Unfortunately my reading is a bit clouded by your explanation of the first poem, however understaning the intent of the piece I can say the second is much clearer
Before and after, an exercize.
- Thread starter GuiltyPleasure
- Start date
Unfortunately my reading is a bit clouded by your explanation of the first poem, however understaning the intent of the piece I can say the second is much clearer
greenmountaineer
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Angeline
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I've just read through all the poems in this thread. In most cases I prefer the original version or maybe would like to see a compromise somewhere between the "befores" and the "afters." The originals all have some great, knock-you-out lines and some overindulgence or unnecessary wordiness here and there. They also are equally atmospheric and narrative (as "befores"), but most of what is cut takes away the atmosphere. The "afters" seem somewhat flattened as a result.
This is a great exercise, but I wonder what the authors think of it. Does reducing your poem down to the bone help you see what needs to be put back or revised? Do you prefer the shortened version?
I'm trying not to be nostalgic-- The Ghosts of North Beach, for example, has been a favorite of mine here for a long time. To me, the revision needs more atmosphere. There's not enough there now for me as a reader to suspend my disbelief and sink into the world of the poem. Pornography seems to fare best as an "after," but that might be because the poem is about urgency and the reduction quickens the pace.
This is a great exercise, but I wonder what the authors think of it. Does reducing your poem down to the bone help you see what needs to be put back or revised? Do you prefer the shortened version?
I'm trying not to be nostalgic-- The Ghosts of North Beach, for example, has been a favorite of mine here for a long time. To me, the revision needs more atmosphere. There's not enough there now for me as a reader to suspend my disbelief and sink into the world of the poem. Pornography seems to fare best as an "after," but that might be because the poem is about urgency and the reduction quickens the pace.
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greenmountaineer
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That's a tough question, Angie. I don't consider anything I post a final version. There's always an element of risk of something lost. For example, my poems were about a blind man. Some were confused about that in the original. I wanted some confusion at the beginning of the poem, not at the end. Furthermore, I thought the original suggested estrangement on the part of the children, which I didn't want. That said, I thought S3 in the original was effective, yet I couldn't seem to retain it in the edited version, although in the next version, I'll probably try to work it back in.
Angeline
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Thanks for this thoughtful and logical answer. I agree that poems are never really done. We learn and grow over time. We can go back to poems and see new ways to improve them. And this is a great exercise for helping one get rid of unnecessary verbiage--and maybe get a clearer idea of what one wants to say.
In your poem I still wouldn't get that the narrator is blind though the revised S3 strongly alludes to that. I wonder if changing the title could help clarify that.
As for the original S3, you're keeping it tucked away, right? Another rule of poetry (imho) is don't throw anything out cause you never know where you can use it again.
ishtat
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Do you think Angeline that your preferences might be influenced by the very fact that you read the original first. Might ones judgement be different if the first experience was of the uncluttered version? My thought is that to some extent the first reading, whatever it is, may develop in ones mind in a particular point of view.
It might be an interesting exercise if a different poet did the uncluttering.
Angeline
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I do have expectations about poems I remember--I'm sure we all do. Maybe I would feel differently if I only saw the "afters" and was unfamiliar with the "befores." It depends on the poem, I guess. I used to like to read big narrative poems best, but in the past few years especially I've come to appreciate how much can be said with few words--like William Carlos Williams (for one example).
And I agree it would be interesting to try this exercise with someone new doing the revisions though I'm always wary about suggesting too many changes to someone else's poem. I have my own sense of what makes poetry good, but it isn't necessarily another person's. I don't want to impose my style on someone else, you know? There's a fine line between making what one sees as improvements and rewriting to suit one's own style.
Nice seeing you posting here, Ishtat.
GuiltyPleasure
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Personally I have no problem having others suggest changes to my stuff, it all helps whether I adopt it or not because it's good to see it though others' eyes. I like the idea that a poem is the distillation, the essence of a thought, view or story and that's what I aim for, most of the time. I do like to see the original beside the edited work and see the changes made.
Piscator
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Sisyphus’ dream
i work hard, Sir
and well, Sir
but you said it
was not enough
So i worked harder, Sir
still well, Sir
but you said it
was not enough
So i worked faster, Sir
and longer, Sir
but not so well, Sir
and my kids forgot my face.
To my disgrace, Sir
you said the quality my work
had dropped
and still was not enough
So i work harder, Sir
still well Sir
and wait for the day, Sir
with your behind me, Sir
i step aside, Sir
and let you taste my rock.
__________________________________________________
i work hard, Sir
and well, Sir
but you said
'twas not enough
So i worked harder, Sir
still well, Sir
but you said
'twas not enough
So i worked faster, Sir
and longer, Sir
but not so well, Sir
and my kids forgot my face.
To my distress, Sir
you said my work's quality
had dropped and still
'twas not enough
So i work harder, Sir
still well Sir
and wait for the day, Sir
with your behind me, Sir
i step aside, Sir
and let you taste my rock
mayhaps twill be enough
_________________________________________________________
sketched at work on a glorious Sunday when i should have been walking through the changing colors with my family
i work hard, Sir
and well, Sir
but you said it
was not enough
So i worked harder, Sir
still well, Sir
but you said it
was not enough
So i worked faster, Sir
and longer, Sir
but not so well, Sir
and my kids forgot my face.
To my disgrace, Sir
you said the quality my work
had dropped
and still was not enough
So i work harder, Sir
still well Sir
and wait for the day, Sir
with your behind me, Sir
i step aside, Sir
and let you taste my rock.
__________________________________________________
i work hard, Sir
and well, Sir
but you said
'twas not enough
So i worked harder, Sir
still well, Sir
but you said
'twas not enough
So i worked faster, Sir
and longer, Sir
but not so well, Sir
and my kids forgot my face.
To my distress, Sir
you said my work's quality
had dropped and still
'twas not enough
So i work harder, Sir
still well Sir
and wait for the day, Sir
with your behind me, Sir
i step aside, Sir
and let you taste my rock
mayhaps twill be enough
_________________________________________________________
sketched at work on a glorious Sunday when i should have been walking through the changing colors with my family
champagne1982
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maybe we can perform an edit on a classic poem. Each of us the same piece just to see how we would like to hear it... or somethingI do have expectations about poems I remember--I'm sure we all do. Maybe I would feel differently if I only saw the "afters" and was unfamiliar with the "befores." It depends on the poem, I guess. I used to like to read big narrative poems best, but in the past few years especially I've come to appreciate how much can be said with few words--like William Carlos Williams (for one example).
And I agree it would be interesting to try this exercise with someone new doing the revisions though I'm always wary about suggesting too many changes to someone else's poem. I have my own sense of what makes poetry good, but it isn't necessarily another person's. I don't want to impose my style on someone else, you know? There's a fine line between making what one sees as improvements and rewriting to suit one's own style.
Nice seeing you posting here, Ishtat.
Angeline
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Ok but I need another week or so to write hendecasyllabic lines. I'm just starting to really get it and I want it to stick. Also spondees.
greenmountaineer
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BEFORE
A Curtal Sonnet for Frank O'Hara
"They transubstantiate him more and more.
It wouldn't matter, Lou, if he were Son
of Baʿal," Frank said. "Because their boy was flayed,
crowned, and crucified, the Jew baiters tore
down shtetls and ghettos, hunting Sanhedrin
chums. Ain't nothin' like a good crusade."
LEVITICUS 18 VERSE 22
~
A MAN WHO LAYS WITH ANOTHER HAS SINNED
the picket signs near Fire Island read.
"See the cute little tilde, Lou? Do You,
Mister Sun?" Frank said.
AFTER
Frank, Lou, and God
They transubstantiate him more and more.
It wouldn't matter, Lou, if he were Ron
or Jesse, Man, their black and white lies sprayed
with quotes on poster boards. They look to score
more goats to banish from their nation.
Ain't nothing like another new crusade.
Leviticus 18 verse 22
Repent! It is abomination!
You ever wonder why they're so afraid?
For Chrissakes, Lou. They think this is how you
praise him.
A Curtal Sonnet for Frank O'Hara
"They transubstantiate him more and more.
It wouldn't matter, Lou, if he were Son
of Baʿal," Frank said. "Because their boy was flayed,
crowned, and crucified, the Jew baiters tore
down shtetls and ghettos, hunting Sanhedrin
chums. Ain't nothin' like a good crusade."
LEVITICUS 18 VERSE 22
~
A MAN WHO LAYS WITH ANOTHER HAS SINNED
the picket signs near Fire Island read.
"See the cute little tilde, Lou? Do You,
Mister Sun?" Frank said.
AFTER
Frank, Lou, and God
They transubstantiate him more and more.
It wouldn't matter, Lou, if he were Ron
or Jesse, Man, their black and white lies sprayed
with quotes on poster boards. They look to score
more goats to banish from their nation.
Ain't nothing like another new crusade.
Leviticus 18 verse 22
Repent! It is abomination!
You ever wonder why they're so afraid?
For Chrissakes, Lou. They think this is how you
praise him.
Last edited:
Piscator
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As often GM's poetry sent me off to Wikipedia, in this case for "Curtal Sonnet" and Leviticus 18. And both the the tilde and reference to it are cute.
In what seems to be a trend, I like the first better.
HarryHill
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Yeah, gm'll make you crazy sometimes, I didn't bother chasing 'Curtal', began counting syllables, shook my head and just read... I really like the first first stanza. I think editing is sometimes like trying to build a better mouse trap when you should just buy a cat
champagne1982
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BEFORE
Thrown Clay
It's enough that her hands
warm the clay and smooth
the surface even as she moulds
folds and creases in a spiral
down the barber-pole hardness.
She loves this work, fabricating
something out of clay, as if divine:
She makes him.
He takes shape, round and masculine,
a simulacrum of Adam with feet
of clay, waiting for Her to descend
and breathe life into this, Her Art.
She accepts this divinity as her fingers
sweep along his rigid symbology.
Her new religion allows
this manifestation of the need
that, clasped tightly in her hands,
consumes her as she holds
this symbol out, in offering,
to her mother goddess. Phallus,
fertility and ritual, sublimating
need through Her art
in a garage-studio out back,
behind the kitchen of her reality.
________________________________________________
AFTER
Thrown Clay
Her hands smooth
the clay, mold folds
and creases in spiral
curls down the barber
pole shape. She loves
to fabricate the male
from earth; round
and masculine. An Adam
with feet of clay waiting
for divinity to descend
and breathe life into her art.
Clasped tight in her hand
she holds the symbol
of her new religion, fingers
sweep along the phallic
cylinder until they curl
around it and thrust it forward
in offering to her goddess.
Fertility and ritual burying
need through her art
in a garage-studio behind
the kitchen of her reality.
Thrown Clay
It's enough that her hands
warm the clay and smooth
the surface even as she moulds
folds and creases in a spiral
down the barber-pole hardness.
She loves this work, fabricating
something out of clay, as if divine:
She makes him.
He takes shape, round and masculine,
a simulacrum of Adam with feet
of clay, waiting for Her to descend
and breathe life into this, Her Art.
She accepts this divinity as her fingers
sweep along his rigid symbology.
Her new religion allows
this manifestation of the need
that, clasped tightly in her hands,
consumes her as she holds
this symbol out, in offering,
to her mother goddess. Phallus,
fertility and ritual, sublimating
need through Her art
in a garage-studio out back,
behind the kitchen of her reality.
________________________________________________
AFTER
Thrown Clay
Her hands smooth
the clay, mold folds
and creases in spiral
curls down the barber
pole shape. She loves
to fabricate the male
from earth; round
and masculine. An Adam
with feet of clay waiting
for divinity to descend
and breathe life into her art.
Clasped tight in her hand
she holds the symbol
of her new religion, fingers
sweep along the phallic
cylinder until they curl
around it and thrust it forward
in offering to her goddess.
Fertility and ritual burying
need through her art
in a garage-studio behind
the kitchen of her reality.
greenmountaineer
Literotica Guru
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- Nov 28, 2008
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- 2,442
If we had an "erotic art challenge," champ, this would win hands down. Pardon the pun.
greenmountaineer
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You're probably right, Piscator(still trying to figure out your moniker; sounds fishy
)The problem with the first is it wasn't really a curtal sonnet. A better edit would have been to remove any reference to the form in the original title, which I've done in my master file. My thanks to you and Harry for the comments.
(I think it's time for me to go back to free verse where it's easier for me to stay out of trouble.)
GuiltyPleasure
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That is a special poem, Carrie. Perhaps we should have an "erotic art challenge'" gm.
champagne1982
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Thank you! But which version? I like the after, the innuendos are more blatant.
champagne1982
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That is a special poem, Carrie. Perhaps we should have an "erotic art challenge'" gm.
And thank you, too. I wrote this when I first met Butters on another board, in the foggy past.
What of this Erotic Art Challenge?
greenmountaineer
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butters
High on a Hill
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before:
the salt marsh
is beautiful
when viewed from above
mud and brine transformed
to shining flats etched with fractals
patterns that glitter in the light of day
glimmer
beneath moon and stars
how far away it seems
how long
since first we sprang from soil
tiny rivulets
kissed by grass
trickled
as streams
counting gravel in our beds
swelled
cut through steep-banked valleys
fields of grain alike
felt the rush of power fed by rains
were spurred
by the knowledge of mortality
till we found pleasure
in taking just a little time
to meander in thought
reflect on blue or stormy skies
and how it feels to harbour precious
life that seems to open up
even as we're shaped by silt
till
here we are
spilled, joined,
contemplating beauty in our now
curling round
splitting into intricacies
delicate capillaries
before time and tide claim us
and we reach our endless sea
after:
time and tide...
the salt marsh
is beautiful
when viewed from above
mud and brine transformed
to shining flats etched with fractals
patterns that glitter in the light of day
glimmer
beneath moon and stars
how
far away it seems
how long
since first we sprang from soil as ti-
-ny rivulets kissing grass
or trickled
as streams
counting gravel in our beds
inundated by the rains
how we swelled
powered by that rush
to carve deep valleys
flood fields of grain alike
spurred on
by tastes of our mortality
till life's terrain slowed us
somehow discovered pleasure
in taking just a little time
to meander in our thoughts
reflect on blue or stormy skies
and how it feels to harbour precious
life that seems to open up
even as we're shaped by silt
well. here we are
spilled, joined,
contemplating beauty in our now
curling round
splitting into intricacies
delicate capillaries
before time and tide claim us
and we reach our endless sea
------------------------------------------------------
think i've lost some of the simplicity that worked in the original's favour. probably need to find a middle ground by revisiting later.
the salt marsh
is beautiful
when viewed from above
mud and brine transformed
to shining flats etched with fractals
patterns that glitter in the light of day
glimmer
beneath moon and stars
how far away it seems
how long
since first we sprang from soil
tiny rivulets
kissed by grass
trickled
as streams
counting gravel in our beds
swelled
cut through steep-banked valleys
fields of grain alike
felt the rush of power fed by rains
were spurred
by the knowledge of mortality
till we found pleasure
in taking just a little time
to meander in thought
reflect on blue or stormy skies
and how it feels to harbour precious
life that seems to open up
even as we're shaped by silt
till
here we are
spilled, joined,
contemplating beauty in our now
curling round
splitting into intricacies
delicate capillaries
before time and tide claim us
and we reach our endless sea
after:
time and tide...
the salt marsh
is beautiful
when viewed from above
mud and brine transformed
to shining flats etched with fractals
patterns that glitter in the light of day
glimmer
beneath moon and stars
how
far away it seems
how long
since first we sprang from soil as ti-
-ny rivulets kissing grass
or trickled
as streams
counting gravel in our beds
inundated by the rains
how we swelled
powered by that rush
to carve deep valleys
flood fields of grain alike
spurred on
by tastes of our mortality
till life's terrain slowed us
somehow discovered pleasure
in taking just a little time
to meander in our thoughts
reflect on blue or stormy skies
and how it feels to harbour precious
life that seems to open up
even as we're shaped by silt
well. here we are
spilled, joined,
contemplating beauty in our now
curling round
splitting into intricacies
delicate capillaries
before time and tide claim us
and we reach our endless sea
------------------------------------------------------
think i've lost some of the simplicity that worked in the original's favour. probably need to find a middle ground by revisiting later.
Last edited:
Piscator
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- May 30, 2003
- Posts
- 1,890
before:
the salt marsh
is beautiful
when viewed from above
mud and brine transformed
to shining flats etched with fractals
patterns that glitter in the light of day
glimmer
beneath moon and stars
how far away it seems
how long
since first we sprang from soil
tiny rivulets
kissed by grass
trickled
as streams
counting gravel in our beds
swelled
cut through steep-banked valleys
fields of grain alike
felt the rush of power fed by rains
were spurred
by the knowledge of mortality
till we found pleasure
in taking just a little time
to meander in thought
reflect on blue or stormy skies
and how it feels to harbour precious
life that seems to open up
even as we're shaped by silt
till
here we are
spilled, joined,
contemplating beauty in our now
curling round
splitting into intricacies
delicate capillaries
before time and tide claim us
and we reach our endless sea
after:
time and tide...
the salt marsh
is beautiful
when viewed from above
mud and brine transformed
to shining flats etched with fractals
patterns that glitter in the light of day
glimmer
beneath moon and stars
how
far away it seems
how long
since first we sprang from soil as ti-
-ny rivulets kissing grass
or trickled
as streams
counting gravel in our beds
inundated by the rains
how we swelled
powered by that rush
to carve deep valleys
flood fields of grain alike
spurred on
by tastes of our mortality
till life's terrain slowed us
somehow discovered pleasure
in taking just a little time
to meander in our thoughts
reflect on blue or stormy skies
and how it feels to harbour precious
life that seems to open up
even as we're shaped by silt
well. here we are
spilled, joined,
contemplating beauty in our now
curling round
splitting into intricacies
delicate capillaries
before time and tide claim us
and we reach our endless sea
------------------------------------------------------
think I've lost some of the simplicity that worked in the original's favour. probably need to find a middle ground by revisiting later.
I too like the first one better - sometimes with revision we get too cute by half
othertimes??????
I like the salt marsh image,although I know little of that habitat. Once on an early summer canoe trip I saw so meting similar, where the coloured pollen on the lakes surface was so thick it looked like lava flows or those little sand picture frames where you get an different combination each time you turn it over.
Piscator
Literotica Guru
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- May 30, 2003
- Posts
- 1,890
cusp
on the cusp
of nothingness
endless days
stretch before me
full of motion
empty of content
like these cars
creepin along this highway
arriving late
just in time
to return
on the radio
Bach “St. Matthew’s Passion”
jazz piano
runs icicles
down my spine
sensation
without meaning
ask me no questions
i have no answers
and i tell no lies
_______________________________________________
cusp-take two/too
on the cusp
of nothingness
as the day
stretches before me
and these cars
creep along
the highway
to arrive
just in time
to return
full of motion
empty of content
on the radio
Bach “St. Matthew’s Passion”
then jazz piano
runs icicles
down my spine
sensation
without meaning
i ask no questions
i have no answers
and i tell no lies
on the cusp
of nothingness
endless days
stretch before me
full of motion
empty of content
like these cars
creepin along this highway
arriving late
just in time
to return
on the radio
Bach “St. Matthew’s Passion”
jazz piano
runs icicles
down my spine
sensation
without meaning
ask me no questions
i have no answers
and i tell no lies
_______________________________________________
cusp-take two/too
on the cusp
of nothingness
as the day
stretches before me
and these cars
creep along
the highway
to arrive
just in time
to return
full of motion
empty of content
on the radio
Bach “St. Matthew’s Passion”
then jazz piano
runs icicles
down my spine
sensation
without meaning
i ask no questions
i have no answers
and i tell no lies
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 81,474
i tend to revise as i go, then once i've hit submit it's harder for me to make changes that work. unless it's years down the line
but i've just posted this in writing live, and i'm not happy with it so will tinker here a bit.
nude in a midnight lake
she floats
heavenly body in black silk ripples
on a vast expanse of bed in a room all
starless night
where the lustre of her flesh
holds the wolfman in thrall
howls caught in his throat
reluctant to break the silence
to shatter liquid image
celestial in his eye
nude in a midnight lake
she floats
heavenly body in black silk
ripples
on a vast expanse of bed in a
room all starless night
where the lustre of her flesh
holds the wolf in thrall
howl caught in his throat
reluctant to break the silence
scatter her celestial image
on the dark pool of his eye
Last edited:
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