Mom

[Miley]

a melodrama
where the voice is cut
from its body:

           first my dog, now my grandma?

red drunk she cursed
her wounds and the houses
that held them and the houses
that held them and

today it's spring
we survived
good years
and new griefs
and know new dogs that are old
and growing older and

how does one write about your brother?

the pictures in the hallway are quieted
by fleeting hours
and the valley out the window
grows so dark it's
as though it were never there
as though it weren't 
someone's eternity and 

what i really mean is
how do i write about your brother
without writing about mine?

i imagine myself stepping out 
that valley-window
not believing in anything
but moonlight.

[Knot]

Hi miley,
if it's not too much of a contradiction I enjoyed this even though I didn't understand it.
The title took me one way, what I thought was an epigram (the opening four lines) confused, and the the fourth verse fell ever so slightly flat.
So bearing all that in mind, and with the requisite large handful of salt ...



red drunk she cursed
her wounds and the houses
that held them and the houses
that held them and .................................... I wonder if you could start with this verse? No idea what 'red drunk' is but it instantly grabbed and made me want to read on. (Is 'she' the Mom of the title, or some other woman? No idea.)

today it's spring ........................................ Maybe leave a line after this? It feels like one wants to draw a deep breath here and just savour the moment.

we survived
good years
and new griefs
and know new dogs that are old ............... do you need the 'know'? (threw me off, rhythmically.)
and growing older and .............................. (following on, 'and are growing older and' ?

how does one write about your brother? ... comes out of nowhere (perhaps a bit too out of nowhere?) But I like it (and where it leads.)

the pictures in the hallway are quieted ..... anything better (more visual even) than 'quieted'?
by fleeting hours ...................................... and 'fleeting' seems too clichéd
and the valley out the window
grows so dark it's ..................................... do you need 'it's'?
as though it were never there
as though it weren't
someone's eternity and ........................... 'someone' seems weak. Scared to name, perhaps?
Also, this all seemed very autumnal/wintery which seemed strange after 'today it's spring'.

i imagine myself stepping out ............... possibly 'through' for 'out'?
that valley-window
not believing in anything
but moonlight.

what i really mean is
how do i write about your brother
without writing about mine? ...............swapping the last two verses offers a stronger ending, I think.


________________



a melodrama
where the voice is cut
from its body:

first my dog, now my grandma?
This seemed like a poem on its own.


Best, Knot


.

[crow]

Miley,

Please include the title above the body of the poem. It makes editing easier.

This is a poem about inherited trauma, confusion, suicide, suicidal ideation, and the way that bad events can echo through a family. You’ve embodied your thoughts and feeling in a poem that utilizes confusion as a narrative device. If you want that interpretation to hold, clean up your syntax. I want correct punctuation and capped “i”s.

The italicized material indicates an unvoiced quotation, not a quotation. That interpretation clashes with the surrounding material. I suggest putting it in quotes.

I feel like you think obscuring your meaning is effective. It can be. But give me an image that holds my attention and verifies this approach. Echoes across a valley seems natural. If you want to utilize that image, maybe talk about nests as a way to let me know your nested houses on houses is meant to be that. It also lets you talk about eggs, and that would verify the idea of family and inherited trauma.

This poem requires a lot of work. Give me more reward.

For inspiration, consider Elizabeth Bishop’s poem about an artist. It requires lots of work, but the images in it compensate for the reader’s effort, letting the reader know the madness is intended:


https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/4...e-man-moth

---

I have a similar note: it’s okay to try to write a poem that is amazing. It’s a good idea, in fact. Most poems are brief. In the time you have, devastate us, charm us, beguile us. Assign a vivid verb to your intention: What do you want to do to the audience? “I’m going to do in 100 words what most people can’t in a whole movie.” What is it? I want to hurt my audience? I want to be naked? I want to destroy hope? I want to make my struggle matter to a stranger?

The only effect you aren’t allowed is boredom. Confusion is the handmaiden of boredom unless you pair it with fascination instead. This poem is confusing. If that’s what you want, earn it with fascination and assign some utility to the confusion: “I want to confuse my audience in order to make them understand my confusion, and so I need to hold their attention in order to avoid boredom. I’ll do that with the following image.”

Something like that.

[busker]

a melodrama
where the voice is cut
from its body:

           first my dog, now my grandma? ...clever....but is it necessary?

red drunk she cursed
her wounds and the houses
that held them and the houses
that held them and ....this hints at the subject of the poem having something to do with domestic abuse, but the wounds could also be mental, psychological damage. The problem is that everybody is a victim these days, and so I instantly smirk at this sort of melodrama....but hang on! you said it was a melodrama. Smart.
But from a purely aesthetic standpoint, I don't find the above lines do anything

today it's spring
we survived
good years
and new griefs
and know new dogs that are old
and growing older and ... dogs age in the blink of an eye, and anything that you love can also grow old quickly. I love this line. 

how does one write about your brother? ...this bit remains an enigma, but allows for each reader to interpret differently

the pictures in the hallway are quieted
by fleeting hours
and the valley out the window
grows so dark it's
as though it were never there
as though it weren't 
someone's eternity and  .....these are some wonderful, moody lines

what i really mean is
how do i write about your brother
without writing about mine?

i imagine myself stepping out 
that valley-window
not believing in anything
but moonlight. ...a beautiful end to the poem. I didn't understand the poem, but I enjoyed reading it.

It's an amazing mood poem. Not to my taste. I am fine with understanding something at a literal level, and then not getting the second or third layer of meaning, but this one is hard to understand literally. 
I don't think there's a lot that you can fix without ruining the poem though, so there's that.

[crow]

It feels like the last three edits are in agreement. This is really really good, and has the potential to be truly special. You should spend some time on this one.

[JamesG]

This seems to me to be a beautifully written poem about loss and family, themes that of course resonate with us all, I particularly love the last stanza.

I think the only part that might be a bit clunky is

red drunk she cursed
her wounds and the houses
that held them and the houses
that held them and

but that is just a quibble really, and that it could have a better title?

[Mark A Becker]

Hi Miley-
some in-line comments below:

a melodrama
where the voice is cut
from its body: cool introduction- like the curtain opening on the poem

first my dog, now my grandma? good hook

red drunk she cursed
her wounds and the houses
that held them and the houses
that held them and not sure the repetition is working, but I get what you're saying

today it's spring good re-direction
we survived
good years
and new griefs
and know new dogs that are old
and growing older and don't think this line adds anything

how does one write about your brother? another interesting re-direction like a play moving through acts

the pictures in the hallway are quieted cool- like the pictures yell at the N
by fleeting hours
and the valley out the window
grows so dark it's
as though it were never there very much like this part
as though it weren't
someone's eternity and

what i really mean is
how do i write about your brother
without writing about mine? Since the poem is titled 'Mom' I interpret this as you referring to your uncle and your brother- interesting way of expressing that

i imagine myself stepping out
that valley-window
not believing in anything
but moonlight. I am a fan of this ending


...and the same generational melodramas continue to play out... The stories we're told; the ones we believe...