A Long Ride in the Country- second edit

[Suzanne]

A Long Ride in the Country


Finally in motion, he is happy
and his free hand brushes
the back of her neck, fiddles
with her hair, slides between
her thighs, cold fingers set to warm.
She smiles, their eyes return
to the highway, a rope
of black licorice laid
over the autumn tundra.

His charcoal voice
fills their secluded space
with re-spun stories of holidays spent;
of mountains hiked
with his talking leather boots,
of her ancient tent
with the missing teeth,
of their white flamed saunas
that shouldered cold glittering lakes,

of the night the kids slept outside
and how once alone, they discovered
the magic of brandy and chocolate.

His head tilts to hers, but
he catches only her profile
as she drifts

out the window

over the tilled fields framed
in yellow birch and pine,

and he wonders why
her eyes don't sparkle
like the jewels they are,
why she's wandered in dreams
late at night,
says he'd love to know
"what goes on in that pretty little head,"
She knows he'd give her anything,
if she'd just tell him
what she wants.

And in one breath
she knows what she wants
and she knows, she has nothing to say.
Head on his shoulder, she focuses
on where they are heading.










----------------------
Finally in motion, he is happy
and his free hand brushes
the back of her neck, fiddles
with her hair, slides between
her thighs, cold fingers set to warm.
He smiles, their eyes return
to the meandering highway.

Enclosed in conversation,
he fills their secluded space
with re-spun stories of holidays spent;
of mountains hiked
with his talking leather boots,
of her ancient tent
with the missing teeth,
of their white flamed saunas
that shouldered cold glittering lakes,

of the night the kids slept outside
and they discovered
the magic of brandy and chocolate.

He tilts his head to hers, whispers
she makes him happy. But

he catches only her profile
as she drifts

out the window

over the vibrant fields of yellow,

and he wonders why
her eyes don't sparkle
like the jewels they are,
why she's wandered in dreams
late at night,
says he'd love to know
"what goes on in that pretty little head,"
says he'll give her anything,
if she'd just tell him what she wants.

And in one breath
she knows what she wants
and she knows, she has nothing to say.
Her head on his shoulder, she keeps
her eyes focused on where they are going.









-------------------------
Original

He is simply happy,
declares
he's "the luckiest man in the world"
and his free hand
brushes the back of her neck, fiddles
with her hair, slides between
her thighs. Her hand joins his.
He smiles, their eyes return
to the meandering highway.

Enclosed in pleasant conversation,
he fills their secluded space
with re-spun stories of holidays spent;
of mountains hiked
with his talking leather boots,
of her ancient tent
with the missing teeth,
of their white flamed saunas
that shouldered cold glittering lakes,

of the night the kids slept outside
and they discovered the magic
of brandy and chocolate.

He's sweetly impressed
with her unpolished abilities,
thinks she's funny, encourages
her jokes, and though
he's made love to her
for nearly three decades,
still blushes
when she tries to seduce him,
says he's hungry for her touch,
softly nuzzles a sigh
into her perfumed neck.

His head tilts to touch hers, he whispers
she make him happy.

But his eyes fall on her profile
as she drifts
out the window
over the vibrant fields of yellow,
he wonders why
her eyes don't sparkle
like the jewels they are
and why
she's wandered in dreams
late at night,
says he'd love to know
"what goes on in that pretty little head,"
says he'll give her anything,
if she'd just tell him what she wants.

And in one breath
she knows what she wants
and she knows, she has nothing to say.

So she rests her head on his shoulder,
and keeps her eyes focused
on where they are heading.





.

[Sharra]

Hi Suzanne
Part of me really likes the naivety of the characters in this, and you have some nice images in here ‘fills their secluded space’ the saunas that ‘shouldered’ the lakes, ‘the magic of brandy and chocolate’ for example.

But, hmmm, I think there’s a narrative problem and some poetry issues here.
Narrative-wise – although you are obviously trying to portray that the man is as happy now as a newly-wed, it’s a little unbelievable for me. I can’t imagine anyone blushing to be seduced if they’ve been together for 30 years (especially a guy who would slide his hand between her thighs).

Poetry-wise – I think it needs a lot chopping out, there’s a lot of unnecessary words in here and it feels a bit waffly. It's easier to show rather than explain so, for example, a very quick chopping of S1&2 could leave you with something like:

His free hand brushes
the back of her neck,
slides between her thighs.
Her hand joins his
and he smiles,

fills their secluded space
with re-spun stories; mountains hiked,
her ancient tent , their white flamed saunas
that shouldered cold glittering lakes,

although actually her hand joining his reads as if she’s putting her hand between her thighs too – and given the tone of this, I don’t think that’s what you meant.

Anyway, obviously, these are just the sort of cuts I would make if it were mine, so feel free to ignore of course. But I would be as equally brutal with the rest of the stanzas.
Sharra

[Suzanne]

Sharra,
Thank you very much for the feedback. I appreciate your ideas on tightening it up and would have enjoyed seeing more of your ideas on the poetics. I find your feedback quite helpful.

As far as the Narrative goes, well, that made me laugh. No, not portraying newly-weds, yes- almost 30 years, yes- still blushes when I surprise him flirtatiously. Yes, says corny simple phrases and often has his hand between my thighs he drives, and my hand on top of his.

Other than when I write many of my poems and embellish the emotion, this one I tried to be truth based. lol.
I love poetry. What a learning curve it has.

But whether it is true or not is not the issue, I mean.... even if it weren't true, it is a character in a poem. They are what they are, who they are.

You raise a very interesting point on believability in narrative poetry.

Thank you very much,

Warmly,
Suzanne

[Sharra]

Hi Suzanne
That issue re truth in poetry is a really interesting one. I've recently read something about this, something about how sometimes the specific truth of what happened is sacrificed to portray a greater truth. I'll try and find where I read it.
But I'm sure I also rememeber reading that in a Dickens' book there's a grave with 4 children in it, it was based on an actual event but there were 7 children in reality - he trimmed it down as he felt that 4 children would have more impact as it would be more believable. (Can't remember which book I'm afraid). Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction hehe

And I think that's so sweet your husband still blushes
Sharra
x

[clarabow]

As a simple strory I really liked this. There is a believability about it - a sort of after all these years she .... but I do agree about the poetics v narrative and I understand Sharra's concerns re hands - (too much information?)

Anyway, I like the idea that two people after many years of daily living can still feel like this although my sense made me wonder if it was more him than her but it does speak of their long love.

I think you could leave as is or tighten as suggested. Perhaps more imagery would enhance poetically speaking


He is simply happy, - this is really suggested by the lines below so maybe start with -
declares

He DECLARED "I'm luckiest man in the world"
and his free hand
brushes the back of her neck, fiddles
with her hair, (slides between
her thighs.) Her hand joins his.
He smiles, their eyes return
to the meandering highway.

Enclosed in pleasant conversation, here you could change pleasant - i.e. secluded
he fills their (secluded) space - their suitcase space - as a suggestion here
with re-spun stories of holidays spent;
of mountains hiked
with his talking leather boots,
of her ancient tent
with the missing teeth,
of their white flamed saunas
that shouldered cold glittering lakes, - the above lines are fine poetically speaking

of the night the kids slept outside
and they discovered the magic
of brandy and chocolate.

He's sweetly impressed - I think you need to establish the time frame (have they just met?) and - sweetly?
with her unpolished abilities,
thinks she's funny, encourages
her jokes, and though
he's made love to her
for nearly three decades,
still blushes - I think - is still slightly shocked - might work better - I am not sure about blush from a reader point of view
when she tries to seduce him,
says he's hungry for her touch, - cliche?
softly nuzzles a sigh
into her perfumed neck.

His head tilts to touch hers, he whispers
she makeS him happy.

But his eyes fall on her profile
as she drifts
out the window
over the vibrant fields of yellow,
he wonders why
her eyes don't sparkle
like the jewels they are
and why
she's wandered in dreams
late at night,
says he'd love to know
"what goes on in that pretty (little) head," - pretty - not sure
says he'll give her anything,
if she'd just tell him what she wants.

And in one breath
she knows what she wants
and she knows, she has nothing to say.

So she rests her head on his shoulder,
and keeps her eyes focused
on where they are heading.

[Suzanne]

Clarabow,

Thank you for the feedback. He is darn sweet, this is true. And yes, in this poem- reflecting so many years of marriage- she has something heavy on her mind that he is unable to fix, ( kids? home? family issues? money... the list is filled with possibilities )no matter how much he wanted to... and therefore she is saying nothing.

Sometimes it feels like a long ride in the country. lol.
The end has her focusing on the future.

I appreciate the time, I am interested in feedback so I can improve.

Warmly,
Suzanne

[Suzanne]

Hi Suzanne
That issue re truth in poetry is a really interesting one. I've recently read something about this, something about how sometimes the specific truth of what happened is sacrificed to portray a greater truth. I'll try and find where I read it.
But I'm sure I also rememeber reading that in a Dickens' book there's a grave with 4 children in it, it was based on an actual event but there were 7 children in reality - he trimmed it down as he felt that 4 children would have more impact as it would be more believable. (Can't remember which book I'm afraid). Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction hehe

And I think that's so sweet your husband still blushes
Sharra
x

I missed this reply, sorry.

I can not tell you enough how exciting I find writing to be. I loved your example. I have thought about the balance between writing a "good" poem or telling a "truthful" message. Being a beginner for the most part, I am still learning how to say anything! but find that the message gets priority over the quality of the poem more often than I'd like.

I am learning. Thanks again for your feedback. I really appreciate the time. And yep. He is a keeper, otherwise I would not be dwelling in the "Land of the Midnight Sun", I would be home. Now, THAT is a poem waiting to be written.

Warmly,
Suzanne
( I suppose uploading a video clip of his sweetness would be over-proving the point? He is a drummer, couldn't it go in the music section? lol?)

[twoleftfeet]

Hi,Suzanne,

I read this wrongly to begin with:
I got the vibe that the woman is unhappy in the relationship, or at the very least finds it stale.
Having said that , the final 2 stanzas are ambiguous , so maybe "wrong" is the wrong word, I'm just going by your
replies.

I would be tempted to cut the "of"'s that follow "holidays spent" - just a personal preference.

Much enjoyed
Geoff

[Suzanne]

Geo,

Thanks for the reply, I am glad you shared how you understood it.

The poem is certainly one sided in perspective, there is a lack of her thoughts.
It is what he is seeing. We are not sure what is going on in that head of hers. We know she has something she is not telling him for one reason or another.

Your comment has challenged me to reflect the stability of the larger picture while showing just this moment.
It is exciting to know, and I am not being sarcastic, that someone more talented than I am could do that!
Writing has such an element of jigsaw puzzling ideas and words.

Thank you,
cutting of the "of"'s ... it might just be an after effect of the recent cutting of your "ff"'s, suddenly it is a good idea to get rid of them everywhere! lol. wink.

I'll think about it.

Suzanneff- now, look what you have done.

[Ros]

Hi Suzanne,

The re-write is definitely an improvement. I'm not sure you can say anyone is 'sweet' in a poem without meaning the complete opposite. It's working quite well now, but I'm still only seeing him as someone who seems to think in cliches -

he wonders why
her eyes don't sparkle
like the jewels they are,

pretty little head

says he'll give her anything,

- it's rather a contrast with the earlier, more specific references to teeth, tents etc. The ending gives the impression that she's quite unhappy with him and their situation, that she's looking forwards to where things will change. Not sure if that's the impression you want to give.

( I suppose uploading a video clip of his sweetness would be over-proving the point?

It certainly would!

Ros

[Suzanne]

lol, He does speak in cliches! it is a terrible, terrible thing. He calls it humor and thinks it is funny.
Non native English speaker. But forget about the reality, he is a character in a poem... anything can be true, right?


Really wide eyed listening...
what? you can't call someone sweet without it being taken as the opposite? really?
That can not be true.

And why do you see that as a contrast? I have no idea what you are saying. Hmmm, what?

why unhappy with him? what does it say that says that? this is very informative for my writing. do tell.

ros, no video?? lol?? how about a photo with a silly hat?


Suzanne

[Suzanne]

I get it, the cliche v the stories told are in contrast.

[Ros]

You can do and say what you like in real life, obviously - I'm talking about how a character comes over in a poem. We don't know the man is talking in 'foreign' cliches for a joke, we can only take it at face value. And (at least for me!) it depicts a not-very-deep-thinking character who can only think about his partner in cliches - which therefore implies he doesn't know her very well, has no idea of what's going on in her head. And your last verse indicates she is thinking important thoughts that she can't tell him - so there are secrets between them, and she is in some way dissatisfied with him, and is hanging on until something changes in the future 'her eyes focused on where they are going.' - obviously can be read literally - she's just watching the road ahead - but in a poem is probably a metaphor - 'she's trying to ignore the present and focus on what can be in the future'.

This is what your poem tells me.

Ros

[Suzanne]

Yes, thanks.
You have been helpful. My idea if the road ahead was more positive, I will have to tweak that to show it.

I will edit and see if I can make it clearer all the way through.
Appreciate the time.

Suzanne

[Arian]

Hi Suzanne

the title reminded me irresistably of Sondheim's wonderful...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bZutBlUXUDI


cheers
peter

[Denis Joe]

Suzanne, I don’t like the first draft at all. I think I could never get past the first stanza.

Anyhow this second draft is excellent. Poems like these always confuse because they give the impression of telling a story and so the approach can sometimes seem as if you are reading prose.

The strong point of using this narrative is that it is moving forwards all the time. This makes it hard to pick out good lines or favourite stanzas and so the poem is judged in its entirety.

The other thing is that line break is sometimes overlooked in the rush to get to the end. The line breaks in this are excellent. The opening two lines set the pace very well and to end that second line on ‘brushes’ is delicious.

The opening line of the second stanza is really weak to me and though it doesn’t harm the overall impact, it is a bit nigglely. I think it is because this stanza contains the lines:

with his talking leather boots,
of her ancient tent
with the missing teeth,

that are so beautiful because they seem so chaotically put together, giving the feeling of a rushed conversation. The reader is in there!

And it seems that you are aware of the need to draw out the feel of the action rather than to explain it (thus, this is a poem and not a story) because you break off into different paces forcing the reader to maintain that speed. Or at least it should.. it creates a confusion that leads nicely to:

and he wonders why

You know in composed music how pieces, particularly symphonies and concertos, seem to always end on a BANG! Poets do the same thing. I blame Byron and his mates. It always seems that the denouement should be loud as if volume gave it its finality. Well you avoid that, and the last line leaves the poem on a breeze rather than a tempest. That is skill! It could all have ended with a BANG! (phnar, phnar)

[Suzanne]

Peter, thank you for that clip. It was great fun.


Dennis Joe,

Thank you very much. WOW. You have kicked off a Monday morning in a warm way. I will come back but wanted to tell you thank you very much for the encouraging reply. I am walking on air. lol

Warmly,
Suzanne

[Suzanne]

Dennis Joe, I am downright giddy.

Suzanne- and inspired.

[brianedwards]

Suzanne I've read this several times, both drafts, and though the second is certainly an improvement, I think it's over-wrought and over-sentimental. The situation feels quite contrived and, poetic license notwithstanding, the first stanza seems especially improbable: would his free hand really roam that much?

OK, that touches upon the question of "truth" that came up earlier on the thread. As I have said elsewhere, the poet's responsibility is to what is true and what is musical, not what actually happened. Nicky's point about Dickens is an excellent example. The action described in your first stanza, true or not, strikes me, the reader, as contrived. It also strikes my ear as unmusical, playing in a different key to the poem that follows.

I agree with Denis re these lines:

re-spun stories of holidays spent;
of mountains hiked
with his talking leather boots,
of her ancient tent
with the missing teeth,

That's really excellent writing, probably the best few lines I've read from you Suzanne. Why? Because it's real; it's simple and it's believable, regardless of whether or not it is true. People have those conversations, relationships are made up of those small shared details. Those lines contain multitudes and are the kernel of your poem.

Regards the use of cliches, I believe there are situations when they are permissible in poetry, if they are used for a specific and well-considered effect and not just wheeled out by lazy writing. One typical example is when they are recording speech or revealing character, which I think is the effect you are going for here. The problem is that it's not clear. How does the reader know at that point in the poem it is the man's words we are being given, and not the poet's?

I have an issue with your use of modifiers. Why and how is the highway meandering? Why secluded after enclosed? Why is happy repeated? Vibrant yellow? Why not tell us what is yellow?

The opening and closing stanzas are too prosaic, and I agree with Ros that the ending suggestions unhappiness, dissatisfaction, boredom, estrangement, frustration, etc, etc . . . none of which is intended right?

I have only skim-read the thread so apologies if I am repeating what others have said.
And so you don't think B is Being a Big Bully, let me repeat what I said above. These lines:

re-spun stories of holidays spent;
of mountains hiked
with his talking leather boots,
of her ancient tent
with the missing teeth,

are exceptional: Now go write a poem around them.

B.

[Suzanne]

B.
Thank you for your time.
Too much roaming of hand for you to believe - from the back of her neck to her hair to her lap? to you it's contrived?

Can't picture a meandering country highway?

I am speechless.


Thanks for the compliment about those few lines.

Do I think you are bullying me? No.
Who has time for that twice?

Thanks again for your reply,
S.

[brianedwards]

B.
Thank you for your time.
Too much roaming of hand for you to believe - from the back of her neck to her hair to her lap? to you it's contrived?

Yep. It's bad writing. I'm all about the writing Suzanne. Keep your fantasies to yourself, it reads like bad writing.
And yes, it does feel good to be right.

Can't picture a meandering country highway?

Yes I can. Too well. Bad writing.

Do I think you are bullying me? No.
Who has time for that twice?

Ha. You should be paying me.

Get over yourself Suzanne. Learn to be objective. Learn to handle criticism. Learn to edit.
Read my comments again. Think. Process. Breathe. Write.

Be a bad writer if you want, I don't care. Do you?

B.

[Suzanne]

Geesh.
Thank you for your reply Brian. Thank you for taking the time to crit. Thank you. Brian.
You reiterated what other's on the thread said. Thanks for the thoughtful reply.
Yes. I undertand you didn't think it was good.

Thank you for your time. I love a good crit.

Suzanne

[brianedwards]

Yes. I undertand you didn't think it was good.

No you don't.

I love a good crit.

No you don't.

[Suzanne]

I do and I do.

Why do you do this?

What is it that you'd like me to do, Brian?

[brianedwards]

Think. Process.