Poetry Forum

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He began before dawn. I lay and watched him
in monochrome, heard the grating slide of stone lid,
felt lightness as buckets somersaulted downward, to land
at the surface and gurgle as they filled, and the heavy
groans as he hauled them into daylight. I shuddered
in the half-light at that plunge into coldness.

All day he plodded past me. One direction
buckets dangled, collided with knees, returning
they dragged him down, spilling over, his journey
punctuated by splashes in the dust.

As the sun burned away the mist,
insects clouded his face, sipped undisturbed
at the sweat leaking from his skin. And I dozed,
dreamed I was a bucket sliding darkwards,
feeling the water close over my head, blotting out
heat and mosquito buzz. All the while
I could hear the slopping water, the scuffing
of weighed down feet.

I lay in the shrivelling shade, and each time
he shuffled past I sipped, undisturbed,
from the cup his bucket had filled.


original
He began before dawn. I lay and watched him
in monochrome, heard the grating slide
of the stone lid, felt lightness
as buckets somersaulted downward, to land
at the surface and gurgle as they filled, and the heavy
groans as he hauled them into daylight. I shuddered
in the half-light at that plunge into coldness.

All day he plodded past me. One way
buckets dangled at his knees, on his return
they dragged him down, spilling over, his journey
punctuated by splashes in the dust.

I stared at the sky, at the clouds of insects
swarming overhead. As the sun burned
away the mist I dozed, dreamed
I was a bucket sliding darkwards, feeling
the water close over my head, blotting out
the heat and mosquito buzz. All the while
I could hear the slopping water, the scuffing
of weighed down feet.

And I just lay in the shrinking shade, cradling
the clay jug he had given me. Each time
he walked past I drank
one cupful, tasting every sip
of the warm water.

A very nice prose piece of writing. Some lines are lovely with their own internal rhyme/off-rhyme like

And I just lay in the shrinking shade, cradling
the clay jug he had given me.

I don't mind that there isn't any logical sequence in the piece, because the mood you set carries me from beginning to end. I do however question your linebreak. It doesn't seem to have any logic or breath-stop to me. If nothing else, each line should stand on its own. Perhaps you should read this out loud and listen to where you naturally stop. Maybe then this can be a stronger piece.

I found the line breaks in the first verse a bit strange - they made me misread things:

He began before dawn. I lay and watched him
in monochrome, heard the grating slide - here I thought it was a grating sliding
of the stone lid, felt lightness
as buckets somersaulted downward, to land - I'd break on downward here
at the surface and gurgle as they filled, and the heavy - and on filled here. Heavy seems rather arbitrary.
groans as he hauled them into daylight. I shuddered
in the half-light at that plunge into coldness.

All day he plodded past me. One way
buckets dangled at his knees, on his return
they dragged him down, spilling over, his journey
punctuated by splashes in the dust.

This second section felt a bit clumsy, though I don't really have anything to suggest! I think the buckets being already at his knees when empty gives more of an impression of fullness. I like the next two parts though I'm not sure why he is giving you water - my first impression was that he was keeping you prisoner in a hole...!

ros

A colonial Heaney type of vibe! "Digging", "The follower"?

I get the impression of a well-healed young lady watching a villager at his daily toil (a colonial past) perhaps with a sense of guilt? The final verse gave me that impression, the narrator feeling the need to sip from the cup! Clever.

I agree with the other comments, there are a few displaced commas and such, but for me these things can be accomodated, read around and in-between.

Personally I see a "logical sequence" - dawn, the sun then burning away the mist, his daily grind!

Good stuff.

TS

the stranger wrote:A colonial Heaney type of vibe! "Digging", "The follower"?

I get the impression of a well-healed young lady watching a villager at his daily toil (a colonial past) perhaps with a sense of guilt? The final verse gave me that impression, the narrator feeling the need to sip from the cup! Clever.

TS

That's how I read it too.

I loved the word "Darkwards" in this!

Personally I don't see what people mean by there being no logical sequence. I found this poem very easy to get to grips with and think it flowwed nicely.

Very enjoyable.

Lovely read, well written. Because of the monochrome at the beginning I began to wonder if the narrator weren't a dog or cat.What else just lies around all day in the shrinking shade? Sharra does, evidently.

his journey punctuated by splashes in the dust - that's a fine image.Thought the whole of the first stanza was excellent.Top marks!

Thanks for the thoughts
TS and Phil - you have it spot on, the comfortable narrator is observing the poor sod who has to fetch the water.
LeMinh and Ros - you're right about the line breaks, commas etc, I'll have a look and try to tighten it up a little.
Ray - glad you enjoyed it The monochrome is sposed to be the way we can't see proper colours in dim light.
Sharra
xx

Yeah, the first stanza is stunning. It's brilliantly, brilliantly worked and rivals, as a couple have mentioned, the almost overdone vividness of early Heaney.

I'm kind of seeing this, metaphorically, as being about the watching of an image and your sort of slow indulgence/testing of what's before you. That's what I got from the concluding bits.

But I don't know. this could be personal taste, but I was utterly hooked by the first stanza and let down by the way the poem concludes. I'd simply like a lot more of the bucket man and much less of the you. I think my issue is that it's not a particularly graceful transition. You could easily get across everything you already say in a poem that focuses more on him than on 'I', and I just feel that the transitions to 'I' (with the almost formulaic look at the surroudings around you which follows immediately) weren't smooth, nor were they very unexpected. I think my problem with this, nicky, is that it feels a little formulaic, almost a workshop piece, as if the poet felt instantly the need to follow rule #3 of poetry which is 'Show how this is relevant to yourself'.

But then the above could be shit. I mean, I could just be trying to tunnel you into a particular aesthetic I prefer, and that's probably what i'm doing. But I just feel this could be handled differently, and brilliantly, with a different approach. Keep the 'I', but tip the balance in the favour of the him, without making this is a simple character study.

Does that help? I don't know. But you're easily a good enough writer to manage it.

Dave

Dave - thanks for the compliments
I'm working on an edit of this at the moment, and will definitely take on board your thoughts - try to get away from that formulaic feel.
Sharra
xx

First stanza ---- WOW! Heaney, yes. Also, Philip Levine's poems about work come to mind.

I agree with most of what Dave said about the rest and will wait for a revision before commenting further.

But first stanza ---- WOW!

B.

~

Hi Sharra,

I have to jump on the bandwagon with the others and add my agreement about the first two stanzas and also that the denoument didn't take me anywhere but it could very easily. It just seems to need a little more. I could even see the last stanza cut entirely or else some reason for us to care a little bit more, to invest in the POV of the narrator and why drinking from the cup is important.

This is my favorite stanza. I like the "punctuated" idea because one could see drops of water as punctuation marks in the dry earth!

All day he plodded past me. One way
buckets dangled at his knees, on his return
they dragged him down, spilling over, his journey
punctuated by splashes in the dust.

e

Thanks Brian and emuse
New version posted and any thoughts would be really welcome - as I feel I'm groping in the dark a little towards what this poem could be.
Sharra
xx

Now I'm getting 'After Apple Picking'!

I'm still unsure about the 'I' and how the poem diminishes a little when it is introduced.

I think my problem with the ending, now I've had time to read this a few times more, is that it isn't big enough. The first stanza, in my eyes, simply precludes and almost promises a great, great poem. Like After Apple Picking's half-dreamt questioning of God, or Digging's examination of writing and violence... I just feel that this still patters out a little, where the ending is a little too cute, a little too reliant on its self significance** to really wow me. I'm not expecting you to come up with a Sunday Morning or anything, but I think you need to rethink it maybe. This could be a great poem.

If I was to suggest something, maybe have a think about the whole process of this man and the bucket, think about possible questions which might be important to address, think about what the process of the bucketing could stand for metaphorically. For me at the moment, you are too unambitious. I think you might need to let this air a little while.

Dave

** in other words, it hasn't really got a wowing punchline, but is instead happy to end on an image which, as it very well knows, the poetry reader will try and look into because it is an ending of a poem

This is good enough to warrant micro-pedantry, Sharra. Where you say

heard the grating slide of stone lid,
felt lightness as buckets somersaulted downward, to land
at the surface and gurgle as they filled, and the heavy
groans as he hauled them into daylight,

I read it as you having felt the heavy groans, because you've placed that word between the groans and your controlling noun (which I'm assuming is heard).

See? Micro-pedantry, but it bothers me. One way or another, there's a distinct impression of the sentence having got out of control and being wrenched back into place.

Not wild about "One direction / buckets dangled" either - maybe "Going one way, / the buckets dangled" although I know that's syntactically dodgy too. The dangers of the -ing construction!

It is a very good poem, though.

Cheers

David

If we're being micro-pedantic, shouldn't it be 'laid and watched' rather than lay? I always thought only hens could lay, but I think I read somewhere I'm wrong about that. But I've always thought it looked dodgy when people do it.

All day he plodded past me. One direction
buckets dangled, collided with knees, returning - think you need ; or . after knees or you're getting a run-on of commas
they dragged him down, spilling over, his journey
punctuated by splashes in the dust.

I think this is better, but somehow still not beautiful - perhaps it's dangled I don't like? It's a difficult word to say neatly, somehow.

I'm afraid the others are right about the ending - you need something with a bit of a bang there. Good stuff, though.

Ros

Ros and David have given you some good notes on fine-tuning the grammar and Dave has made some very good points about the poem's thematic possibilities.
I agree the shift in focus in S3 is lacking something. There's obviously something significant about the man, the buckets, the dream, the water, the heat. But the significance is not shared with the reader yet. Ambiguity is fine, but I think your asking the reader to infer too much.

If you wanted, you could make this a more straight-forward portrait and still have a very strong poem. I suspect you know this already.

Unlike Dave, I don't think the poem lacks ambition. I think it lacks the conviction to follow through with its ambition.

Hope some of that nonsense helps.

B.

~

I like this a lot, Sharra - it's taking shape well.

A point about the grammar - one that confuses a lot of people. "Lay" is correct. As Ros said, only hens can lay (or you can lay a table, or lay something down). You don't "lay down" - you "lie down". That's why "laid" would be wrong - because you're writing in the past tense, and "laid" is the past tense of "lay". "Lay" in this instance, is the past tense of "lie", and therefore correct.

Helen

Thanks again for the intelligent and insightful comments

Dave - thanks for your confidence in me. Reminding you of After Apple Picking has to be a good sign. I will have a think about the thematic suggestions you've made. I do think that maybe that's where I need to do some work in general.

David - I did mean the groans to be felt not heard, but I do know what you mean about that sentence, I think it does need tightening somehow. The buckets dangling is also a place that was fiddly and maybe isn't quite right yet.

Ros - I did have swung in place of dangled, do you think that would work better? And yes there does seem to be a lot of commas in this one - something i need to look at .

Brian - thanks for those thoughts, thats an interesting distinction between ambition and conviction. I will be working on the thematic side of things I think.

Helen -thanks for clearing up the lay/lie/laid thing. I had a discussion about this with some other writers the other day, is it just me or do other people hear lay being used in the present tense too these days? e.g on the beach I lay on the sand and eat my ice cream.

I do appreciate all the input on this one
Sharra
xx

Yes. That sort of usage "I lay on the beach and eat my ice cream" definitely seems to be becoming more common. You see it all the time on Facebook poetry groups.

Thanks, Helen. Thought I'd got it wrong.

Helen Bywater wrote:Yes. That sort of usage "I lay on the beach and eat my ice cream" definitely seems to be becoming more common. You see it all the time on Facebook poetry groups.

I blame Bob Dylan. For all kinds of things.

I blame Bob Dylan. For all kinds of things.

did he lay on the beach and eat ice cream then?

Lay, lady, lay,
lay across my big brass bed.
Stay, lady, stay,
stay with your man awhile.

Have you read Christopher Ricks on Bob's lyrics? Absolute bollocks. Here's a very good review of his book: http://www.newcriterion.com/articles.cf ... nwind-1483