Insightful, useful feedback

[daughter]

Here's a challenge:

Take time to read the collection of work a poet has. Give a close read for at least four poems. Obviously, if a poet does not yet have a collection with this minimum, he is not eligible for this exercise.

Post the selections here with links. Tell us what you think are the poet's collective strengths and what areas you feel could be improved or give you trouble. You needn't be technical, but do be thoughtful in your responses. If you like how the words fit, roll off your tongue when spoken out loud, the pace, whatever it is be specific. This can be done without formal jargon. What you don't want to do is give cursory remarks like, "This is so great" or "This sucks."

The purpose of this exercise is twofold: give the poet useful information and to discover that in analyzing another's work critically can help the examining poet see similiarities, strengths and weakness in one's own work.

Looking forward to reading how you evaluate each other's work. The goal is to examine the poetry not the poet. All comments must be grounded in the words, the text.

Let's get busy.

Peace,

daughter

 

[WickedEve]

smithpeter

It's probably no secret that I have a thing for smithpeter's poetry.
It was not easy to pick 4 out of his 225 poems. I've read all of his poetry, and I know what I like about it.

Here are 4 of my favorites:

Dogwood
Not in point or concept
Would any but a fool
Attempt to sway a delicate
White pink flower to a cage

Already in custody of the
Loving branches, in turn
Possessions of the trunk
For whom she sports
A cleft between
Her luscious lower petals

Holding her to light
The slender stems bring
Nourishment, umbilicals
Of life, till the need is met
Dropped, folded, renewal

Foolish too to capture,
Cut, snap or twist her free
To die in vessel clay
Or glass, looking forlornly
Over the edge, drowning

Mona Spice
She showed me her spice rack
As we cooked
Side by side, hip pressing at times
In her cramped Cajun kitchen
Below the braid of garlic
Beside the hanging basket of dusty
Herbs and dried peppers

We fought for/against the last shrimp
Red sauce stained her bare wooden table
She cursed as loudly as she laughed
I laughed as loud as my mouth allowed
Stinging but thirsting for more hot
So we smoked unfiltered in the dusty kitchen
Her menthol curled up her face like a curtain
She pierced it like a hazy sheet
She exhaled at my chest
She rung loose tobacco off her tongue with her lips

Mona's music is from the window
Beats and bass, chords with moans
A hundred neighbors tastes entered the room
Into ears and nostrils, morsels of twisting lives
So bitter but sweet twists that blend and sticking
Flavoring Mona on her bare back
Her lack of inhibition and ample marinade
Peppered hips pressed with her invitation

Her nipples sucked red
My nipples sucked red
Mona's legs slung over my shoulders
Holding her rear aloft in the middle of our lust
I spanked her particular with the back of two figures
Rapidly while a thumb strays south
Wanting to hear Mona swear again

Paper Airplane Poem
Eve writes with lipstick
Poems of the moment
Rapidly folded, she
Flings them from the tip
Of the tallest building

Her fingers delicately aim
The darts of verse
With nails painted olive near brown
Down on roofs of homes
Containing bedrooms shaped in narrow
Wedges, like tunnels

The tapering minds within
Below sweaty sheets
Spread their legs to the chant
Of a porn video, commanding
Ass to Ass! Ass to Ass!

It comes as no surprise
The wind gift on the shingles
Is unknown in that
Society measuring 8½ by eleven

Breakup
Only slightly discordant,
Two single notes that drift,
Hovering together,
Like bruised butterflies,

Her walls wore African masks,
Matisse, Van Gough,
Bubbly bathroom nite light,
Next to my toothbrush,
A gift, like the robe,

You're a nice guy,
At least you didn't hurt me,
Physically

The Longness Of Liz
Liz is a long woman.
Blackest black short haired.
She wears long dresses,
Slit down her left leg.
Always the left side.
Her tattooed right outer thigh,
Seldom sees the light of day,
Or gaze of suitors.
There, permanently marked,
A vine of green grape leaves,
An intertwined slender,
Olive colored snake,
Weaving its way upward around,
And around from ankle to hip.

She dresses simply.
Always long black,
Calf length thin strapped dresses.
Loose fitting low cut rear and front.
Her beasts are shaped,
For champagne glasses.
She wears no ornament.
Neither jewelry or makeup.

Beside pretentious ladies in restaurants,
Adorned with multicolored beads,
Sparkling stone studded rings,
And cinched waists,
Liz appears naked.
Glowing.


Oops! That's 5. And I also enjoy all of his Tiger/Raul poems, and many others.

I love the way smithpeter sees the world, then tells us about it. I love his word choices and the way he puts them together. I think he's bold with his poetry; he pushes his boundaries. His poems are never boring. He can write about a simple idea and make it seem so fascinating. His words most always flow. And what he writes makes you sit there for a moment and think about it, then makes you want to read it again.

The only negative would be his rush to submit a poem. I know he submits almost everything he writes, and he doesn't spend days fiddling with a poem. He writes it, submits it, and moves on. Most of the time this works for smithpeter, but even he has the occasional "not his best" poem.

 

[Guest]

Eve, thank you for bringing "Dogwood" to my attention. What a beautiful poem!

karmadog