hit of a hoof) under hooves to the softness of 'grassy Tennessee slopes', those ssss's like grasses blowing in the wind.
Horses walking among palmetto palms in Florida. from galloping to trotting to walking, there's that diminishing at work even as it shows the surface imagery of 'horses of all kinds'
Hanna loves horses that aren't horses. an important line, because the reader might get this far seeing only a variety of horse pictures/ornaments but then this line appears - like a tug of the reins, pulls you up to think, to question what has just been read. it's a clear marker from the author, even if it's using the N's voice. does it intrude? yes, but in exactly the right way imo.
She loves them because of what they want to be. again, we're being asked to consider exactly what is meant by that. what it means is not the same as what follows next:
She loves them because of form:
because they are smart, like her,
feeling, like her,
explorers, yet obedient,
like her. so here we have it clear her affinity with horses, the 'how they are'. in the previous line we are also being told she shares a yearning to be something, somehow, different - for me it's saying the pictures, the ornaments, (like her) are reduced versions of what they want to be - i can only read that as wanting to be being mobile/free/alive
Hanna loves horses. It won't go away. the repetition, the mantra, it all comes down to this statement. 'It won't go away' says, to me, that it remains but it also says Hanna as she is here, in this moment, will go away - what will remain is her essence. when everything else is too much to say, those 3 words say it all.
Last year, tomorrow and today,
the magic word is, "horse."
here the dimishing effect is strong; that same effect carries on through the physical appearance of the poem on the page, but the use of time spread this way hits home: a whole year looking back, the future foreshortened by a single day looking ahead, reduced further to the now, the today. through it all, 'horse' is the word to conjure a smile with and will become as far-reduced that the phrase 'hanna loves horses' can shrink to, as if Hanna herself will finally be reduced so far - only able to utter that one word. one word enveloping so very much.
"Would you like to see?"
she asks the new friend. imo it's asking 2 things: the surface meaning, but - more importantly - the unspoken meaning. hanna is posing a question to the 'new friend' (we can choose to see doctor here, but i think the poem's asking us/me as a reader to look beyond that image of the diminishing person asking someone if they want to see figurines or posters to the broader concept - the obedient child is asking if we want to really 'see' her for who she is, what she wants to be. it's as though she's aware it might be too painful for others to deal with whether this whole piece relates to dying or simply growing up.
And behind that world, behind
the vision of so many
collectibles
interesting line-breaks here: on the surface, we've still got the child-person and the collection of figurines/posters, but this is doing so much more for me as a reader. it's saying 'look deeper', it's saying 'behind' twice in the same line, it's saying layers and time past... 'the vision of so many' says so many memories, photos, things a loved one would collect to freeze the other person in a moment of time, a snapshot of who they were. and it says 'behind' not 'beyond'. i said at the start that this is as much about what isn't said as what is. i don't know the right terminology, but it's like an opposite echoing. one thing is said which leads us to fill in its opposite or something similar in our own heads, words and phrases ghosting behind in the background, making the frozen come more to life.
are thousands, millions, kazillions
of wild horses, herding themselves
as quickly as possible
into the future and the past…
a massing forward of something huge, and yet that forward momentum is turned in the same line, turns retrograde, as if the future's a barrier. there's a great milling and energy, like all the possibilities of hanna that understand there's no going forward, only a turning back... only, a part of me sees some wilder elements of the 'herd' leaping the barriers to gallop on into the unknown.
Ah, the snorts and whinnies
die in the wind, but the thunder
goes on forever
there is such love in these lines, and my mind fills in the repetition of 'Hanna loves horses' as the final echo.
as a reader who loves horses, i take this beyond the physical imagery of their flesh and 'see' their spirit (as i saw it in my childhood) - their nobility, huge hearts, wild power that can be reined in or unleashed - their 'thunder'. it's what is left for me when everything else is stripped away - their thunder. and in this piece, Hanna (the child?) is being stripped away; what will remain when all else is gone is her own special thunder in the N's heart.
There is, as 12 pointed out, a diminishing... the future doesn't stretch as far as the past from the point of the poem's now
on the surface, simplistic language and imagery - could apply as easily to a dementia patient as a child
reps of sound/phrasing - it sinks into my head, an almost-mantra. Hanna loves Horses is what will remain after everything else is gone - the wild thunder.
Hanna Loves Horses
byfoehn©
We all love something. N loves Hanna
Hanna loves horses. their essence
Horses galloping through dust and yucca plants. an image that can be seen as a wall-poster but through the eyes of a child it's rich with movement, noise, sensation, power
Horses trotting on grassy Tennessee slopes. contrasting image, power reined in, different quality of movement, grace, a softening through the use of colour and sound - from 'galloping' to 'trotting', the hard-baked surfaces that raise 'dust' (a short, clipped word that echoes the hit of a hoof) under hooves to the softness of 'grassy Tennessee slopes', those ssss's like grasses blowing in the wind.
Horses walking among palmetto palms in Florida. from galloping to trotting to walking, there's that diminishing at work even as it shows the surface imagery of 'horses of all kinds'
Hanna loves horses that aren't horses. an important line, because the reader might get this far seeing only a variety of horse pictures/ornaments but then this line appears - like a tug of the reins, pulls you up to think, to question what has just been read. it's a clear marker from the author, even if it's using the N's voice. does it intrude? yes, but in exactly the right way imo.
She loves them because of what they want to be. again, we're being asked to consider exactly what is meant by that. what it means is not the same as what follows next:
She loves them because of form:
because they are smart, like her,
feeling, like her,
explorers, yet obedient,
like her. so here we have it clear her affinity with horses, the 'how they are'. in the previous line we are also being told she shares a yearning to be something, somehow, different - for me it's saying the pictures, the ornaments, (like her) are reduced versions of what they want to be - i can only read that as wanting to be being mobile/free/alive
Hanna loves horses. It won't go away. the repetition, the mantra, it all comes down to this statement. 'It won't go away' says, to me, that it remains but it also says Hanna as she is here, in this moment, will go away - what will remain is her essence. when everything else is too much to say, those 3 words say it all.
Last year, tomorrow and today,
the magic word is, "horse."
here the dimishing effect is strong; that same effect carries on through the physical appearance of the poem on the page, but the use of time spread this way hits home: a whole year looking back, the future foreshortened by a single day looking ahead, reduced further to the now, the today. through it all, 'horse' is the word to conjure a smile with and will become as far-reduced that the phrase 'hanna loves horses' can shrink to, as if Hanna herself will finally be reduced so far - only able to utter that one word. one word enveloping so very much.
"Would you like to see?"
she asks the new friend. imo it's asking 2 things: the surface meaning, but - more importantly - the unspoken meaning. hanna is posing a question to the 'new friend' (we can choose to see doctor here, but i think the poem's asking us/me as a reader to look beyond that image of the diminishing person asking someone if they want to see figurines or posters to the broader concept - the obedient child is asking if we want to really 'see' her for who she is, what she wants to be. it's as though she's aware it might be too painful for others to deal with whether this whole piece relates to dying or simply growing up.
And behind that world, behind
the vision of so many
collectibles
interesting line-breaks here: on the surface, we've still got the child-person and the collection of figurines/posters, but this is doing so much more for me as a reader. it's saying 'look deeper', it's saying 'behind' twice in the same line, it's saying layers and time past... 'the vision of so many' says so many memories, photos, things a loved one would collect to freeze the other person in a moment of time, a snapshot of who they were. and it says 'behind' not 'beyond'. i said at the start that this is as much about what isn't said as what is. i don't know the right terminology, but it's like an opposite echoing. one thing is said which leads us to fill in its opposite or something similar in our own heads, words and phrases ghosting behind in the background, making the frozen come more to life.
are thousands, millions, kazillions
of wild horses, herding themselves
as quickly as possible
into the future and the past…
a massing forward of something huge, and yet that forward momentum is turned in the same line, turns retrograde, as if the future's a barrier. there's a great milling and energy, like all the possibilities of hanna that understand there's no going forward, only a turning back... only, a part of me sees some wilder elements of the 'herd' leaping the barriers to gallop on into the unknown.
Ah, the snorts and whinnies
die in the wind, but the thunder
goes on forever
there is such love in these lines, and my mind fills in the repetition of 'Hanna loves horses' as the final echo.
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Yeah, those last three lines always draw me back if I wander away from the intent of the poem, if I start doubting whether the poem is truly 'good'. I appreciate your insight. I don't know any biographical detail of Foehn or his family, but to read physical illness within the poem is probably(but not quite) as far reaching as me reading expression of a Platonic Ideal.
The death of childhood and the passing of childhood is certainly thematic and rarely dealt with in 'adult' poems adequately. Foehn's poem reminds me of James Joyce's one really interesting piece:
A Flower Given to My Daughter
-James Joyce
Frail the white rose and frail are
Her hands that gave
Whose soul is sere and paler
Than time's wan wave.
Rosefrail and fair -- yet frailest
A wonder wild
In gentle eyes thou veilest,
My blueveined child.
The death of childhood and the passing of childhood is certainly thematic and rarely dealt with in 'adult' poems adequately. Foehn's poem reminds me of James Joyce's one really interesting piece:
A Flower Given to My Daughter
-James Joyce
Frail the white rose and frail are
Her hands that gave
Whose soul is sere and paler
Than time's wan wave.
Rosefrail and fair -- yet frailest
A wonder wild
In gentle eyes thou veilest,
My blueveined child.
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butters
High on a Hill
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- Jul 2, 2009
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i know nothing about the poet or their intent; could it be that piece was simply the imminent death of childhood? i wonder who 'the new friend' is if so. all i ever feel able to offer is my response to a piece and hope it helps the author see from a different perspective.
things to think about in jj's piece, indeed.
twelveoone
ground zero
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- 5,882
thanks butters
positioning 101,
and hidden in the vague, a new way of reading
butters
High on a Hill
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can you explain a little further? 101? and what's the new way of reading?
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