Draft 2 (changes to lines 3, 24-27, though l3 still giving me gyp)
Geese migrating in a swish of russet
[tab]Break up in the distance like a wrack of smoke,[/tab]
Announce the turn of seasons, videlicet:
[tab]Brush with frosty breath the ripened cheek,[/tab]
And etch expectancy into the air.
[tab]Lingering mists whose chilly fingertips[/tab]
[tab][/tab][tab]Quicken drowsy blood and prick the skin[/tab]
Beshroud the inlet: dolent container ships
[tab]Low out diapasons, shiver and respire.[/tab]
[tab]Breezes begin to winnow and bestir[/tab]
[tab][/tab][tab]The forest canopy and floor; the rains begin.[/tab]
To hear the jitter and skirr of squirrels,
[tab]Inhale the acrid smell of leaf-mould,[/tab]
Watch leaves pile up in brittle fascicles,
[tab]And at an intersection, the exhaust enfold[/tab]
An iron fire-hydrant like a sightless wraith;
[tab]And then to feel the sun in a last spate[/tab]
[tab][/tab][tab]Undo all omens in a honeyed gust[/tab]
Of gold and burgundy, a flourish of faith;
[tab]To see the horse-chestnut spill its fruit[/tab]
[tab]Amid the sidewalk-dreck, the mossed root[/tab]
[tab][/tab][tab]Splitting the asphalt at your behest,[/tab]
Autumn, is to know you, in your big-buttoned coat,
[tab]Steaming and champing as you detrain -[/tab]
Gasp of opening doors, hiss of heat -
[tab]Buying coffee, unpeeling a tangerine,[/tab]
Giving to the croak of old men in the park
[tab]A rubric of oblique regretfulness,[/tab]
[tab][/tab][tab]To the rush of soft shoes on paving slabs[/tab]
The clement breathiness of a chinook,
[tab]To the cough of cars the rough finesse[/tab]
[tab]With which you stiffen and bedew the grass,[/tab]
[tab][/tab][tab]Caress cold railings with dew-decked webs.[/tab]
Draft 1
Geese migrating in a swish of russet
[tab]Break up in the distance like a wrack of smoke[/tab]
Or a declaration of love illicit,
[tab]Brush with frosty breath the ripened cheek,[/tab]
And etch expectancy into the air.
[tab]Lingering mists whose chilly fingertips[/tab]
[tab][/tab][tab]Quicken drowsy blood and prick the skin[/tab]
Beshroud the inlet: dolent container ships
[tab]Low out diapasons, shiver and respire.[/tab]
[tab]Breezes begin to winnow and bestir[/tab]
[tab][/tab][tab]The forest canopy and floor; the rains begin.[/tab]
To hear the jitter and skirr of squirrels,
[tab]Inhale the acrid smell of leaf-mould,[/tab]
Watch leaves pile up in brittle fascicles,
[tab]And at an intersection, the exhaust enfold[/tab]
An iron fire-hydrant like a sightless wraith;
[tab]And then to feel the sun in a last spate[/tab]
[tab][/tab][tab]Undo all omens in a honeyed gust[/tab]
Of gold and burgundy, a flourish of faith;
[tab]To see the horse-chestnut spill its fruit[/tab]
[tab]Amid the sidewalk-dreck, the mossed root[/tab]
[tab][/tab][tab]Splitting the asphalt at your behest,[/tab]
Autumn, is to know you, in your big-buttoned coat,
[tab]Steaming and champing as you detrain -[/tab]
Gasp of opening doors, hiss of heat -
[tab]Buying coffee, unpeeling a tangerine,[/tab]
Giving to the croak of old men in the park
[tab]A rubric of oblique regretfulness,[/tab]
[tab][/tab][tab]To the rush of soft shoes on paving slabs[/tab]
The breath and clemency of a chinook,
[tab]To the cough of cars the rough finesse[/tab]
[tab]With which you burden, ripen and caress[/tab]
[tab][/tab][tab]Grass with dew, railings with dew-decked webs.[/tab]
To Autumn
k-j,
I like the post modern treatment of autumn here, some great imagery. But is it me? , 3rd line " a declaration of illict love "? can't see the connection here .it is not a smooth image transition from the second line, perhaps we need more to aid the reader why that is so.
good stuff
cheers Arco
I like the post modern treatment of autumn here, some great imagery. But is it me? , 3rd line " a declaration of illict love "? can't see the connection here .it is not a smooth image transition from the second line, perhaps we need more to aid the reader why that is so.
good stuff
cheers Arco
I dunno, k-j, I'm a big fan of lots of your stuff, but this seems to misfire on several cylinders. I'm not sure whether you're working to any particular poetic model - the formatting suggests you are - but the line lengths seem to be all over the place and the word-choices just strike me as a bit fussy, rather than being just right.
I think I have a history of enthusiasm for your poetry, so this is clearly not a hatchet job, but it just doesn't do it for me. Maybe it's me. What you need is a broad cross-section of opinion, not just one (or two) cantankerous old gits.
I do like the Keatsian echoes.
Cheers (really!)
David
I think I have a history of enthusiasm for your poetry, so this is clearly not a hatchet job, but it just doesn't do it for me. Maybe it's me. What you need is a broad cross-section of opinion, not just one (or two) cantankerous old gits.
I do like the Keatsian echoes.
Cheers (really!)
David
k-j,
L3 is a condensed abstract line. It does not work.
You need to show why the "flying Geese" in L1 give rise to feelings of" illicit love" or the "insignificant proclamation" - easy said than done of course.
I think to achieve this you need you amplify in a series of images (lines) why that is so - is it a memory of an event ? -- painful; why ? etc etc
try some mind mapping: the trunk is the core idea, and the branches and leaves are all associated ideas that relate to that theme - write fast and furious until you fill a page
with ideas,
then with luck you will see a connect there somewhere and hopefully you will have some great successive images to supplant that very abstract L3
hope this helps -- mind mapping is a great tool , as it can reveal connections you never dreamt of, unique challenging, energising, inspiring.
good luck
cheers
Arco
L3 is a condensed abstract line. It does not work.
You need to show why the "flying Geese" in L1 give rise to feelings of" illicit love" or the "insignificant proclamation" - easy said than done of course.
I think to achieve this you need you amplify in a series of images (lines) why that is so - is it a memory of an event ? -- painful; why ? etc etc
try some mind mapping: the trunk is the core idea, and the branches and leaves are all associated ideas that relate to that theme - write fast and furious until you fill a page
with ideas,
then with luck you will see a connect there somewhere and hopefully you will have some great successive images to supplant that very abstract L3
hope this helps -- mind mapping is a great tool , as it can reveal connections you never dreamt of, unique challenging, energising, inspiring.
good luck
cheers
Arco
David: this is really a cover version of Keats's ode - I use his structure (with some half-rhymes and more laxity in the meter) and try to bring the personification up to date. It's my favourite season, and Keats is maybe my favourite poet. But I'm glad to hear someone say it sucks, and you're not at all cantankerous; far from it, you're an amiable old git.
Arco: I often use the technique you describe when planning a poem, though my notes are often based on sound-equivalence rather than sense. I guess I was reaching for a vague idea here without the time or space to elaborate it. Anyway, it's ditched in favour of something more literal.
Arco: I often use the technique you describe when planning a poem, though my notes are often based on sound-equivalence rather than sense. I guess I was reaching for a vague idea here without the time or space to elaborate it. Anyway, it's ditched in favour of something more literal.
fine words butter no parsnips
k-j
I've been puzzling over this one for a bit. I like the mood and the sounds.
OK, here goes: for me your illicit love image opens up lots of different resonances in the rest of the poem. There's a thread of sensual personification running through the poem.
Geese migrating in a swish of russet
Break up in the distance like a wrack of smoke,
Announce the turn of seasons, videlicet:
Brush with frosty breath the ripened cheek,
And etch expectancy into the air.
Lingering mists whose chilly fingertips
Quicken drowsy blood and prick the skin
Beshroud the inlet: dolent container ships
Low out diapasons, shiver and respire.
Breezes begin to winnow and bestir
The forest canopy and floor; the rains begin.
To hear the jitter and skirr of squirrels,
Inhale the acrid smell of leaf-mould,
Watch leaves pile up in brittle fascicles,
And at an intersection, the exhaust enfold
An iron fire-hydrant like a sightless wraith;
And then to feel the sun in a last spate
Undo all omens in a honeyed gust
Of gold and burgundy, a flourish of faith;
To see the horse-chestnut spill its fruit
Amid the sidewalk-dreck, the mossed root
Splitting the asphalt at your behest,
Autumn, is to know you, in your big-buttoned coat,
Steaming and champing as you detrain -
Gasp of opening doors, hiss of heat -
Buying coffee, unpeeling a tangerine,
Giving to the croak of old men in the park
A rubric of oblique regretfulness,
To the rush of soft shoes on paving slabs
The clement breathiness of a chinook,
To the cough of cars the rough finesse
With which you stiffen and bedew the grass,
Caress cold railings with dew-decked webs.
Then it becomes a love poem as well as a season poem, and the you in the last stanza is not just Autumn but also someone in particular, someone coming home, perhaps. This is me playing an overinterpretation game, so you might want to avoid it precisely so that it doesn't act as that sort of key.
Anyway. I've enjoyed reading this very much.
Helenx
I've been puzzling over this one for a bit. I like the mood and the sounds.
OK, here goes: for me your illicit love image opens up lots of different resonances in the rest of the poem. There's a thread of sensual personification running through the poem.
Geese migrating in a swish of russet
Break up in the distance like a wrack of smoke,
Announce the turn of seasons, videlicet:
Brush with frosty breath the ripened cheek,
And etch expectancy into the air.
Lingering mists whose chilly fingertips
Quicken drowsy blood and prick the skin
Beshroud the inlet: dolent container ships
Low out diapasons, shiver and respire.
Breezes begin to winnow and bestir
The forest canopy and floor; the rains begin.
To hear the jitter and skirr of squirrels,
Inhale the acrid smell of leaf-mould,
Watch leaves pile up in brittle fascicles,
And at an intersection, the exhaust enfold
An iron fire-hydrant like a sightless wraith;
And then to feel the sun in a last spate
Undo all omens in a honeyed gust
Of gold and burgundy, a flourish of faith;
To see the horse-chestnut spill its fruit
Amid the sidewalk-dreck, the mossed root
Splitting the asphalt at your behest,
Autumn, is to know you, in your big-buttoned coat,
Steaming and champing as you detrain -
Gasp of opening doors, hiss of heat -
Buying coffee, unpeeling a tangerine,
Giving to the croak of old men in the park
A rubric of oblique regretfulness,
To the rush of soft shoes on paving slabs
The clement breathiness of a chinook,
To the cough of cars the rough finesse
With which you stiffen and bedew the grass,
Caress cold railings with dew-decked webs.
Then it becomes a love poem as well as a season poem, and the you in the last stanza is not just Autumn but also someone in particular, someone coming home, perhaps. This is me playing an overinterpretation game, so you might want to avoid it precisely so that it doesn't act as that sort of key.
Anyway. I've enjoyed reading this very much.
Helenx
An amiable old git! I think that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.
Anyway, I didn't say it sucks. It doesn't suck, although it is perhaps looking round for a straw.
Keats, though. Very nice. Your poem is very Autumny. A great idea, and who's to say I'm right that it didn't come off?
Cheers
David
Anyway, I didn't say it sucks. It doesn't suck, although it is perhaps looking round for a straw.
Keats, though. Very nice. Your poem is very Autumny. A great idea, and who's to say I'm right that it didn't come off?
Cheers
David
k-j
I have a kind of ambivalence about this one - I see what you are doing and appreciate it because there are lots of fantastic images and sounds but if my reaction is ambivalence then thats not good. So I tried to figure out why by picking the lines I really like
dolent container ships
An iron fire-hydrant like a sightless wraith;
Splitting the asphalt at your behest
the cough of cars
Autumn, is to know you, in your big-buttoned coat (the best line)
They are all the modern images - not the leaves or the geese etc. So I think I would be more moved if your update on Keats was more focused on the technological and the modern rather than the Autumn.
Does that make any sense and is it any help at all - I dunno?
elph
I have a kind of ambivalence about this one - I see what you are doing and appreciate it because there are lots of fantastic images and sounds but if my reaction is ambivalence then thats not good. So I tried to figure out why by picking the lines I really like
dolent container ships
An iron fire-hydrant like a sightless wraith;
Splitting the asphalt at your behest
the cough of cars
Autumn, is to know you, in your big-buttoned coat (the best line)
They are all the modern images - not the leaves or the geese etc. So I think I would be more moved if your update on Keats was more focused on the technological and the modern rather than the Autumn.
Does that make any sense and is it any help at all - I dunno?
elph
k-j
I wouldn't ditch that poem right now if I were you. Keep it for later.
As Paul Valery once said a poem is never finished only abandoned.
You have a good crafted poem; we can see the effort that has go in.
When the time is right, strike again -- I'm sure you will look at it in a different way.
I liked the poem even though Autumn is a cliched poetical theme .
Arco
I wouldn't ditch that poem right now if I were you. Keep it for later.
As Paul Valery once said a poem is never finished only abandoned.
You have a good crafted poem; we can see the effort that has go in.
When the time is right, strike again -- I'm sure you will look at it in a different way.
I liked the poem even though Autumn is a cliched poetical theme .
Arco
Suplicia: I'm glad you got the sensuousness - but I think I'd like to keep it implicit, whereas the 'illicit' makes it explicit (erm). You're right, I don't want people (over)analysing my poems.
Elphin, thanks, that makes good sense. I wanted to make this primarily a modern interpretation of autumn, but well, I live on the edge of an enormous wild park, mountains and sea all around, and I just couldn't stick to the human and urban imagery, so it ended up sort of a mishmash.
Arco - sorry - I meant I ditched line in question. Don't worry, the poem itself is retained.
Can a theme be cliched? I think it's only the way we express the theme that's cliched.
Elphin, thanks, that makes good sense. I wanted to make this primarily a modern interpretation of autumn, but well, I live on the edge of an enormous wild park, mountains and sea all around, and I just couldn't stick to the human and urban imagery, so it ended up sort of a mishmash.
Arco - sorry - I meant I ditched line in question. Don't worry, the poem itself is retained.
Can a theme be cliched? I think it's only the way we express the theme that's cliched.
fine words butter no parsnips