fionnuala (revisited)

[dedalus]

down along the riverrun bawdy
sometimes she leaves her lights on
her window she opens a little crack
for to let the ghosts get in
and to let the ghosts get back

sometimes she leaves her lights on
among surrounding seas of black
and the ghosts float in and take their ease
late in the long and lonely nights
her disembodied memories

[Callum C]

I enjoyed this, the general mood of the piece.

I think you've basically got away without using punctuation, though there were a couple of things that stood out in the rhythm;

"her window she opens a little crack"
O.k, not rhythm here but syntax. Just didn't sound right. What's wrong with "she opened her window; a little crack"? You wouldn't need the semi-colon.

Also, the use of "for" and "get" in lines four and five seems unnecessary.

I also think there's something up with line nine; "late in the long and lonely nights" seems cumbersome. You could drop "the" but that leaves you with a bit of an l-fest!

"late in calling, lonely nights"? Just a suggestion. I enjoyed this though, love the last line.

[dedalus]

Thanks, callum, for the good and thoughtful suggestions. I'd take a lot of them on board if it weren't for the fact that I'm dealing with Hiberno-English, the way the Irish go about "improving" the English language. It could be a lot worse (or different), believe me:

sometimes she'd be leaving her lights on
the window t'would be open a wee little crack
all for to let them ghosts get in
and to let them ghosts get back

What's wrong with "she opened her window; a little crack"?
Well, it's not Irish ... or Irish-like; it just wouldn't be said. I'm trying to follow the city vernacular never mind the damage to syntax. Within those constraints I wanted to keep the poem readable (don't get too carried away with local idiom) and sharp and short and concise. It all comes down to the last line.

Cheers,
dedalus

[Sharra]

I think you have captured the colloquial feel of the language, and for me this has a lovely feel and rhythm to it. And I love the images of ghosts floating in and out of the windows.
The last 2 lines felt clunky to me though, they didn’t fit the rhythm. I think because you have such a full rhyme in S1 between crack and back, you maybe need it to be the same in S2 – ‘ease’ and ‘memories’ didn’t do it for me really I'm afraid.
Sharra
x

[bodkin]

Hi,

I think this works quite well but I have the same catching points as were already mentioned...

I think:

"her window she opens a little crack"

is a little awkward, both with the unusual word order and also I can't make the stresses quite work when I read it. For me (your mileage may vary) dropping the "she" (and tweaking the sense to accommodate that) would read more smoothly:

"her window open(ed) a little crack"

--

"ease" and "memories" don't seem to wholly rhyme for me. I think because there are similar-sounding syllables but with different patterns of stress (I believe I've read an analysis of how the stress patterns in rhyming syllables also need to match for a full rhyme, I know it certainly feels that way...) Anyway, I wondered if "rest at ease" would rhyme more fully with "memories" although you may find that a little contrived...

HTH

Ian

[dedalus]

Yesss ... but no. I don't see how I can change it, really. I looked at "rest at ease/ memories" but it just doesn't feel right. We'll just have to leave this ... for the moment, probably forever ... as another one of those unfinished, almost-got-there poems. Sorry to disappoint. As if the ghosts could give a damn.

Cheers,
dedalus

[David]

This is not really that far away as it is, Bren. In my opinion, anyway. The only problem I have with it is that the last line seems to float free from the rest of the poem's easy vernacular - which may be appropriate, in a metapoetic way, for disembodied memories, but just jars with me a bit.

Do you see what I mean?

With a different last line, this would be terrific. Like the nod to Joyce as well. It's a sensual little waterfront ghost story. Good stuff.

Cheers

David

[R. Broath]

Very Joycean in its blousy joy, Bren. I love the divil-may-care breathless saltiness here. Reminds me of old Van Gogh in one of them frenzies he was prone to just dashin off another wee masterpiece.
Good, good, now whatarewaitinfer, do another one.

Jimmy