Poetry Forum

Tuna Crick
Crick is another word for creek in Pennsylvania

The Tributary filtered purely
down Allegheny mountains,
bubbled at the wild morels,
fed moss sod on fallen cedars.
But then seduced by refinery oil,
and like an obedient woman,
she capitulated into man-made hands,
settled the lees in the valley,
and coughed up Tuna Crick.

Here we learned balance,
on granite edges on the reservoir,
knee socks thrown under the elms,
Levi's rolled to the thigh,
stepped carefully in bare feet.
We poked Gardener snakes
as if they were secrets,
and then flung them down to the water,
their ringed undersides spilling old grudges.
Patted the soft white bellies of toads,
tendering guilt for removing them
from their families,
kicked Miller beer bottles
discarded by the older, bad boys
--they were glass then
with no tin pop tab,
we heard them roll,
clinking and tinkling
into the gully.


I remember sitting
on the crick's concrete rim, laughing,
the second slab far below me.
There was rot upon that ridge,
where something died,
and below in the water's lip
bobbed oily fish,
reflected rainbows on scales,
seeless eyes arched up,
slid away from sockets.

I pitched forward, straight down,
six feet below on the hard rock,
still in a sitting position, dazed.
I could not breath for the crushing
of my tailbone.
The other girls cried from up above,
their pouting voices bouncing off the water,
out of the iron teeth below the bridge.
"Are you alright? Are you alright?"
Unable to speak, the tears dirtied
my cheeks.
I might as well have landed in the dry
riverbed of Hiddekel.

There is an epiphany at eleven
that crying cannot save you,
even the gentle persuasion of hands
cannot comfort you,
places where voices will not reach.
Ultimately, gravity becomes your love-mate
when you understand
fish will drown in air,
floating is only the memory of babies
and for those things beneath
the slick pebbled water.

A fine descriptive lead in to a seemingly outlook altering fall - What my mother would've called 'having some sense knocked into you', (I had plenty knocked into me, but it always got out again).
The whole essence of the poem is contained in the last verse - it's a poem by itself -

'There is a epiphany at eleven
that crying cannot save you,
even the gentle persuasion of hands
cannot comfort you,
places where voices will not reach.
Ultimately, gravity becomes your love-mate
where you understand
fish will drown in air,
floating is only the memory of babies
and for those things beneath
the slick pebbled water.'

I would remove and in V1 (I can see why it's there).

'But then seduced by refinery oil,
like an obedient woman,
she capitulated into man-made hands,'

In the penultimate verse, the line -

'"Are you alright? Are you alright?"' is not needed - What else would your friends have shouted?

I like the reference to Hiddekel, but found 'I might as well have landed', a little out of place with the rest of the language in the poem.

'Unable to speak, the tears dirtied
my cheeks
as I sat in the dry
riverbed of Hiddekel.'

If you're goiing to use Hiddekel, why not use it to symbolize the drying up of your Eden - becoming wiser. The Hiddekel (Tigris) was supposed to be one five tributaries that ran through the garden - A fitting image.

nice one - good to see you writing again.

Barrie

A good hard bang on the coccyx and the everything changes shape, a bit like a kick in the knackers(in case youve ever wondered Julia), an epiphany indeed.
Good to see you writing again.

'and coughed up tuna crick' good finish to first verse and 'Allegheny mountains' sounds good to say.

Good descriptions of dead fish. I heard a saying recently to describe a cold heartless policeman 'as bent as a dead fish'.

'pouting voices bounced off the water' great description.

Last verse stands on its own, granted without previous stanzas would be less of a poem and good to read the build up. 'a epiphinany'? sure it must be correct.

Not as thoroughly lyrical as your previous but equally as revealing. You are still too happy!

Kimberly,

The Tributary filtered purely
- great opening line.

I also enjoyed
We poked Gardener snakes
as if they were secrets
and
floating is only the memory of babies

I agree with Barrie - the last verse says it all - you have something to say and express it beautifully. (That's not to say that I didn't enjoy the build-ip
and I'm not suggesting you change it)

I struggled a little, however, with this line ;

Ultimately, gravity becomes your love-mate
- maybe it's because you follow it with WHERE. (WHEN perhaps?)
For me, it seems to break the flow, although I'm not suggesting you
leave it out because you would lose the idea of gravity/gravitas/
growing-up

Another great read
Geoff

Alas, I do not possess the concentration or the skills to crit poems over ... say... 20 lines, but as always your language is sumptuous, senuous and womanly.

I'm not sure how you feel, or if it even registers, but posting in a male dominated environ is a cool thing to do, not sure I could do the same if the opposite was the case, or if I'd even want to. Keep the flag flying, there are not enough females of the species on here.

cheers
Kris

Tuna Crick
Crick is another word for creek in Pennsylvania

I like the strangeness of the word crick, and wouldn't explain it (not sure if this is an organic part of your poem. It becomes obvious further in anyway.

The Tributary filtered purely
down Allegheny mountains,
bubbled at the wild morels,
fed moss sod on fallen cedars.

I like the watery music of these opening lines
I'm not sure about 'purely', because it sounds a little like tautology. Any reason why Tributary is capitalised?

But then seduced by refinery oil,
and like an obedient woman,
she capitulated into man-made hands,
settled the lees in the valley,
and coughed up Tuna Crick.

I like the idea of Tuna Crick being a sort of compromise with mankind.

Here we learned balance,
on granite edges on the reservoir,
knee socks thrown under the elms,
Levi's rolled to the thigh,
stepped carefully in bare feet.

Any way to avoid the repeated 'on', here?

We poked Gardener snakes
as if they were secrets,
and then flung them down to the water,
their ringed undersides spilling old grudges.
Patted the soft white bellies of toads,
tendering guilt for removing them
from their families,
kicked Miller beer bottles
discarded by the older, bad boys
--they were glass then
with no tin pop tab,
we heard them roll,
clinking and tinkling
into the gully.

Love the snakes and the toads
Do you need clinking AND tinkling?

I remember sitting
on the crick's concrete rim, laughing,
the second slab far below me.
There was rot upon that ridge,
where something died,
and below in the water's lip
bobbed oily fish,
reflected rainbows on scales,
seeless eyes arched up,
slid away from sockets.

LOVE seeless eyes

I pitched forward, straight down,
six feet below on the hard rock,
still in a sitting position, dazed.

I'm not sure about 'pitched' here. I always pictured it to mean tipping forward. But if you tipped forward, how did you manage to land in a sitting position? It wouldn't matter except that you've gone to some trouble to describe it precisely yet I don't know if I've got the right image in my head.

I could not breath for the crushing
of my tailbone.

breathe - typo

The other girls cried from up above,
their pouting voices bouncing off the water,
out of the iron teeth below the bridge.

This is great - very evocative. 'pouting voices' - wonderful

"Are you alright? Are you alright?"

I sort of like the echo of this and sort of wonder if just one would do the same job.

Unable to speak, the tears dirtied
my cheeks.

This is a dangling modifier - makes it look as if the tears were unable to speak. Needs tightening grammatically.

I might as well have landed in the dry
riverbed of Hiddekel.

I liked the suggestion of the other poster about this line. Like the reference, too.

There is a epiphany at eleven
that crying cannot save you,
even the gentle persuasion of hands
cannot comfort you,
places where voices will not reach.
Ultimately, gravity becomes your love-mate
where you understand
fish will drown in air,
floating is only the memory of babies
and for those things beneath
the slick pebbled water.

Quite a few words with religious resonance (epiphany, crying cannot save you) which I imagine to have been a part of your upbringing and education. I like the sense of hard, nuts and bolts reality that goes along with it, and the mystery of our environment. I think those things together mean the word epiphany (very easy to over-use) earns its place.

This poem does a deeply poetic job - I admire it.

Luisetta

[/quote]

All been said - I particularly liked the tom-boy-ishness of it. Don't expect little girls to be off playing with snakes and playing around cricks. Creeks are great places with stories bound up in them, more local than rivers and therefore more personal.

Loved it
Dave

Crick is another word for creek in Pennsylvania

I appreciated the explanation, if only to establish it's not a fish dish named after a biologist.

and like an obedient woman,

Does this add anything, or is it just a party political statement? Men may be swine, who demand unreasonable sacrifices from their women - I'm not arguing with that - but the sentiment sticks out a bit in this context. On the other hand,

she capitulated into man-made hands,
settled the lees in the valley,
and coughed up Tuna Crick.

I loved that, especially the coughing up.

However, from here on it gets even better.

Here we learned balance,
on granite edges on the reservoir,
knee socks thrown under the elms,
Levi's rolled to the thigh,
stepped carefully in bare feet.

That's tremendous, although stepped carefully in bare feet perhaps sounds a little awkward.

Likewise:

I remember sitting
on the crick's concrete rim, laughing,
the second slab far below me.
There was rot upon that ridge,
where something died,
and below in the water's lip
bobbed oily fish,
reflected rainbows on scales,
seeless eyes arched up,
slid away from sockets.

This is so vivid and immediate. I'm there.

Like others, I enjoyed the next section as well. Quite shocking, passing from contemplation and memory to a sudden accident. Very effective.

I have never heard of Hiddekel in my life before.

Also, the final section is beautiful, although why no other pedant has made the point that surely it must be an epiphany, leaving me to do their dirty work for them, I do not know.

There is a epiphany at eleven
that crying cannot save you,
even the gentle persuasion of hands
cannot comfort you,
places where voices will not reach.
Ultimately, gravity becomes your love-mate
where you understand
fish will drown in air,
floating is only the memory of babies
and for those things beneath
the slick pebbled water.

I just found the last two lines confusing - couldn't see what point is being made. My loss.

Lovely stuff, Julia. I'd like to add a hearty hear-hear to Kris's comments - this is quite a blokish forum, not oppressively so, I hope, not laddish exactly, but definitely male, plump and balding (I'm generalising, okay?) - so it's great to have you and Luisetta and the others reminding us that there's more to life than making lists of our favourite films and songs.

To be fair, that's not all we do. Still, I do love making lists of my favourite films and songs.

Keep writing.

Hello
First of all thanks for the all the response on this. As depressing as Tuna Crick looks it was a great memory of catching minnows and frogs, playing in the park above and other rites of intiation into the secret world of girls. As Kozmikdave stated, there was a tomboyishness about it. But it was the seventies and my mother was threatening to burn her bra. Gosh, I hope my mom doesn't read this! But I will say that if I had a choice between snakes and Barbie--Babs would have won out.

and like an obedient woman,
she capitulated into man-made hands,

Does this add anything, or is it just a party political statement? Men may be swine, who demand unreasonable sacrifices from their women - I'm not arguing with that - but the sentiment sticks out a bit in this context

David, you will rarely find me making political statements (I promise I am not a crazed feminist )--what I was trying to convey was that Tuna Crik was tamed sometime in the 1800's and diverted into town for the booming oil industry's use. Obedient woman referred to the culture at the time.."Like an obedient woman"...I was picturing someone who was prized for her beauty and usefulness. Unfortunately sliding into the whims of industry. Ah, well...I tried!
And yes David you are correct about 'an epiphany'--I should have seen it but I appreciate you pointing it out. It is fixed!
P.S. I assure you, I do not think men are swine.

Barrie, thanks for picking up "Hiddekel" as I knew it was a fairly obscure reference but had to put it in as it was exactly how I felt--completely cut off from the naivety of childhood.
I don't know if I can part with: Are you alright? Are you alright? as I wanted the reader to hear what the voices were saying. I will have to think about this.

like the strangeness of the word crick, and wouldn't explain it (not sure if this is an organic part of your poem. It becomes obvious further in anyway.

Dreamburo, thanks for your input. For clarification, it is not part of the poem. Just for those who read it. I didn't want everyone scratching their head wondering what the heck was a 'crik'...

Camus, the fact it is a male dominated environ is why I post here. It's nice to get different perspectives and I enjoy the company. You guys keep me on my toes!

Twoleftfeet, you bring up an important topic on flow breaks. Every place where I struggled a little-- you and the rest pick up on those problem areas which confirms my need to revise.
I agree with you that it needs to be changed to "When" instead of "Where"--not sure if that is just a bad habit or just my native dialect?

Minstrel, I would like never to be kicked in the knackers (if I had any)...the perils of malehood. But tail bones are close. Thanks for the encouragement on this one.

Cheers,
Kimberly

Next feature. Congrats Kim.

Cam

Cam,
I would be honored..thanks!