i think it's great that you've given us a new form (not that i'm au fait with loads of others) and you need to write more to firmly establish it!
why does saying which piece touches you most inspire the wibblies, annie? it's not like people can say you're wrong! if you like something then you like something. are you afraid of maybe hurting others' feelings
that's not good.
to feel you are unable to express your personal opinion in case it hurts someone's sensibilities is restricting your emancipation as a human being.
More than likely but you don't know my history of one the crappiest childhoods around and with those sort of beginnings as much as I would love to put it behind me it will always haunt and colour the person I am now, not that I think any of you are going to beat the shit out of me for disagreeing with you I also know only too well what barbed words can do.
for what?
i put my challenge out on the monday - and closed it friday 8pm our time. was that the time you meant?
and here we get swept in a totally different direction, once again! how wonderful an experience to be along for the ride here, poets
strong, strong voice grounding this piece, that wavers (for me) in only one place and that's where the priest's words are being conveyed. it still threw me out a little, making me have to readjust mentally to the accent as i read on.
"Staying warm Chrissakes till March
Would make me think of girls again,
Though I’d never tell the priest
Whose church on Sunday warms my feet
Sweet Jaysus five degrees at least
Worthy of his five Hail Marys
He says to pray ten times at night
To chasten all those teenage dreams."
Not sure if the following addresses your concern, but for me it's better anyway:
Staying warm Chrissakes till March
Would make me think of girls again,
Though I’d never tell the priest
Whose church on Sunday warms my feet
Sweet Jaysus five degrees at least
With dreams of Coney Island Beach.
Thanks for doing this thread; alot of work on your part. I enjoyed thinking about your perspective on all the poems submitted and once again felt I learned something.
BTW, the oblique references in the title "Triangle Shirtwaist Factory" and the poem's last stanza have to do with the fire at the factory of the same name in New York City where in March, 1911 146 workers, mostly young Jewish, Italian, and Irish immigrant girls perished. It outraged the citizens and was the catalyst for building safety reform for business and slums in which many immmigrants then lived.
and here we get swept in a totally different direction, once again! how wonderful an experience to be along for the ride here, poets
strong, strong voice grounding this piece, that wavers (for me) in only one place and that's where the priest's words are being conveyed. it still threw me out a little, making me have to readjust mentally to the accent as i read on.
"Staying warm Chrissakes till March
Would make me think of girls again,
Though I’d never tell the priest
Whose church on Sunday warms my feet
Sweet Jaysus five degrees at least
Worthy of his five Hail Marys
He says to pray ten times at night
To chasten all those teenage dreams."
Not sure if the following addresses your concern, but for me it's better anyway:
Staying warm Chrissakes till March
Would make me think of girls again,
Though I’d never tell the priest
Whose church on Sunday warms my feet
Sweet Jaysus five degrees at least
With dreams of Coney Island Beach.
Thanks for doing this thread; alot of work on your part. I enjoyed thinking about your perspective on all the poems submitted and once again felt I learned something.
BTW, the oblique references in the title "Triangle Shirtwaist Factory" and the poem's last stanza have to do with the fire at the factory of the same name in New York City where in March, 1911 146 workers, mostly young Jewish, Italian, and Irish immigrant girls perished. It outraged the citizens and was the catalyst for building safety reform for business and slums in which many immigrants then lived.
Ah, yes, that does sit more comfortably for me too
I'm sure i saw a documentary about this once; when i read the title there was an immediate connection somewhere in the depths of what i call my mind. It's nice to read a piece grounded in real history, however tragic its events.
first off, thanks for letting me know about the lack of form and stuff, hehe, and since it is a no stockings and corset affair i hope you don't mind me sitting here in bathrobe and fluffy slippers commenting on it
this write slips a sucker punch with these lines:
such pain right there! it's hard, i think, to write it in a way that really hits the reader, to make them feel the vicarious pain, but you have accomplished that with such economy of language. a pain fit to take the breath away, tying in perfectly with the phrase "self suffocation". in fact, that part leaves me so breathless, what comes either side of it seems less important and fades for me.
