My new poem "Onset of night"

[Masterisall]

In this onset the night is silent
There are no echoes in this quiet room
And here the night has no shining moon
Yet comfort it has been yearning for
But not one companion has came to its fading doors

In this emptiness the darkness stalks the day
And reminisces about all the things that it has gave away
The resounding breeze, the glows of lamp lights
Soon not a memory will cover night

An alarming fate that is swept away
The black hour that has stolen day
Not a friend, the gloom has found
Only the hollowness of the cracking ground

Oh, the blankness has wept for centuries long
Its hope is singing its very last song

In this fray the night is silent
And the black hour has stolen day
Yet comfort it has been yearning for
There are no bidders for its comfort
Only the hollowness of the cracking ground

-

---
what do you think?

Please critism is welcome

 

[WickedEve]

Omit has: But not one companion came to its fading doors,
or change has came to has come.

 

[Masterisall]

okay i have a new revised version

In this onset the night is silent
There are no echoes in this quiet room
And here the night has no shining moon
Yet comfort it has been yearning for
But not one companion has come to its fading doors

In this emptiness the darkness stalks the day
And reminisces about all the things that it has gave away
The resounding breeze, the glows of lamp lights
Soon not a memory will cover night

An alarming fate that is swept away
The black hour that has stolen day
Not a friend, the gloom has found
Only the hollowness of the cracking ground

Oh, the blankness has wept for centuries long
Its hope is singing its very last song
It cries out for the company of the cricket’s chirps
And the essence of feeling worth

In this fray the night is silent
And the black hour has stolen day
Yet comfort it has been yearning for
There are no bidders for its comfort
No tears that which an echo will resound
Only the hollowness of the cracking ground

-Jesse

 

[WickedEve]

Jesse, I'll do my best to reread your poem tonight and give you better feedback. Right now, I'm going nuts getting ready for my daughter's birthday party. The big 8! I only did one quick read and there seemed to be some interesting lines.

 

[Liar]

Hi Jesse, you got something good going here. Eloquent use of language and some interresting imagery.

I have three pieces of advice for you:

1.- The rhymes. Do you really need them? Most of the poem is written in pairs of rhyming or near-rhyming lines, while the first and last stanza braks that regular pattern. Those lines that needs to rhyme are also sometimes contrived - meaning it looks like you rearranged a natural sounding phrase to an unnatural soundimg one in order to make it end on the rhymed word. ("Yet comfort it has been yearning for" which would more natually be "Yet it has been yearning for comfort", for instance). I like form poetry, but it has to be exact, and still not compromize the language, to work. And that's bloody hard. I think you should skip the rhyme scheme and just try to focus on saying the things you want to say. (And if it still happens to rhyme here and there, jolly good. )



2.- If you do that, I think you'll also find some lines that could be more stringent. Lines where you today put in a lot of filler words that you don't need. In my opinion those just clutter up the message.

If I may... i don't want to tell you how to write your poem, but here's an example of how you could trim the initial lines (not how you should, that's up to you):

In this onset the night is silent,
no echoes in this quiet room,
here the night has no shining moon.
Yet it yearned for comfort,
but no companion came
to its fading doors.



3.- Just for the heck of it, put this poem aside for a while, and try to say the same message, but with entirely different words, or an entirely different form. Good things come to those who experiment.

 

[Masterisall]

Okay I have taken part of your advise and stored away the rest, I'll probally post what I have later but for now I have a poem that displays an opisite of this poem.

Poem can be viewed here

https://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?t=520064

 

[Senna Jawa]

In this onset the night is silent
There are no echoes in this quiet room
And here the night has no shining moon
Yet comfort it has been yearning for
But not one companion has came to its fading doors

In this ... the ... is ...
There are no ... in this ... ...
And here the ... has no ... ...
Yet ... it has been ... for
But not one ... has came to its ... ...
​

(Of course the last ...-word is "door(s), of course" ).

There are more nothing words than meaningful words. Forget it, especially that your meaningful "..."-words are not truly meaningful, they are boring too, boring cliches:

In this ... the ... is [gen adj]
There are no ... in this [useless adj] ...
And here the ... has no [useless adj] ...
Yet [abstr] it has been ... for
But not one ... has came to its ... ...
​

Everything in this writing is predictable. A totally uninteresting text.

Regards,

 

[WickedEve]

In this ... the ... is ...
There are no ... in this ... ...
And here the ... has no ... ...
Yet ... it has been ... for
But not one ... has came to its ... ...
​

(Of course the last ...-word is "door(s), of course" ).

There are more nothing words than meaningful words. Forget it, especially that your meaningful "..."-words are not truly meaningful, they are boring too, boring cliches:

In this ... the ... is [gen adj]
There are no ... in this [useless adj] ...
And here the ... has no [useless adj] ...
Yet [abstr] it has been ... for
But not one ... has came to its ... ...
​

Everything in this writing is predictable. A totally uninteresting text.

Regards,

Senna, this may seem harsh to some, but I do appreciate your no-nonsense critiques. Again, I learn from you.

 

[wildsweetone]

In this ... the ... is ...
There are no ... in this ... ...
And here the ... has no ... ...
Yet ... it has been ... for
But not one ... has came to its ... ...
​

(Of course the last ...-word is "door(s), of course" ).

There are more nothing words than meaningful words. Forget it, especially that your meaningful "..."-words are not truly meaningful, they are boring too, boring cliches:

In this ... the ... is [gen adj]
There are no ... in this [useless adj] ...
And here the ... has no [useless adj] ...
Yet [abstr] it has been ... for
But not one ... has came to its ... ...
​

Everything in this writing is predictable. A totally uninteresting text.

Regards,

i always learn when you post SJ. thank you for this.

in poetry, as there are so few words (compared to prose), every single word must count. as SJ has shown there are lots of opportunities here where strong nouns and verbs could be used, more concrete imagery to enliven the message giving the reader strong, tangible images to grip.

SJ i'm going to be dissecting a couple of mine today. i have a feeling they'll need re-writing too.

 

[Senna Jawa]

[...] there are lots of opportunities here where strong nouns and verbs could be used, more concrete imagery to enliven the message giving the reader strong, tangible images to grip.

SJ i'm going to be dissecting a couple of mine today. i have a feeling they'll need re-writing too.

WildSwee'Tone, but this is not the main problem here. There are two common, unhappy situations possible: 1. there is a real thing but some phrases and words are flat, or poor, one way or the other; 2. there is nothing but paper and paper and words and bytes.

Here and in the case of the other poem by the same author, we have the 2nd situation. Thus all the author can do is to forget these texts and to write new poems.

In the given case the uninteresting phrases and talking in circles on and on is the result of the lack of substance rather than the author's technical inability (repetitions & variations are respectable artistic means, but only if they serve a good cause; but there are also all kind of boring overlaps when the author has very little to say and drags the text on further and further). BTW, I actually believe, based on the two poems, that this particular author has potential.

I also would like (for the millionth time ) to clarify the meaning of the "real" & "authentic" in poetry.

It is much-much easier to write a (good) poem based on certain real events and experience, be it your own or of others. You still need to have something special, which has a metaphoric potential. I mentioned certain phrases by outstanding sportsmen. Let me also give an observation by a politician. He said that when you run for an office then, on the road, you eat whenever the food is offered, because you never know when you will have another chance. This may sound flat and unpoetic to you, but it is again an acute observation which can give a poem what poems need, a deep meaning, an insight, a true metaphor. The rest is the technique which turns such raw material into a jewel.

Nevertheless, it is not necessary to write about life events. You may create a reality in your mind. But there is A LOT to it. You can't just off hand make up things because then they feel like trash, like in the other poem. The ficticious reality in your mind has to be as consistent as the real one. It has to make impression of the same richness, it has to be organic. Only then the poem has a chance to be organic (integrated and more).

When you write about real like scenes then you need to know them well. Otherwise the things will give. I still remember a poem which won the 2nd place in a r.a.p. competition. It was a popularity context, meaning that the poems were voted on by the readers. The poem was about a prostitute, and it was junk. The guy clearly had no contacts with prostitutes whatsoever (or it didn't show up at all ), he didn't study their life, he was just imagining things and BS-ing. The poem was awfully false. Thus writing about real things doesn't mean yet that the text is going to be authentic. It still can be phony.

Conclusion: before you start redoing your poems, first check if there is anything worthy of fixing.

(We used to have on this forum a pair of self-appointed important experts. One was
"Dirty Daughter" -- or was it "orphaned daughter"? -- and the other was "Masked Unpoet" -- or "masked poet", same difference. The latter one claimed that he can take anybody's poem and turn it into a masterpiece. It was an idiotic, nonsensical statement. If a text is trash than it should be trashed. Even King Solomon couldn't pour wine from an empty bucket. But pissing, that's a different story.)

Hi Eve, hi WildSwee'Tone, best regards,

 

[TMV]

Maybe impertinent, but valuable

I read your poem and saw that there were a few places in which a little flourish might hype it up a bit. You see, sometimes the problem isn't that poem isn't solid, it just doesn't seriously intrigue people. When you think hard at the very base of your soul, you always see how you might just change a word or even add a deep description. And the worse thing that you can do is overthink the needs and rules of a good poem. After all, some of the best have brought forward wholly new forms and features of their poems. Re-setting the status quo of poetry and poets. But just like other mediums, it always succumbs to the conservative approach to poetry and pretty much strangling any true and soulful expresion of poetry.

As I have been told time and again, "You write the poem and leave it until you feel the need to see if you can make it better. Edit your poem often and critically. There is no such thing as a perfect poem!"

But I can't do this. When I write a poem, I don't just go willy-nilly and write what comes forth in a torrent. I feel something coming and gather my thought's, then as I am writing my poem, I do so slowly and intently as well as intentionally. I am very mindful of the words. I always examine my thoughts and try to edit without touching paper. Doesn't always work, but then I haven't finished even after I have written it. I study it self-critically. Always thinking of the weight and the flavor of the words. If it doesn't fit, I brain-storm until it does. And usually, within minutes or an hour. I have my perfect poem! I don't really want to have others foist their opinions on me as their opinions are colored by their own life experience and have no place in my personal creation.

I tried it their way, And you know what? It always stripped the poem of flavor and action. Maybe I'll never be a great poet to the world..., But I am happy with the way I create my world in my wordsmithing ways. It's my picture, I don't want your brush strokes changing my perceptions!

And then which, I offer only an effect of which you had on me. I know what I say and what I do here seems hypocritical. I have learned many things from many people. Which means, here is how I would offer of my color. The changes I made were because I percieve a need. I percieve a little help.




In this onset the night is silent
There are no echoes in this quiet room
And here the night has no shining moon
Yet comfort it has been yearning for
But not one companion has came to its fading doors

In this emptiness the darkness stalks the day
And reminisces about all the things that it has gave away
The resounding breeze, the glows of lamp lights
Soon not a memory will cover night

An alarming fate that is swept away
The black hour that has stolen day
Not a friend, the gloom has found
Only the hollowness of the cracking ground

Oh, the blankness has wept for centuries long
Its hope is singing its very last song

In this fray the night is silent
And the black hour has stolen day
Yet comfort it has been yearning for
There are no bidders for its comfort
Only the hollowness of the cracking ground
_____________________________________



In this onset the night is cold silence
No echoes in this hollow, quiet room
And here the night has no shimmering moon
Yet human comfort has it been yearning for
But no single companion has came to its fading doors

In this emptiness the darkness stalks the day
Reminisces about all the things that it has given away
The resounding breeze, the glows of iconic lamp lights
Soon not a forlorn memory will cover this cool night

An alarming fate that has swept away
The blackish hour which has stolen day
Not a friend, while gloom has found
Only the hollowness of the cracking ground

Oh, the ebon has wept for centuries long
It’s hope is singing its very last song

In this fray through night is silent
And the blackish hour which has stolen day
So then comfort it has been yearning for
Empty bidders vie for its comfort
Only the fear of the cracking ground

The bottom is just my feelings, it won't damage me when it is rejected. But criticism of my intent..., then I will become negative.

 

[wildsweetone]

WildSwee'Tone, but this is not the main problem here. There are two common, unhappy situations possible: 1. there is a real thing but some phrases and words are flat, or poor, one way or the other; 2. there is nothing but paper and paper and words and bytes.

Here and in the case of the other poem by the same author, we have the 2nd situation. Thus all the author can do is to forget these texts and to write new poems.

...

nice to see you

so, in this instance, the poet needs to look at what the message is that he is trying to convey (if there is one) and then re-write around that message to give the reader something tangible to follow.





...i wonder if both the poems could be skimmed and combined. that might be worth looking at.

 

[Masterisall]

*reads over the critism* Gahhh Am I being eaten alive? I think not, for as I am learning. Well to the person that said something about nonsense words that is probally most due to I don't WRITE poems. I mean, as a writer writes them I do not. Mostly I let the words that are in my mind come out without tinkering them. Rough drafts to me are scrary I don't ever set out to write about one praticular subject, what I write comes out as if it were clay molded by a person who has never touched it before.

I thank you all for your help.

 

[Masterisall]

okay.. here is what I changed.

I don't know which one is better

There are no echoes in this richness
and here the night has no shining moon
Yet it has been yearning for comfort
But not one companion has come to its fading heart

In this emptiness the darkness stalks the day
And reminisces about all the things that it has given
The resounding breeze, the glows of lamps shade
Soon not a memory will cover the weeping night

An alarming fate that is swept away
The black hour that has stolen day
Not a friend, the gloom has found
Only the freezing ground that is cracking

Oh, the blankness has wept for centuries long
Its hope is singing its very last expression
It cries out for the company of the cricket’s chirps
And the essence of feeling worth

In this fray the fearful night is silent
And the black hour has come to take away the grinning day
Yet comfort it has been yearning for
There are no bidders for its comfort
No tears that which an echo will resound
Only the hollowness of the empty cracking ground