07-20-2017, 02:29 PM
Something about you
this morning, with the roses
blown delicately in the early winter "Delicately," consisting of four syllables, is the only word with that many sounds in the poem (there are no other words with more than two syllables). This was jarring to me when I read it aloud, and unless you really want this particular adverb to stand out, I would either eliminate it or find a less intrusive adverb.
gardens, came to my mind. Could you make "came to my mind" its own line, so as to become more parallel with (and foreshadow) the very last line? It would even make sense, in that case, to move "gardens" up to the previous line, because "gardens" again appears in the penultimate line before something else "[comes] to mind" at the end of the poem.
My thoughts have nothing to do but amble
on a dawn bus ride
past backyard and bramble, I love the combination of the words "past backyard." Although it is literally an image of a change in the spatial setting, there are rich implications about time, as well. It seems to hint that what "came to mind" earlier in the poem (lines 1-4) is something that occurred in the recent, though not necessarily immediate, past (reinforced by "left behind" three lines later).
through a fog bound city,
its blackened brick walls
left behind.
Something about it, this morning, in the gardens
came to mind.
I appreciate the contrasting imagery you employ in this piece. The beauty of the garden that bookends the poem is serene and, while not perfect ("early winter" implies that the garden won't be so beautiful for much longer), it is aesthetically preferable to the ugliness of the brick- and fog-bound city. I draw from this the inference that whatever happened between the speaker and the silent interlocutor (the unnamed"you" in line 1), was one of those experiences in life characterized by the odd oscillation from emotional destruction to elation - and back again, perhaps many times over - by way of a passionate but ultimately poisonous relationship. Even though it was objectively a damaging experience, the mind can't help but return to it with a sort of perverse fondness, despite the relative practical agreeableness of the present situation.
Have you ever read F. Marion Crawford's "For the Blood is the Life"? It is an early 20th century gothic story by an underrated writer in that genre; it immediately came to my mind after I finished reading your poem. I included a link to the story below, in case you are curious. Just a thought!
http://www.digital-eel.com/blog/library/bloodlife.htm
this morning, with the roses
blown delicately in the early winter "Delicately," consisting of four syllables, is the only word with that many sounds in the poem (there are no other words with more than two syllables). This was jarring to me when I read it aloud, and unless you really want this particular adverb to stand out, I would either eliminate it or find a less intrusive adverb.
gardens, came to my mind. Could you make "came to my mind" its own line, so as to become more parallel with (and foreshadow) the very last line? It would even make sense, in that case, to move "gardens" up to the previous line, because "gardens" again appears in the penultimate line before something else "[comes] to mind" at the end of the poem.
My thoughts have nothing to do but amble
on a dawn bus ride
past backyard and bramble, I love the combination of the words "past backyard." Although it is literally an image of a change in the spatial setting, there are rich implications about time, as well. It seems to hint that what "came to mind" earlier in the poem (lines 1-4) is something that occurred in the recent, though not necessarily immediate, past (reinforced by "left behind" three lines later).
through a fog bound city,
its blackened brick walls
left behind.
Something about it, this morning, in the gardens
came to mind.
I appreciate the contrasting imagery you employ in this piece. The beauty of the garden that bookends the poem is serene and, while not perfect ("early winter" implies that the garden won't be so beautiful for much longer), it is aesthetically preferable to the ugliness of the brick- and fog-bound city. I draw from this the inference that whatever happened between the speaker and the silent interlocutor (the unnamed"you" in line 1), was one of those experiences in life characterized by the odd oscillation from emotional destruction to elation - and back again, perhaps many times over - by way of a passionate but ultimately poisonous relationship. Even though it was objectively a damaging experience, the mind can't help but return to it with a sort of perverse fondness, despite the relative practical agreeableness of the present situation.
Have you ever read F. Marion Crawford's "For the Blood is the Life"? It is an early 20th century gothic story by an underrated writer in that genre; it immediately came to my mind after I finished reading your poem. I included a link to the story below, in case you are curious. Just a thought!
http://www.digital-eel.com/blog/library/bloodlife.htm