07-13-2017, 03:10 AM
[quote="Achebe" pid='229707' dateline='1496355696']
Edit 2
Something about you
this morning, with the roses
blown delicately in the early winter
gardens, came to my mind.
My thoughts have nothing to do but amble
on a dawn bus ride
past backyard and bramble,
through a fog bound city,
its blackened brick walls
left behind.
Something about it, this morning, in the gardens
came to mind.
I think that the poem is perfect as it stands. It beckons examination, but not too close; it permits, allows, encourages, requires the free association of self-reflection while also entering the mind of the author; the text doesn't get in the way
Yet, For the sake of argument, and because the poem is being workshopped; i.e. as an exercise for criticism. I'll make an attempt at advanced criticism. Which means if I'm not mistaken, I'll use the poem as a basis for an independent re-write. Like so:
Something about your heart this morning
so full of roses
that I was blown icily in the early winter
gardens
Nothing came to mind except for you -
My thoughts holding nothing, but ambling
on a dawn bus ride
past backyard and bramble,
through a fog-bound city,
its blackened brick walls
left behind.
Something about my stroll, this morning, in the gardens
came to mind.
Edit 2
Something about you
this morning, with the roses
blown delicately in the early winter
gardens, came to my mind.
My thoughts have nothing to do but amble
on a dawn bus ride
past backyard and bramble,
through a fog bound city,
its blackened brick walls
left behind.
Something about it, this morning, in the gardens
came to mind.
I think that the poem is perfect as it stands. It beckons examination, but not too close; it permits, allows, encourages, requires the free association of self-reflection while also entering the mind of the author; the text doesn't get in the way
Yet, For the sake of argument, and because the poem is being workshopped; i.e. as an exercise for criticism. I'll make an attempt at advanced criticism. Which means if I'm not mistaken, I'll use the poem as a basis for an independent re-write. Like so:
Something about your heart this morning
so full of roses
that I was blown icily in the early winter
gardens
Nothing came to mind except for you -
My thoughts holding nothing, but ambling
on a dawn bus ride
past backyard and bramble,
through a fog-bound city,
its blackened brick walls
left behind.
Something about my stroll, this morning, in the gardens
came to mind.
plutocratic polyphonous pandering