06-18-2024, 01:21 PM (This post was last modified: 09-03-2024, 10:50 AM by brynmawr1.)
Ode to Sophisticated Mama
Sophisticated Mama come dance with me.
Swing free in the canopy of my jungle arms,
let me float away on the ocean of your hips;
didn’t we get lost in the mountain pass?
Sophisticated Mama wasn’t this how it was?
Our early years lazy yawning blooms of Spring;
lilac, honeysuckle, plump buds of red, red rose.
Then that Summer heat, those thunderstorms,
electric peels of light splitting our sky— the only thing
real was the rain on our faces. Sophisticated Mama
didn’t those bright colors of spring and summer,
now, feel like only those two ticks of the clock?
I’ll tell you, Sophisticated Mama, some fear the fall
into the long greying, thinking only of fading colors.
I’ve been waiting and waiting more to hold you before
the hearth of our smoldering fire, relishing the grey
of evening’s warmth spent against the inevitable chill.
Listen to me Sophisticated Mama, when we fall down
the quick slope of winter’s long night, I see us dancing;
two flakes of snow twirling again through the mountain
pass, landing on a child’s mitten melting together
under her laughter happy only that it is snowing.
{no title yet
Sophisticated Mama come dance with me. Swing free in the ropey jungle of my arms, let me float away on the ocean of your hips; didn’t we get lost in the mountain pass? Sophisticated Mama wasn’t this how it was? Those years, lazy yawning blooms of Spring; lilac, honeysuckle, plump buds of red, red rose. Then that Summer heat, those thunderstorms, electric peels of light that split the sky— didn’t we get wet and wild! Sophisticated Mama didn’t those bright colors of spring and summer, now, seem to last only those two ticks of the clock? I’ll tell you, Sophisticated Mama, some fear the fall into the long greying, thinking only of fading colors. I’ve been waiting and waiting more to hold you before the hearth of our smoldering fire, relishing the lazy grey of evening’s warmth spent against winter’s inevitable chill. I’ll tell you, Sophisticated Mama, when we fall down the long slope of winter’s first night, I hope we dance; two flakes of snow twirling again through the mountain pass to land upon a child’s mitten, melting together under her laughter, happy only that it is snowing.
Hi Bryn,
there's something here, something lyrical, but it's rather lost amongst the clutter.
(And the absent title isn't helping figure out what it is.)
Sophisticated Mama come dance with me. ............ don't understand the why of 'Sophisticated Mama' but it's not too hard to simply go with it. Are you hearing the Blues?
Swing free in the ropey jungle of my arms, .......... not keen on this for two reasons. Over here 'ropy' (the more common spelling) means in poor condition and that distracts, but also I'd like to know a bit more about SM and why she's being invited to dance.
let me float away on the ocean of your hips; ........... like this line, but the next one baffles (also, you've jungle/ocean/mountain in quick succession but in the rest of the poem you focus on weather/seasons/colours, even flowers, so what purpose do these images serve? Returning to the mountain pass at the end is fine, but it's significance seems to be only for N and SM, not the reader.)
didn’t we get lost in the mountain pass?
Sophisticated Mama wasn’t this how it was?
Those years, lazy yawning blooms of Spring; ....... the narrator may know what 'those years' refer to, but I'm drawing a blank
lilac, honeysuckle, plump buds of red, red rose.
Then that Summer heat, those thunderstorms,
electric peels of light that split the sky—
didn’t we get wet and wild! Sophisticated Mama ..... feels like a lot of clichés here, from the flowers to 'wet and wild'.
didn’t those bright colors of spring and summer,
now, seem to last only those two ticks of the clock? ... 'two ticks' doesn't feel like a strong image, to me.
I’ll tell you, Sophisticated Mama, some fear the fall ........ what would happen if you started here and ended with the opening line?
into the long greying, thinking only of fading colors. ....... doesn't 'long greying' (nice phrase) encompass 'fading colours'? What do the colours fade into (if not grey?)
I’ve been waiting and waiting more to hold you before
the hearth of our smoldering fire, relishing the lazy grey .... don't think it works to repeat 'grey' here. (Not to mention this is the second 'lazy' - S3)
of evening’s warmth spent against winter’s inevitable chill.
I’ll tell you, Sophisticated Mama, when we fall down
the long slope of winter’s first night, I hope we dance; ........... Struggle with 'first night' and 'long slope'. Why is the first night long?
two flakes of snow twirling again through the mountain
pass to land upon a child’s mitten, melting together
under her laughter, happy only that it is snowing. ................. this feels a little contrived, it doesn't flow as naturally as elsewhere in the piece. And who is 'happy only that it is snowing'? The child or the couple, or both? And I'm left wondering how does it snow in a ropey jungle?
06-19-2024, 06:34 AM (This post was last modified: 06-19-2024, 06:37 AM by CRNDLSM.)
(06-18-2024, 01:21 PM)brynmawr1 Wrote:
no title yet
Sophisticated Mama come dance with me. Swing free in the ropey jungle of my arms, let me float away on the ocean of your hips; didn’t we get lost in the mountain pass?
Sophisticated Mama wasn’t this how it was? Those years, lazy yawning blooms of Spring; lilac, honeysuckle, plump buds of red, red rose. Then that Summer heat, those thunderstorms, electric peels of light that split the sky— didn’t we get wet and wild!
Sophisticated Mama didn’t those bright colors of spring and summer, now, seem to last only those two ticks of the clock? I’ll tell you,
Sophisticated Mama, some fear the fall into the long greying, thinking only of fading colors. I’ve been waiting and waiting more to hold you before the hearth of our smoldering fire, relishing the lazy grey of evening’s warmth spent against winter’s inevitable chill. I’ll tell you,
Sophisticated Mama, when we fall down the long slope of winter’s first night, I hope we dance; two flakes of snow twirling again through the mountain pass to land upon a child’s mitten, melting together under her laughter, happy only that it is snowing.
I think you are tricking me with the form. I only rearranged it like this to read it better, some of the enjambment in couples distracted me. Especially the mountain pass at the end while there's a mountain pass at the beginning.
The couplets are interesting though, the imagery throughout is lovely. I don't understand the last phrase happy only that it is snowing, probably on me. I also don't mind the repetition of S.M. but the couplets throw me off, like I want there to be a form, but also if it is a form I want to be off cause it is interesting
So I don't know what else to say, thanks for sharing
brynmawr1 dateline='[url=tel:1718684469' Wrote: 1718684469[/url]'] no title yet
Sophisticated Mama come dance with me. Swing free in the ropey jungle of my arms, let me float away on the ocean of your hips; didn’t we get lost in the mountain pass? Sophisticated Mama wasn’t this how it was? Those years, lazy yawning blooms of Spring; lilac, honeysuckle, plump buds of red, red rose. Then that Summer heat, those thunderstorms, electric peels of light that split the sky— didn’t we get wet and wild! Sophisticated Mama didn’t those bright colors of spring and summer, now, seem to last only those two ticks of the clock? I’ll tell you, Sophisticated Mama, some fear the fall into the long greying, thinking only of fading colors. I’ve been waiting and waiting more to hold you before the hearth of our smoldering fire, relishing the lazy grey of evening’s warmth spent against winter’s inevitable chill. I’ll tell you, Sophisticated Mama, when we fall down the long slope of winter’s first night, I hope we dance; two flakes of snow twirling again through the mountain pass to land upon a child’s mitten, melting together under her laughter, happy only that it is snowing.
In general I feel that some of these words would do better if they were your words - phrases like wet and wild feel like substitutes for something more meaningful and subtle.
Other parts of this are quite beautiful and evoke great imagery - I hope we dance - two flakes of snow twirling again.
What a puzzle. It’s lovely to read. I’m soft-dodging into my thoughts because the other crits didn’t read what I read. Since you didn’t bracket “no title yet,” I assume that’s the title.
This poem can be read one of two ways, and I think you should pick one.
This is either (1) a poem about a union over years that bears a child. It feels like an enagagement proposal, a eulogy, and a present contemplation. And each turn avoids cliche.
If this is a poem meant for a specific person in your life or someone’s life, pseudonymously “Sophisticated Mama,” you don’t need to change a word.
On the other hand.
(2) If Sophisticated Mama is the screen name of an online companion, and surely it is, then this poem is a lot harder to assess. Emotionally harder. Structurally harder. Poetically dramatically harder. Harder.
Certainly more intriguing.
I don’t like this as a poem that keeps me guessing. If that’s what you’re going for, make it longer. But then, of course, making it longer would give away the game. So, if you’re wanting this to be a light read that upon close reading raises questions, maybe break the rules and say so. If not, a title like, “Sophisticated Mama Love” or something would determine the nature of it.
I might be miscued by several aspects. Rereading, there’s a past and a future and no present. Paired with a nom d’screen like “Sophisticated Mama” it feels like there’s a false relationship.
(06-18-2024, 11:37 PM)Knot Wrote: Hi Bryn,
there's something here, something lyrical, but it's rather lost amongst the clutter.
(And the absent title isn't helping figure out what it is.)
Sophisticated Mama come dance with me. ............ don't understand the why of 'Sophisticated Mama' but it's not too hard to simply go with it. Are you hearing the Blues?
Swing free in the ropey jungle of my arms, .......... not keen on this for two reasons. Over here 'ropy' (the more common spelling) means in poor condition and that distracts, but also I'd like to know a bit more about SM and why she's being invited to dance. yeah, I didn't like ropey either. already have an edit.
let me float away on the ocean of your hips; ........... like this line, but the next one baffles (also, you've jungle/ocean/mountain in quick succession but in the rest of the poem you focus on weather/seasons/colours, even flowers, so what purpose do these images serve? Returning to the mountain pass at the end is fine, but its significance seems to be only for N and SM, not the reader.) more body parts than geography, but I get your issue. Not sure i am going to fix it, though.
didn’t we get lost in the mountain pass?
Sophisticated Mama wasn’t this how it was?
Those years, lazy yawning blooms of Spring; ....... the narrator may know what 'those years' refer to, but I'm drawing a blank got a fix for that too, I think.
lilac, honeysuckle, plump buds of red, red rose.
Then that Summer heat, those thunderstorms,
electric peels of light that split the sky—
didn’t we get wet and wild! Sophisticated Mama ..... feels like a lot of clichés here, from the flowers to 'wet and wild'. Really! I was very impressed with myself. 'wet and wild' grudgingly perhaps.
didn’t those bright colors of spring and summer,
now, seem to last only those two ticks of the clock? ... 'two ticks' doesn't feel like a strong image, to me.
I’ll tell you, Sophisticated Mama, some fear the fall ........ what would happen if you started here and ended with the opening line? Hmmm. Probably not, but interesting.
into the long greying, thinking only of fading colors. ....... doesn't 'long greying' (nice phrase) encompass 'fading colours'? What do the colours fade into (if not grey?) continuation of the thought, so I'm not sure I see the issue.
I’ve been waiting and waiting more to hold you before
the hearth of our smoldering fire, relishing the lazy grey .... don't think it works to repeat 'grey' here. (Not to mention this is the second 'lazy' - S3) the 'lazy' more of an issue, I think
of evening’s warmth spent against winter’s inevitable chill.
I’ll tell you, Sophisticated Mama, when we fall down
the long slope of winter’s first night, I hope we dance; ........... Struggle with 'first night' and 'long slope'. Why is the first night long? I guess I'm going for death is forever and only comes once.
two flakes of snow twirling again through the mountain
pass to land upon a child’s mitten, melting together
under her laughter, happy only that it is snowing. ................. this feels a little contrived, it doesn't flow as naturally as elsewhere in the piece. And who is 'happy only that it is snowing'? The child or the couple, or both? Both, I guess. Aware of the ambiguity but left it vague on purpose. And I'm left wondering how does it snow in a ropey jungle? Well, it's a Mountain pass so...
Best, Knot
.
Hey knot
Thanks for the read and extensive comments. The 'Sophisticated Mama' came from a song I heard on the radio. I need to google to tell you which. Sort of riffing and let it go but it didn't all come out at once.
Thanks again,
Bryn
06-26-2024, 07:37 AM (This post was last modified: 06-26-2024, 07:51 AM by brynmawr1.)
(06-19-2024, 06:34 AM)CRNDLSM Wrote:
(06-18-2024, 01:21 PM)brynmawr1 Wrote:
no title yet
Sophisticated Mama come dance with me. Swing free in the ropey jungle of my arms, let me float away on the ocean of your hips; didn’t we get lost in the mountain pass?
Sophisticated Mama wasn’t this how it was? Those years, lazy yawning blooms of Spring; lilac, honeysuckle, plump buds of red, red rose. Then that Summer heat, those thunderstorms, electric peels of light that split the sky— didn’t we get wet and wild!
Sophisticated Mama didn’t those bright colors of spring and summer, now, seem to last only those two ticks of the clock? I’ll tell you,
Sophisticated Mama, some fear the fall into the long greying, thinking only of fading colors. I’ve been waiting and waiting more to hold you before the hearth of our smoldering fire, relishing the lazy grey of evening’s warmth spent against winter’s inevitable chill. I’ll tell you,
Sophisticated Mama, when we fall down the long slope of winter’s first night, I hope we dance; two flakes of snow twirling again through the mountain pass to land upon a child’s mitten, melting together under her laughter, happy only that it is snowing.
I think you are tricking me with the form. I only rearranged it like this to read it better, some of the enjambment in couples distracted me. Especially the mountain pass at the end while there's a mountain pass at the beginning.
The couplets are interesting though, the imagery throughout is lovely. I don't understand the last phrase happy only that it is snowing, probably on me. I also don't mind the repetition of S.M. but the couplets throw me off, like I want there to be a form, but also if it is a form I want to be off cause it is interesting
So I don't know what else to say, thanks for sharingHi CRNDLSM,
Thanks for reading and commenting. I wish I were clever enough to be tricky. The couplet form was a last minute change as I was editing and it just sort of fell into it. I do really like your rearrangement. It pulls out some nice emphasis. still thinking about edits but will take your perspective into account.
Thanks again
Bryn
(06-20-2024, 09:57 AM)jonvandalen Wrote:
brynmawr1 dateline='[url=tel:1718684469' Wrote: 1718684469[/url]'] no title yet
Sophisticated Mama come dance with me. Swing free in the ropey jungle of my arms, let me float away on the ocean of your hips; didn’t we get lost in the mountain pass? Sophisticated Mama wasn’t this how it was? Those years, lazy yawning blooms of Spring; lilac, honeysuckle, plump buds of red, red rose. Then that Summer heat, those thunderstorms, electric peels of light that split the sky— didn’t we get wet and wild! Sophisticated Mama didn’t those bright colors of spring and summer, now, seem to last only those two ticks of the clock? I’ll tell you, Sophisticated Mama, some fear the fall into the long greying, thinking only of fading colors. I’ve been waiting and waiting more to hold you before the hearth of our smoldering fire, relishing the lazy grey of evening’s warmth spent against winter’s inevitable chill. I’ll tell you, Sophisticated Mama, when we fall down the long slope of winter’s first night, I hope we dance; two flakes of snow twirling again through the mountain pass to land upon a child’s mitten, melting together under her laughter, happy only that it is snowing.
In general I feel that some of these words would do better if they were your words - phrases like wet and wild feel like substitutes for something more meaningful and subtle.
Other parts of this are quite beautiful and evoke great imagery - I hope we dance - two flakes of snow twirling again.
Hi JVD,
thanks for taking the time to read and comment. You aren't the only one to find that part lacking.
Looking forward to returning the favor,
bryn
(06-21-2024, 05:01 PM)crow Wrote: bryn,
What a puzzle. It’s lovely to read. I’m soft-dodging into my thoughts because the other crits didn’t read what I read. Since you didn’t bracket “no title yet,” I assume that’s the title.
This poem can be read one of two ways, and I think you should pick one.
This is either (1) a poem about a union over years that bears a child. It feels like an enagagement proposal, a eulogy, and a present contemplation. And each turn avoids cliche.
If this is a poem meant for a specific person in your life or someone’s life, pseudonymously “Sophisticated Mama,” you don’t need to change a word.
On the other hand.
(2) If Sophisticated Mama is the screen name of an online companion, and surely it is, then this poem is a lot harder to assess. Emotionally harder. Structurally harder. Poetically dramatically harder. Harder.
Certainly more intriguing.
I don’t like this as a poem that keeps me guessing. If that’s what you’re going for, make it longer. But then, of course, making it longer would give away the game. So, if you’re wanting this to be a light read that upon close reading raises questions, maybe break the rules and say so. If not, a title like, “Sophisticated Mama Love” or something would determine the nature of it.
I might be miscued by several aspects. Rereading, there’s a past and a future and no present. Paired with a nom d’screen like “Sophisticated Mama” it feels like there’s a false relationship.
Hi Crow,
Sorry, I wasn't aware of the convention for the title, so it really doesn't have a title, but then maybe... Again, sorry to disappoint, but going for more of option 1, though, as you allude in your final comments I am undecided on the exact nature of the relationship between N and SM.
Thanks for commenting,
bryn
I read this tone in a low vocal tones, as I feel the humidly surrounding my porch. I love how this flows it's like you a talking to your family a close friend. I love how it is formatted maybe keep this edit but make two more like music
Only one thing is impossible for God: To find any sense in any copyright law on the planet.
--mark twain
Bunx
Brackets indicate an author’s editorial thoughts. So, [no title yet] tells editors you’re looking for a suggestion for a title, and [untitled] would mean you intend for there to be no title.
Here, “no title yet” would reference marriage, titles in intestacy, and future holdings, maybe. Capped “Untitled” would likely reference the poetic/artistic convention of writing Untitled to formally eschew a title. This is typically a feature of abstract work. Lowercased “untitled” would be trickier to figure.
Of the three, “no title yet” has the most narrative power. But I suspect you’ll end up with a forceful title.
In formal poetry, a title has magic power. It can inflect the poem without changing the meter, and so the title matters a great deal. The only words that can alter poems as much as titles are names.
Sophisticated Mama is incredibly powerful. Make sure it’s either easily decoded or intentionally cryptic. But intentionally cryptic is worse almost every time. It lets you hide, and allows readers to be dismissive.
