posted
With all due respect to your suggestions of correcting every aspect of poetic clarity in the grammar, I was unable to. I did, however, give my poem to a literature teacher with whom I am acquainted and he suggested some fixes. The current draft for "The Dream" is:
'Twas down the street one merry night, A lovely chill of air; When near my eyes I saw a sight, Right there, I was aware.
A bird above my head did fly, So swift and quick - so rare; And as I gazed throughout the sky, Perplexed I was right there.
I looked up at the heavens high, a lovely scene saw I; A view of safe havens to die [for], Right there - up in the sky.
Just out of holy scripts and books, A scene so fresh and clear; I could not shake off it my looks, And thought: ‘it's near - it's here.’
Before my eyes lay an array Of clouds blue and maroon, And through that bright night shot a ray, Right from the hidden moon.
And those deep clouds of darkened tones, Were dark as dark could be; Like silhouettes of heavy drones, Shone down upon the quay.
Out of a clearing through the clouds, The bright light right there shone; The spiralled clouds, more likely shrouds, Forged Luna’s royal throne.
Just like John's dreams, those lovely beams, Made seas look greenly lime; And staring at those steady streams, Just took me back in time.
A dream I saw, so pure and raw, A holy, real truth; And Spirits holy [Christ!] I saw, I sensed my own self soothe.
Napoleon and Cassius, Old kings and senators, Anthony and Julius, And many professors,
So many brave and bold-like men I viewed with weary eyes, And what I noticed oh, right then: I’d travelled through the skies!
As if I were a lightning bolt, I shot the heavens through, So quick and rapid with no halt, I felt the sky of blue,
The clouds and shrouds had vanished then, As I rose very high, I could not see nor house nor men, Whilst thinking: ‘my, oh my!’
I slowed down to a virtual halt, Views ‘round me were so nice, And then I sensed a sudden jolt: The gates of Paradise.
Since when a man like me, a colt, Would be so terrified That seeing it I’d feel a jolt, And bashfully just hide?
I swerved up through the gates of gold, Along paths of great stone, And even though I was not cold I shivered by the throne.
I met Lord God, for me he sent With his almighty sword, ‘Why thou! Just and omnipotent All-just and honoured Lord!
What dost thou seek in petty me, O, greatest of all Gods? For I am no one; oh, prythee, Attack me not with swords!’
But mighty God said plainly nought, To me he spoke with mind; I then inferred all that he thought, The tranquil and most kind.
‘My land is no more holy ground, It is a land of beasts. Ruled not by man as much as hound, The hound of very least.
What man [back in the past] hath been, Is just a memory, Divine can be no longer seen, But only arbitrary.
Unless man reassures his trust, And me he loves again, A plague upon the land I must Unleash to ruin men.
It’s solely thine, thy only task, To reinspire my name; If thou shalt perform it most stark Thou shalt receive much fame.’
‘Yet what was that I saw back then, While shooting through the clouds. Those famous and most noble men, That drifted through the shrouds:
Napoleon and Cassius, Old kings and senators, Anthony and Julius, And many professors,
Why have I seen those men of charm, Of great and gracious deeds, Those men who sometimes caused most harm In times of desp’rate need?’
Yet Lord God did not answer me, In silence he remained, He shot me off in tyranny, So I myself refrained.
And as I traced along the line Of time, just like a ship; I felt the passage of fine time: An end came to my trip.
I saw the moonlight drift away, It’s now so measly dim; My face so swiftly lost its grace, And it is now so grim.
Down melancholy streets at night, I walk so grey and dull; I’m distant and remote, that's right, Affection is now null.
That dream only came to me that once, I sense no ecstasy; Yet once in a while I sense the trance, The bliss and the rhapsody.
A bit long. And I have another one I made, this one called "A Prayer":
O, Father, Lord, Our God and King, To thee alone we pray and sing, Our life hath been an utter mess, Nor shall we speak of utmost stress.
Surely hast thou borne out sins? And so to thee we pray our hymns, God, in thee alone we deem, And pray for thee sins to redeem.
We yearn for care, oh Lord of men, And Saviour of cub and ren, We kneel here and we confess, Oh Father, please clean up our mess.
A privilege we now foresee, The sole honour of serving thee: Thou we shall not dare harass And to thee we [will] pray and Mass.
But in return to us, shalt thou Relieve our sins and pure us now? We yearn ourselves to be most clean, And life shall be now most serene.
Feedback?
[ November 11, 2004, 04:33 PM: Message edited by: Jonathan Howard ]
Posts: 2978 | Registered: Oct 2004
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posted
Oh, man. It's like I threw a drowning man a life preserver and he hung himself with it.
I'm probably not the best person to further review your poem, because I'm a minimalist; my gut reaction, when I don't like something, is to brutally rip it out. Your solution -- Bill and Ted's Excellent Afterlife -- is not one I would have considered, and I don't really feel qualified to comment on it.
All snarkiness aside, I seriously think you're doing your poem a disservice by making it considerably longer without addressing its major flaws: triteness and clumsy poesy.
Posts: 37449 | Registered: May 1999
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posted
Do you realize you just said, basically, "Hi, I ignored all the suggestions you already gave me, so how about wasting some more of your valuable time to give me additional suggestions that I probably won't use?"
Posts: 7954 | Registered: Mar 2004
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I'd rephrase that as: "Thanks, but I had no idea how to correct that in most cases. I did recieve some other advice and I tried to make the best out of all. This is my current result, what did I miss and how can I not miss it again with my hopeless mind?"
Besides, there's a new supplement! (Wo...*yawn*...w...)
[ November 11, 2004, 04:31 PM: Message edited by: Jonathan Howard ]
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How about "A view of safe havens for to die"? It flows better, and then you don't need the brackets either.
I don't know why everyone is complaining, but I seem to have missed the first thread, unfortunately! Sorry. Posts: 7877 | Registered: Feb 2003
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And down the street one chilly night I strolled to catch some air -- When something caught my eyes instead, Just briefly, from afar.
A seabird swooped above my head, So swift and quick, so fair, And as I traced it through dim light, It led me past the stars.
I stared up into holy bounds; its gates stood open wide: A land of havens, safe and sound, Tucked just behind the sky.
Forged note-perfect from God's scrip, A scene so fresh and clear, I could not rip my eyes from it And thought "It's near! It's here!"
Beneath the gates churned an array Of clouds indigo and maroon -- Though through the black night blazed a ray Birthed from the hidden moon.
But still those clouds in somber sward Loomed heavy 'gainst the gates, Like silhouettes of swarming hordes Cast down upon the quay.
Out of a clearing through the clouds The white light boldly shone, Spinning cloudstuff into shrouds For anointing the moon's throne.
Just like John's dreams, that lovely beam Cast the sea alive with lime; And staring at its stalwart stream Hurled me breathless back in time.
A dream I saw, so pure and raw, A holy, real truth; There sang the Spirit, and to hear it, My soul itself was soothed.
But as I traced along the line Of time, just like a ship, I felt it wash away from me And slide out of my grip.
The clouds rushed to obscure the gates, The moonlit beams turned dim; My face as easily lost its grace, And joyful awe turned grim.
The dream in its fullness just came to me once, Though often I've walked by the sea; Yet from time to time I return to the trance, The bliss and the ecstasy.
(Note: I've tried to keep as much of your original language, meter, and symbolism as I could, even if I would have done some of that differently. I don't think an editor should take too many liberties with the original.)
Thanks! I'll go through it word by word and use it to edit mine with pros' help, just like yours. (if I don't change as little as a symbol of punctuation you'll be in the credits. Maybe I should insert you anyway. You deserve it!)
You have my most sincere gratitude.
I'm sorry I have been an excrescence in your armpit!
posted
Hey, no, don't apologize -- particularly not for being something far worse than you are. As I've said before, your poem's quite good for a high school freshman, and especially good for someone who's only now starting to read much poetry. Don't sell yourself short; you've got a decent way with words and a good eye for an image, and you can refine those through the common expedient of reading every poem you can get your hands on over the next ten years, then trying to figure out how and why the authors picked the words they did. But I'm sure your English teachers are busy telling you the exact same thing. They're right.
Posts: 37449 | Registered: May 1999
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posted
If you're really interested in improving as a poet, go here. Just make sure to lurk for a little while and read all the rules first. You learn as much by critiquing others' poems as you do writing your own.
There's an amazing amount of talent there and a lot of people willing to help. There's also a lot of people who have far less talent than you.
Dagonee *Just be sure to follow the rules. They have little patience for people who don't.
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posted
I steal my father's book, "15 poets". I read a little too much Yeats and I fed on some honey-dew while listening to music (Enya's "Caribbean Blue", whose lyrics talk of a sky).
My English teacher, during class at least, thinks I have either a quadro-personality or he thinks I'm capable of doing two-men's job in half the time. Since I got such a task in literature.
After class, while not joking about his BIG appetite or ranting about his son (also in the same class), he does have time to express his passion towards Chaucer; even though he's a bit hard.
The other feedback source is a "creative writings" teacher in a "special school for giftesd children" I apparently attend. He translated Coleridge and Milton into Hebrew; and I guess he reads Shakespeare in that language too.
Alas, those are my contacts.
Thanks again,
Jonny
P.S. How was my second poem? I made it compact and tried to stuff it up with correct line-lengths.
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quote: O, Father, Lord, Our God and King, To thee alone we pray and sing, Our life hath been an utter mess, Nor shall we speak of utmost stress.
I'm so confused. You go from trying to sound like John Donne here to sounding like a Jewish grandmother: "Oh, Lord God, perforce we sing thy praises. But would it hurt us to clean up our room once in a while? And don't get me started on the stress."
Consistency in tone is VERY important, and you come across here like someone trying to parody a formal tone by deliberately interjecting modern colloquialisms.
quote: Surely hast thou borne out sins? And so to thee we pray our hymns, God, in thee alone we deem, And pray for thee sins to redeem.
Reverse "hast thou" to "thou hast," and swap "our" for "out."
You cannot "deem in" someone. Especially if you're going to rhyme "deem" with "redeem." *shudder* I would suggest "God, we thee alone esteem" for the third line, if you must.
quote: We yearn for care, oh Lord of men, And Saviour of cub and ren, We kneel here and we confess, Oh Father, please clean up our mess.
*holds head* Oh, you're making me all meshuggy. Do you realize how formal "Saviour of cub and ren" sounds? Do you realize how informal "please clean up our mess" sounds, by comparison?
Can you imagine anyone using both phrases in the same sentence?
quote: A privilege we now foresee, The sole honour of serving thee: Thou we shall not dare harass And to thee we will pray and Mass.
Take this stanza to the woodshed. It says basically nothing new, except the third line -- and, c'mon, is it REALLY worth a whole stanza just to say that you don't have the guts to harass God? Couldn't you assume your audience can guess?
quote: But in return to us, shalt thou Relieve our sins and pure us now? We yearn ourselves to be most clean, And life shall be now most serene.
Okay, so the deal is this: you'll pray to God, attend Mass, and avoid harassing Him, and in exchange you'd like Him to relieve your sins and purify you?
(Note: "pure" is not a verb. You mean "purify.")
It's also rather pointless to say "we yearn ourselves;" the "ourselves" is implied, and wastes syllables you could use to make the sentence less trite. Your "and life shall be now most serene" is equally trite, and also seems to take God's answer as a given, thus diffusing any dramatic tension you might have wanted. Leave the question open, and it works better.
Posts: 37449 | Registered: May 1999
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Wow -- I didn't know that TomD knew anything about poetry.. How about posting some of your own original verse, Tom??
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Tom has a good poetry editor's eye. This is in greatest part by far due to his having spent about 9824 hours writing poetry.
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If I were to write poetry, and wanted someone to critique it, I can't think of anyone I'd rather have on the job than Tom. You stumbled into a fantastic resource here Jonanthan.
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Well, I read the link Noemon original gave -- to Tom's Plastic Castle page. But since I probably wouldn't know good poetry from bad -- all I can say is I enjoy reading it.
posted
*shudder* It's actually kind of embarassing to read through some of those poems now, y'know. It's been a decade since I wrote a lot of 'em, and I'd like to think my style's become a bit less, um, fraught.
And in all honesty -- and this is not false modesty -- the link Dag provided leads to a site full of considerably more talented, famous, and helpful poets. I dabble; some of those guys swing.
posted
(BTW, Scott, I've got to admit that I absolutely love the title "Marguerite Gets Redundant.")
Posts: 37449 | Registered: May 1999
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In your head, you're hearing "Mar-guer-reet-uh," right, so that the meter's symmetrical? You know, though, that would be a real pain in the butt to maintain throughout a whole poem. Posts: 37449 | Registered: May 1999
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posted
Hmmm... I read it "Mar-guer-reet," - because I know someone of that name who says it that way -- without that extra syllable you are saying at the end -- which makes it sounds like an alcoholic drink
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But I'm sure your English teachers are busy telling you the exact same thing. They're right.
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