Poem for review and criticism

[Guest]

Here's something I've gone back and forth on for a few years now. Just made some new changes but still very unsatisfied. Pan refs. are from the old TV presentation, not the Disney film or the orig. book. May I have comments, ideas, mere opinions? I'm tough, don't be esp. tactful or evasive. Thanks, Perdita
----------------------------

My Peter Pan

Boy, are you still here?
It seems you’re still unkind.
You know I’m older now.
I’m sure you noticed how
my mouth wears its grief
and makes my lipstick feather
into dark read streaks.

Naughty lost boy!
You never listened well,
how many times do I have
to ask you to leave?
Gosh, it was a hell
to get rid of you back then,
it took so long and
now you’re here again.

Today I walked home in the old pain
suicidal motives like music
encoded in my brain—
our piano sonata without an opus number,
your limbs the bass line,
the treble of my lips.
It’s the same old wound
but I no longer want to die,
not of love anyway.

I recalled the twin trees
losing their leaves that autumn,
how I witnessed them scattered on the pavement
every black morning for weeks.
The finely cut patterns
distinct veins
reds like blood
dozens of dried up signifiers
of our wounds.

The notices posted by the city
came to mind,
nailed through the bark,
that they would be cut down
on such and such a date
due to a Latin-named incurable disease.

I mourn those two slim trunks
their graceful naked limbs.
I believed each fallen leaf
a true departed soul
that would never breathe again.
Requiescat in pace
my two friends.

Your lost boy’s soul is buried deep within me
your lost shadow and mine
finally resting in peace but
like the roots of those sick trees.

I stopped at the site and paid my respects
staring long into the gutter.
I learned hard to respect the dead,
after you left.

Go back to your pirate island, Boy.
Let me grow old.
If I have the experience of a death bed
come back then.
I’ll take you in my arms
we’ll fly together to Neverland
or Hell.

[edited only to fix italics]

 

[Rainbow Skin]

Your usual classical excellence, Perdita. Herewith the quibbles:

do I have / to ask

I don't think you can separate 'have / to' It's a single word 'haftoo', phonetically: breaking it up gives the pronunciation 'hav', which you don't want.

Gosh, it was a hell

Neither of these colloquialisms seems right here. They lower the tone a bit. And then the next three lines sound too simple: there's not an image between them. In particular, it took so long and could do with a more powerful word in it.

not of love anyway.

The word 'anyway' seems like an anticlimax, or it doesn't scan, or something. It's too weak an ending for the line.

signifiers

I would prefer 'signs'. You're not really trading on the signifier/signified distinction: all you mean is signs.

 

[Guest]

Thanks, Rainbow

I think you're absolutely right. I'll wait a bit for more comments before revising. regards, Perdita

 

[OT]

Not a thorough review, but I'll pick at it a bit.

I like your story telling style, but this one seems a little too wordy. Maybe look at parts to cut out or crisp up a bit.

For example, the second stanza could almost be cut completely without losing anything. It (sort of) restates what was said in the first. Actually the first says "still here" and the second says "back again".

And maybe instead of:

"I recalled the twin trees
losing their leaves that autumn,
how I witnessed them scattered on the pavement.... "

Just a little crisper:

"I recalled how the twin trees
lost their leaves that autumn,
scattering them on the pavement..."


Even just a word here or there can leave a crisp Vs wordy impression.
"Your lost boy’s soul is buried deep within me"
"Your lost boy’s soul is buried within me "

Is "deep" required?

So there you go: a penny or two of opinion.

 

[Guest]

more like a few bucks worth

Thanks, O.T. Your word crisp is just what I need to keep in mind. I think all your comments are spot on. Gosh, I cut out plenty before posting too. haha.

best always, Perdita


p.s. thanks to Rybka for the PM of equally good crit.

 

[karmadog]

Remarkably, I kind of like this poem, despite the tiredness of comparing an immature man to Peter Pan.

I think you could make a better poem without that inanity.

You can write with a nice descriptiveness, particularly here:

I’m sure you noticed how
my mouth wears its grief
and makes my lipstick feather
into dark read streaks.

but none of the rest has that concrete, observant feel. Even though I'm sure you meant 'red' streaks. Or, I hope that's what you meant.

I think the title might be the weakest part of this poem.

RS displayed a nice ear on the 'haftoo' thing.

Anything I say must be considered in the light that I am a lousy poet and a barely so-so critic. So there.

 

[Guest]

So there.

Thanks all the same, Dog. You have some funny karma going for you.

Perdita

 

[ag2507]

Perdita

In a way you aren't allowing the poem to speak nor the reader to layer their experience over the whole. There isn't enough ambiguity and you are not listening to the rhythm. Rule #1. Read it aloud as if you had an audience: better still, read it aloud to an audience - you'll catch the saggy lines straight away. My first advice to poets (Rule #2) is to "strip out words - words are your worst enemy. Anything that doesn't actualy really advance the poem should go; and Rule #3: The shorter the better. Rule #4: look for distractions, in this case, any suggestion the poem has form, such as unconcious rhymes should be recast - if you start having rhymes, then there HAS TO BE A REASON FOR THEM. I don't see any here.


Boy - are you still here?
In here you’re still unkind.
But I am older now.
My mouth wears my grief
and makes my lipstick feather
into dark read streaks.

Naughty lost boy!
You never listened
to the many times
I asked you to leave?
Gosh, it was a hell
to berid of you back then,
it took so long and
now you’re here again.

Today the old pain
Walked home with me
suicidal motifes
replaying in my brain
our piano sonata
your limbs the bass
for the treble of my lips.

It’s the same old wound
but I no longer want to die,
not of love anyway.

The twin trees lost
their leaves that autumn,
scattered on the pavement
Their finely cut patterns
distinct veins
reds like blood
dried up signifiers
of our wounds.

The city posted notices
nailed through the bark,
that they would be cut down
on such and such a date
While I watched dead leaves
Scurry alive every bleak day.

I mourn those two slim trunks
their graceful naked limbs.
Each fallen leaf
a true departed soul
who will never breathe again.
Requiescat in pace
my two friends.

I stopped there today
staring long into the gutter.
I learned hard to respect the dead,
after you left.

Your lost boy’s soul
buried deep like fading roots
Is always there
your lost shadow and mine
finally at peace

Go back to your pirate island, Boy.
Let me grow old.
And when I die
come back and maybe
I’ll take you in my arms
we’ll fly together to Neverland
or Hell.

-----

I've tightened it up a bit: it is not my poem, it is yours, but by losing the narative you can see how much more poigniant it can be. Hint, not tell, of the things you want to say and avoid melodrama - it never works in poetry.

Good Luck

AG

 

[Guest]

AG:

Thanks for a very thoughtful response.

Everyone: patience, please; it may be weeks before I finish this; don't want you to think I've wasted your time. I revise, leave a few days, revise, repeat, repeat.

Thanks all for the good ideas, notions, suggestions, good will.

Perdita

 

[Angeline]

I Love Peter Pan

it was--I think--my favorite story when I was a little girl. I read the Barrie play and saw it on Broadway (and currently own the vhs of that wonderful Mary Martin special). I, btw, wanted to be Tiger Lily (and had some big time fantasies about me and Pan vanquishing Hook together).

So all this is to say that I loved reading your poem (and it even inspired me to write a Pan poem myself, so thank you). Here are my suggestions (in bold):


My Peter Pan

Boy, are you still here?
It seems you’re still unkind.
You know I’m older now.
I’m sure you noticed how
my mouth wears its grief
and makes my lipstick feather
into dark red streaks.

Naughty lost boy!
You never listened well,
how many times must I
ask you to leave?
Gosh, it was a hell
to get rid of you back then,
it took so long and
here you are again.

Today I walked home in old pain (see deletion)
suicidal motives like music
are encoded in my brain—
our unnumbered piano sonata,
your limbs the bass line,
the treble of my lips.

(see line break added)

It’s the same old wound
but I no longer want to die,
not of love anyway.

I recalled the twin trees
losing their leaves that autumn,
how I witnessed them scattered on the pavement
every black morning for weeks.
The finely cut patterns
distinct veins
reds like blood
dozens of dried up signifiers
of our wounds.

The notices posted by the city
came to mind,
nailed through the bark,
that they would be cut down
on such and such a date
due to a Latin-named incurable disease.

I mourn those two slim trunks
their graceful naked limbs.
I believed each fallen leaf
a true departed soul
that would never breathe again.
Requiescat in pace
my two friends.

Your lost boy’s soul is buried deep within me
your lost shadow and mine
finally resting in peace but
like the roots of those sick trees.

I stopped at the site and paid my respects
staring long into the gutter.
I learned hard to respect the dead,
after you left.

(This part is lovely, but it seems at odds with the rest of the poem thus far--I think you need more here to explain what died in you and Pan that is like these trees. Was it the way they died? It seems like maybe the answer is in this verse, but not sure:

Your lost boy’s soul is buried deep within me
your lost shadow and mine
finally resting in peace but
like the roots of those sick trees.)


Go back to your pirate island, Boy.
Let me grow old.
When death calls me
come back again.
I’ll take you in my arms
and fly with you Neverland
or Hell.


Hope this helps, Perdita. It's a marvelous poem even at this point. I really do like the way you write, and hope you don't mind my piggybacking on your pan idea.

 

[destinie21]

geez ,
once again when I'm in the presence of your poetry (or stories for that matter)I feel like a highschool freshman who's somehow been erroroneously enrolled in the advanced placement class for seniors.

My Peter Pan

Boy, are you still here?
It seems you’re still unkind.
You know I’m older now.
I’m sure you noticed how
my mouth wears its grief
and makes my lipstick feather
into dark read streaks.

I might change this a little to

Boy, are you still here?
It seems, in spite of everything you're still unkind
You know, I'm older now
Have you noticed how my mouth wears it's greif ?
making my dark red lipstick feather into streaks

I thought the first line I changed (adding in spite of everything)
would be a "lead line" telling the reader before they really get into the poem that these two have history but this child shows obviouis disregard. I altered the second half only because I remember being a young child and even in my early teen years I never noticed other people's (in my parents generation or older) mortality. (it just seemed once I was 17 my grandparents and parents sort of looked older it wasn't something I noticed earlier though unless it was pointed out)

Naughty lost boy!
You never listened well,
how many times do I have
to ask you to leave?
Gosh, it was a hell
to get rid of you back then,
it took so long and
now you’re here again.

Just a question on the stanza above (If you were pissed or getting pissed would you naturally say how many times do I have to ask you to leave or would you say how many times do I have to tell you to leave?)

Today I walked home in the old pain
suicidal motives like music
encoded in my brain—
our piano sonata without an opus number,
your limbs the bass line,
the treble of my lips.
It’s the same old wound
but I no longer want to die,
not of love anyway.


I hate to dispute rainbow but I actually like the line

" I know longer want to die, not of love anyway"

because it suggests that there are some things you are willing to die for. just not love

I recalled the twin trees
losing their leaves that autumn,
how I witnessed them scattered on the pavement
every black morning for weeks.
The finely cut patterns
distinct veins
reds like blood
dozens of dried up signifiers
of our wounds.

For some reason the stanza above doesn't read well but maybe it's just me(most of the time it's just me) but in the section above this one you are talking in present tense when you started out today I walked home.... then you switch to I recalled the twin trees...
I would reword it like so if it is supposed to be the same day.


I can recall the twin trees
losing their leaves that autumn
how every black morning for weeks
I'd witnessed (you could even go with I bore witness to )
the finely cut patterns,
distinct veins
the colors like blood (readers will know blood is red)
dozens of dead dried up signifiers
of our wounds

The notices posted by the city
came to mind,
nailed through the bark,
that they would be cut down
on such and such a date
due to a Latin-named incurable disease.


I would simply cut out came to mind and the reference to dates
leaving

The notices posted by the city
death warrants
nailed through the bark
they would be cutdown
due to a latin named incurable disease.


I mourn those two slim trunks
their graceful naked limbs.
I believed each fallen leaf
a true departed soul
that would never breathe again.
Requiescat in pace
my two friends.



Your lost boy’s soul is buried deep within me
your lost shadow and mine
finally resting in peace but
like the roots of those sick trees.

I stopped at the site and paid my respects
staring long into the gutter.
I learned hard to respect the dead,
after you left.

Go back to your pirate island, Boy.
Let me grow old.
If I have the experience of a death bed
come back then.
I’ll take you in my arms
we’ll fly together to Neverland
or Hell.



.



the only other suggestion I had was to change the word gosh to something a bit stronger as in my expereince only little girls and streotypical "niaeve" woman that are sometimes known to frequent lit stories actually use it.

pS all of the above mentioned suggestions are just my opinion while I don't apologize for my thoughts I do apologize if I've crossed any lines or any such thing

 

[WickedEve]

Just popping in to say I like the poem, but I only have time right now to make a few suggestions on the first stanzas.

My Peter Pan

Boy, are you still here?
It seems you’re still unkind.
You know I’m older now.
I’m sure you noticed how
my mouth wears its grief
and makes my lipstick feather
into dark read streaks.

I'd drop "into dark red streaks." It's not needed, at least, I don't think it is. Ending this stanza with "and makes my lipstick feather" sounds much better.

Naughty lost boy!
You never listened well,
how many times do I have
to ask you to leave?
Gosh, it was a hell
to get rid of you back then,
it took so long and
now you’re here again.

Naughty lost boy!
You never listened well.
How many times must
I ask you to leave.
It took so long
to get rid of you back then,
now here you are again.

Today I walked home in the old pain
suicidal motives like music
encoded in my brain—
our piano sonata without an opus number,
your limbs the bass line,
the treble of my lips.
It’s the same old wound
but I no longer want to die,
not of love anyway.

I like Ange's suggestion for the third stanza.

 

[Rybka]

More comment on "My Peter Pan"

Comments for perdita;

My Peter Pan

Boy, are you still here?
It seems you’re still unkind.
You know I’m older now.
I’m sure you noticed how
my mouth wears its grief
and makes my lipstick feather
into dark red streaks.

Naughty lost boy!
You never listened well,
how many times must
I ask you to leave?
God, it was hell
to get rid of you back then,
it took so long and
now you’re back again.

Today I walked home in the old pain
suicidal motives
music encoded in my brain—
our piano sonata without an opus number,
your limbs the bass,
the treble of my lips.
It’s the same old wound
but I no longer want to die,
not of love anyway.

I recalled the twin elm trees
losing their leaves that fall,
how I witnessed them scattered on the pavement
every morning, black for weeks.
The finely cut patterns
distinct veins
reds like blood
A multitude of dried up images
of our wounds.

The notices posted by the city
came to mind,
nailed through the bark,
that they, our trees, would be cut down
on such and such a date
due to a Latin-named incurable disease.

I mourn those two slim trunks
their graceful naked limbs.
I believed each fallen leaf
a true departed soul
that would never breathe again.
Requiescat in pace
my two friends.

Your little boy’s soul is buried deep within me
your lost shadow and mine
finally resting in peace but
like the roots of those sick trees.

I stopped at the site and paid my respects
staring long into the past.
I learned hard to respect the dead,
after you had left.

Go back to your pirate island, Boy.
Let me grow old.
When I have the experience of a death bed
then come back.
I’ll take you in my arms
and
we’ll fly together to (?Never -?) Neverland
or Hell.

Regards,                                 Rybka

 

[Guest]

thanks all

Everyone above, I am very touched by these thoughtful comments. I appreciate the 'just my opinions', do it myself, but no need. Nothing here offends or disturbs. I will keep all in mind and probably follow many of your suggestions. Hopefully finish within the month.

very grateful, Perdita

Angeline: I'd love to read your poem, let me know if you post it.

 

[Angeline]

Angeline: I'd love to read your poem, let me know if you post it.

Thank you, Perdita. I'm not planning to post it here at Lit, though I'd be happy to send it to you--I'd need an email addy though (would rather not send it anonomously via feedback). If you're still interested in seeing it, let me know.

Regards,
A.