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greenmountaineer said:
There's some beautiful language here, Mer. Recited, it sounds very sensuous.

I think the poem ends quite nicely after the 4th stanza unless I'm missing something.

However, I question the use of the word "aftermath." Merrriam-Webster:

af·ter·math\-ˌmath\
noun
: the period of time after a bad and usually destructive event
Full Definition
1 : a second-growth crop —called also rowen
2 : consequence, result <stricken with guilt as an aftermath of the accident>
3 : the period immediately following a usually ruinous event <in the aftermath of the war>
Click to expand...

Actually, definition 2 is quite what I had in the mind, or a mix of 2 & 3.
 
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Dear legerdemer,

I have appreciated your comments on my own poems, so I would like to try and make some comments on yours.

The title bothers me. Clearly, the narrative voice is in Paris writing the poem, and it seems just as clear that the letter is addressed to the "you" who appears in the third stanza of the poem. It seems to be a letter of regret (despite the je ne regrette rien). "Letter [f]rom Paris" seems too bland for what I think you're trying to address in the poem.

The first stanza seems to want to establish Paris as a romantic destination, a city of lovers. You do not need to establish this. Paris has that reputation. Much of the language also seems clichéd, though "hips of soft blond stone" is nice.

The "her" in stanza two is a little confusing. I am assuming you are still anthropomorphizing Paris itself? "Antiquaires" should be italicized, as it is a foreign word.

In stanza four, "boiling" seems really wrong to me; the image it evokes in me seems off, though I see what you're getting at. As a first, and not very good, alternate, let me suggest "I imagine your touch searing my skin". And "aftermath." If you really mean this, that is, that the (presumed) sexual encounter was a disaster, you need, I think, to say more about it. Why was it disastrous? As it is, it seems like you're saying that we (the narrative voice and the "you") were hot for each each other, went in your imagination back to someplace and had apparently great sex, but that was somehow a bad thing. I think this stanza is sending a mixed message as it is.

In the last stanza, the "I regret nothing" is fine, but I presume what the narrator does not regret is that she did not have the imagined relationship with the "you" of the poem. Why she "still ponder the what-ifs." But we don't know anything about what it is that she does have, so there is nothing to compare her loss (of a relationship with the "you" to).

I'm sorry. I quite like this poem, actually. But I think it could be much, much better with some more work.

Poetry is hard, hard work.
 
To gm and AH

Thank you for your feedback; I tried to make changes based on your comments.
 
Thank you, Ellen - I appreciate your thorough reading and your feedback, and I will think on it.

A few comments to your comments below:

EllenMore said:
Dear legerdemer,

I have appreciated your comments on my own poems, so I would like to try and make some comments on yours.

The title bothers me. Clearly, the narrative voice is in Paris writing the poem, and it seems just as clear that the letter is addressed to the "you" who appears in the third stanza of the poem. It seems to be a letter of regret (despite the je ne regrette rien). "Letter [f]rom Paris" seems too bland for what I think you're trying to address in the poem.

The title has a double meaning - it comes from Janet Flanner's (then) well-known Letters from Paris, which she wrote for many years from Paris for The New Yorker, describing the city and its many delights.

The first stanza seems to want to establish Paris as a romantic destination, a city of lovers. You do not need to establish this. Paris has that reputation. Much of the language also seems clichéd, though "hips of soft blond stone" is nice.

I agree regarding Paris' well established reputation, but that's not what I was trying to achieve. I wanted to give readers who've not been there a feel for its color, for what it's like to wander its streets.

The "her" in stanza two is a little confusing. I am assuming you are still anthropomorphizing Paris itself? "Antiquaires" should be italicized, as it is a foreign word.

Thanks for catching that - quite right.

In stanza four, "boiling" seems really wrong to me; the image it evokes in me seems off, though I see what you're getting at. As a first, and not very good, alternate, let me suggest "I imagine your touch searing my skin".

I didn't use "searing" because it is used so often in the same circumstances.


And "aftermath." If you really mean this, that is, that the (presumed) sexual encounter was a disaster, you need, I think, to say more about it. Why was it disastrous? As it is, it seems like you're saying that we (the narrative voice and the "you") were hot for each each other, went in your imagination back to someplace and had apparently great sex, but that was somehow a bad thing. I think this stanza is sending a mixed message as it is.

In the last stanza, the "I regret nothing" is fine, but I presume what the narrator does not regret is that she did not have the imagined relationship with the "you" of the poem. Why she "still ponder the what-ifs." But we don't know anything about what it is that she does have, so there is nothing to compare her loss (of a relationship with the "you" to).

I'm sorry. I quite like this poem, actually. But I think it could be much, much better with some more work.

Poetry is hard, hard work.
Click to expand...


Allusion-wise, in case you didn't catch it, "non, je ne regrette rien" also comes from a famous, iconic old song by Edith Piaf.

No need to be sorry. The original version of the poem, written for greenmountaineer's challenge incorporating foreign words and phrases into poems, has morphed several times; it had a longer and more detailed last stanza that I think may have shed a bit of light, but it didn't seem to work for several readers, and so I gutted it and shortened it. I'm not sure the original was any better, but this version may be much too cryptic.
 
legerdemer said:
Thank you, Ellen - I appreciate your thorough reading and your feedback, and I will think on it.

A few comments to your comments below:



Allusion-wise, in case you didn't catch it, "non, je ne regrette rien" also comes from a famous, iconic old song by Edith Piaf.

No need to be sorry. The original version of the poem, written for greenmountaineer's challenge incorporating foreign words and phrases into poems, has morphed several times; it had a longer and more detailed last stanza that I think may have shed a bit of light, but it didn't seem to work for several readers, and so I gutted it and shortened it. I'm not sure the original was any better, but this version may be much too cryptic.
Click to expand...

seriously how did I miss that Inwas listening to it this morning.....
 
Comments please.
.
If my mind should slowly recede from me,
leaving me a broken shadow of what I once was.
Please know that somewhere in that harsh darkness
I'm still loving you, perhaps it will be all I remember.
For my love for you is as a great sheet of lightning,
hurtling across the sky of my lost memories.
What was, suddenly lit up against the invading dark,
there for a second, then gone but waiting.
Still waiting.
 
Mountain Air

In this hour of silence
crepuscular light seeps through tree tops. I think twilight works better sound wise
Mosquitoes twang in harmony
with the wind, pine sap scent mixing
with repellent.

High through tufts of needles
breezes wail through tall tapers one of the throughs needs to go, I think the whole first line could go without losing anything here
yet barely budge the mountain lupins,
purple splotches against greenery.

Under the canopy, the red-brown believe you can drop this
carpet is strewn with pine cones
spewing fecundity.
Woodpeckers rap their rhythm,
squirrels chatter like snare drums.

The velvet wine bathes my taste buds
and I save a moment’s thought
for the gnats in my cup,
floating on the Malbec sea. Lol, sorry, are ya drinking down the bugs as well 'cause that's the impression I get based on the 1st line, though I do love the 4th line

Somewhere, gun shots remind me
the west’s still being won, when
ATV cowboys ride up the trail,
drowning the forest’s psalms,
cyphers only to me.

Wish I could articulate it better but the last line is somehow unsatisfying.

Nice overall. That last bit being broken up by the ATV cowboys and trying to comeback to peace with "psalms" has a cia la vie feel for me. I could see the person getting up, heading inside for more wine :D
 
legerdemer said:
Mountain Air

In this hour of silence
crepuscular light seeps through tree tops.
Mosquitoes twang in harmony
with the wind, pine sap scent mixing
with repellent.

High through tufts of needles
breezes wail through tall tapers
yet barely budge the mountain lupins,
purple splotches against greenery.

Under the canopy, the red-brown
carpet is strewn with pine cones
spewing fecundity.
Woodpeckers rap their rhythm,
squirrels chatter like snare drums.

The velvet wine bathes my taste buds
and I save a moment’s thought
for the gnats in my cup,
floating on the Malbec sea.

Somewhere, gun shots remind me
the west’s still being won, when
ATV cowboys ride up the trail,
drowning the forest’s psalms,
cyphers only to me.
Click to expand...

Nice. It's all descriptive until the final line, which is ambiguous and metaphorical and offers two possible meanings as I understand it.
 
UnderYourSpell said:
Comments please.
.
If my mind should slowly recede from me,
leaving me a broken shadow of what I once was.
Please know that somewhere in that harsh darkness
I'm still loving you, perhaps it will be all I remember.
For my love for you is as a great sheet of lightning,
hurtling across the sky of my lost memories.
What was, suddenly lit up against the invading dark,
there for a second, then gone but waiting.
Still waiting.
Click to expand...

Well said. Having seen my father-in-law recede under the effects of Alzheimer's and/or dementia, I can identify with the sense of loss and frustration at this loss your poem illuminates.

I especially liked "my love... is like a sheet of lightning" but might take out "What was" from the beginning of line 7
 
Piscator said:
Well said. Having seen my father-in-law recede under the effects of Alzheimer's and/or dementia, I can identify with the sense of loss and frustration at this loss your poem illuminates.

I especially liked "my love... is like a sheet of lightning" but might take out "What was" from the beginning of line 7
Click to expand...

Thanks Piscator for answering, I'll have to have a think because 'what was' is what's suddenly lit up. I haven't submitted for a while and wondered if I should with this one .......... if I can remember how!
 
UnderYourSpell said:
Comments please.
.
If my mind should slowly recede from me,
leaving me a broken shadow of what I once was.
Please know that somewhere in that harsh darkness
I'm still loving you, perhaps it will be all I remember.
For my love for you is as a great sheet of lightning,
hurtling across the sky of my lost memories.
What was, suddenly lit up against the invading dark,
there for a second, then gone but waiting.
Still waiting.
Click to expand...

"Sheet lightning" a great metaphor, Annie, and is a perfect fit for the narrative.

I'm not sure I'd include "harsh" before darkness in l3 because you already established that. Perhaps for the same reason, I didn't think "my" was necessary in l6.

Appropriately melancholic without being melodramatic IMO
 
legerdemer said:
Mountain Air

In this hour of silence
crepuscular light seeps through tree tops.
Mosquitoes twang in harmony
with the wind, pine sap scent mixing
with repellent.

High through tufts of needles
breezes wail through tall tapers
yet barely budge the mountain lupins,
purple splotches against greenery.

Under the canopy, the red-brown
carpet is strewn with pine cones
spewing fecundity.
Woodpeckers rap their rhythm,
squirrels chatter like snare drums.

The velvet wine bathes my taste buds
and I save a moment’s thought
for the gnats in my cup,
floating on the Malbec sea.

Somewhere, gun shots remind me
the west’s still being won, when
ATV cowboys ride up the trail,
drowning the forest’s psalms,
cyphers only to me.
Click to expand...

Some comments, Mer

I think Trix is right about "crepuscular."

"Twang" is an interesting choice, but I don't associate it with the sound of mosquitoes as I do "buzz."

S3 has the passive voice, whereas everything else is in the active. I wonder what it might read and sound like if re-configured; just a thought.

I like the gnats in your Malbec but I'm not sure why. If I figure it out, I'll pm you.

The last stanza brings the poem to its resolution but I think it needs some tweaking. "Somewhere," I think, is an opportunity missed, given how rich all the other images are. I think if you were more descriptive about "somewhere" and extended it to a line, you could end with "drowning the forest's psalms" which I believe is a much more powerful conclusion than what you have there currently.
 
greenmountaineer said:
Some comments, Mer

I think Trix is right about "crepuscular."

"Twang" is an interesting choice, but I don't associate it with the sound of mosquitoes as I do "buzz."

S3 has the passive voice, whereas everything else is in the active. I wonder what it might read and sound like if re-configured; just a thought.

I like the gnats in your Malbec but I'm not sure why. If I figure it out, I'll pm you.

The last stanza brings the poem to its resolution but I think it needs some tweaking. "Somewhere," I think, is an opportunity missed, given how rich all the other images are. I think if you were more descriptive about "somewhere" and extended it to a line, you could end with "drowning the forest's psalms" which I believe is a much more powerful conclusion than what you have there currently.
Click to expand...

I've been reading your fine poem, Mer, for the past two days. I mostly agree with GM and Trix, although I'm not sure about the passive voice in S3 because because it only applies to the "red-brown/carpet is strewn." That doesn't really bother me, but "spewing fecundity" does. It sounds too anthropomorphic to me in a poem that isn't humanizing any of the other non-human elements. Maybe "spitting seeds" or some such?

I also like the gnats in the wine because it's sort of shocking that the narrator isn't disturbed by it and goes on drinking and it sort of wakes up the poem. And that is why I also agree with GM about not beginning that last strophe with "Somewhere...." Something more specific would make the poem stronger. And I love GM's suggestion for the ending.

Just my two cents. :rose:
 
Thank you green mountaineer too, so what I've whittled it down to now is this. Can't make up mind about 'But waiting'

.
If my mind should slowly recede from me,
leaving me a broken shadow of what I once was.
Please know that somewhere in that darkness
I'm still loving you, perhaps it will be all I remember
for my love for you is as a great sheet of lightning,
hurtling across the sky of lost memories,
suddenly lit up against the invading dark,
there for a second, then gone. But waiting.
Still waiting.
 
UnderYourSpell said:
Thank you green mountaineer too, so what I've whittled it down to now is this. Can't make up mind about 'But waiting'

If my mind should slowly recede from me
and leave me a broken shadow of what I was,
please know that somewhere in that darkness
I'm still loving you. Perhaps it will be all I remember.
My love for you is a great sheet of lightning,
hurtling across the sky of lost memories,
suddenly lit up against the invading dark:
there for a second, then gone. But waiting.
Still waiting.
Click to expand...

I have a few comments. :)

First, I know you are the gerund ho but I'd lose as many as I could to make the poem more strongly in the subjunctive tense (i.e., if this...then that). Also I would change the punctuation, but my suggestions might be wrong for you because of American English. Either way I would not have a period after "was" in S1L2. I find it distracting, but maybe that's me.

Lovely poem. :rose:
 
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UnderYourSpell said:
Thank you green mountaineer too, so what I've whittled it down to now is this. Can't make up mind about 'But waiting'

.
If my mind should slowly recede from me,
leaving me a broken shadow of what I once was,
please know that somewhere in that darkness
I'm still loving you. Perhaps it will be all I remember:
my love for you is a great sheet of lightning,
hurtling across the sky of lost memories,
suddenly lit up against the invading dark,
there for a second, then gone. Yet waiting.
Still waiting.
Click to expand...

Angeline said:
I have a few comments. :)

First, I know you are the gerund ho but I'd lose as many as I could to make the poem more strongly in the subjunctive tense (i.e., if this...then that). Also I would change the punctuation, but my suggestions might be wrong for you because of American English. Either way I would not have a period after "was" in S1L2. I find it distracting, but maybe that's me.

Lovely poem. :rose:
Click to expand...

I agree with Angeline's comments and suggestions, Annie.
In the next to the last line, I would change "But waiting." to "Yet waiting." 'But' is harsher, whereas the feeling conveyed there is softer, more contemplative.

I also stumble on the "my love for you is as a great..." - I suggest getting rid of the 'as'. And I finagled two lines to get rid of the 'for' - I'm not sure I prefer it, I just wanted to see how it sounds and looks.

Your poem voices a fear many (all?) of us experience - beautifully said.

And thanks for stopping by to grace my thread--an honor.
 
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UnderYourSpell said:
Thank you green mountaineer too, so what I've whittled it down to now is this. Can't make up mind about 'But waiting'

.
If my mind should slowly recede from me,
leaving me a broken shadow of what I once was.
Please know that somewhere in that darkness
I'm still loving you, perhaps it will be all I remember
for my love for you is as a great sheet of lightning,
hurtling across the sky of lost memories,
suddenly lit up against the invading dark,
there for a second, then gone. But waiting.
Still waiting.
Click to expand...
Hiya, UYS :) think this could be snipped more to remove some of the 'my/e's that feel as if they're weighing down the write but please ignore it if they're essential for some rhythmic pattern. I have a problem reconciling 'hurtles' with 'sheet lightning' despite loving the breakneck recklessness 'hurtles' conjures as a word. The image of a sheet, hurtling, trips me up as I read. Could just be me :D

Shorter lines can help the broken nature of a mind losing itself in the darkeness, though once again this is entirely a personal preference in this piece since by breaking the images within the same line can also have the same effect. I like Angie's and Mer's suggestions, particularly the substitution of 'Yet' for 'But', though you may well prefer to keep the 'But' for that more stubborn ring it has. That'll depend entirely if you feel softening works best for the piece right there.

Anyways, this is how I'm hearing it:

Should my mind recede,
leaving only broken shadows,
please
know somewhere in that darkness
I still love you.

Perhaps it will be all I remember.

My love for you flares,
sheet lightning across a sky of
cherished memories lost to the dark,
sudden against its invasion.
There, then gone.
Yet waiting.
Still waiting.

As always, take it or leave it, just thoughts. Thanks for posting this up, Annie, as I'm not writing much right now and this helps get me back to thinking about the actual process. :rose:
 
....

My thanks to Trix, Greenmountaineer, Angeline, and AH for all your comments. Regarding gnats, somehow camping makes all sorts of things less objectionable.
 
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I'm still voting against "twang," but since my idea of camping involves a fully equipped RV I'm sure you know best. :D

It really is a lovely descriptive piece, very good at evoking sense reactions from the reader.
 
Angeline said:
I'm still voting against "twang," but since my idea of camping involves a fully equipped RV I'm sure you know best. :D

It really is a lovely descriptive piece, very good at evoking sense reactions from the reader.
Click to expand...
twang feels odd to me, too. it associates with melody through extrapolation of some almost dissonant guitar string, but has no sound links other than the stretch with 'sap' which really fits, soundwise, with 'rap' and 'gnats'. The heavier ending of the 'ang' sound is something i'm having trouble linking anywhere else, plus I'm tripping up on associating 'twang' with 'gnats' - to me, they saw, or buzz, or drone, or whine, even whinge. twang isn't something i can get my head around, but then maybe i've never heard the gnats you have, mer. :p

there's a wealth of 'I' sounds in that first strophe/stanza/never quite sure what to call it, plus 'w's and the appearance of 'n's and 'l's. if mer could introduce another 'ang' sound someplace, it wouldn't jump out at me as much as it does. i suppose its dissonance is effective for that alone, but dissonance and harmony clash in my opinion.

just thinking aloud, mer. :rose:
 
butters said:
twang feels odd to me, too. it associates with melody through extrapolation of some almost dissonant guitar string, but has no sound links other than the stretch with 'sap' which really fits, soundwise, with 'rap' and 'gnats'. The heavier ending of the 'ang' sound is something i'm having trouble linking anywhere else, plus I'm tripping up on associating 'twang' with 'gnats' - to me, they saw, or buzz, or drone, or whine, even whinge. twang isn't something i can get my head around, but then maybe i've never heard the gnats you have, mer. :p

there's a wealth of 'I' sounds in that first strophe/stanza/never quite sure what to call it, plus 'w's and the appearance of 'n's and 'l's. if mer could introduce another 'ang' sound someplace, it wouldn't jump out at me as much as it does. i suppose its dissonance is effective for that alone, but dissonance and harmony clash in my opinion.

just thinking aloud, mer. :rose:
Click to expand...

It's nice to hear others think aloud--very comforting.

I like 'whine'! Originally I had 'buzz' but 'buzzing mosquitoes' is too expected. Plus, I wanted the plaintifness, which twanging does. And so does whining. Or whinging. ;)
 
legerdemer said:
It's nice to hear others think aloud--very comforting.

I like 'whine'! Originally I had 'buzz' but 'buzzing mosquitoes' is too expected. Plus, I wanted the plaintifness, which twanging does. And so does whining. Or whinging. ;)
Click to expand...

Personally I like twang, maybe because I sometimes have one :D, but also because of its connotations to country, it's consonance with twilight and the linkage to the "accent" of the various insects.
 
I've been thinking about "twang" and "buzz" and any other one syllable word to describe the sound of a mosquito. It occurred to me that there may be no such one syllable word to describe the prolonged sound of an approaching mosquito that translates well into a poem. Frankly, "twaaaaaaaaaaaaaaang" or "buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz" is much more accurate (usually followed by an abbreviated "slap.")

So I wonder what's wrong with coining a new word? Poets after all are known to streeeeeeeeeeetch and sometimes break the rules.
 
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