Enough

[Bruce V]

When I was a boy
On our farm in Kentucky
I would lay on my back in a field
Of tall, golden broomsedge,
Hidden from all the world
Beneath a yellow sun and azure sky
Surrounded by warm golden light,
With puffs of cloud floating by,
A redtail hawk soaring,
Whistling,
Owning the sky.
It was enough.
It was enough.

[rowens]

This is a poem that I'd come across in a book of Robert Penn Warren, and it would be enough, surrounded by his "bigger" poems.

It would be a counter-affect, kind of, in a Leopardi book.

It stands on its own and is enough in a world of poems. Either enough for somebody, or more to say, or read. This poem can be both. A freer verse Thomas Hardy.

All the particulars of poems and things: This poem relaxes in the general. Whether people think in poets or take a poem alone. 

It succeeds.

[Bruce V]

This is a poem that I'd come across in a book of Robert Penn Warren, and it would be enough, surrounded by his "bigger" poems.

It would be a counter-affect, kind of, in a Leopardi book.

It stands on its own and is enough in a world of poems. Either enough for somebody, or more to say, or read. This poem can be both. A freer verse Thomas Hardy.

All the particulars of poems and things: This poem relaxes in the general. Whether people think in poets or take a poem alone. 

It succeeds.

Quite an erudite response.  I thank you.  I wrote this a few years back.  Only started reading Penn Warren a couple days ago and didn't know he was also from Kentucky.  
I may have to take a look at Leopardi;  he's new to me.  My first post here.

[RiverNotch]

Limpid.

I've not much to say---maybe this critique is too short for Intensive---but the repetition of the color yellow here is maybe something to gnaw on, alongside the mention of two other primary colors (albeit redtail hawks aren't particularly red). Then you have the move from the sense of sight to the sense of sound with "Whistling", and a rather cutting sound too, followed by the more abstract conclusion to the whole piece....again, it's all very direct, very limpid. Can't really suggest anything, other than maybe cut "azure" so that the poem really is all gold, but that's a bigger maybe than earlier. Nice work.

[JohnS]

When I was a boy
On our farm in Kentucky
I would lay on my back in a field
Of tall, golden broomsedge,
Hidden from all the world
Beneath a yellow sun and azure sky
Surrounded by warm golden light,
With puffs of cloud floating by,
A redtail hawk soaring,
Whistling,
Owning the sky.
It was enough.
It was enough.

I haven't yet acquired the necessary knowledge to provide a critique at this level, but I want to say I enjoyed the poem very much for its sparsity and its conversational language.
I would say the poem would be slightly improved by the deletion of the "yellow" and the two "goldens", I think they detract rather than add to the imagery. I also might not repeat the last line - one was enough. But, what do I know?
Thanks, enjoyed it.

[Bruce V]

Thanks for the insights into this little poem. I recognize there is a lot of color reference here, perhaps too much. I was trying to convey the experience as it happened....the overwhelming awareness of light and sound. As for the repetition of the last line: I was always struck by Frost's lines, "And miles to go before I sleep/ And miles to go before I sleep". It seems to evoke an almost dreamy feeling, and I was moved to try it here. Still, I am happy to hear other perspectives....always welcome.

[rowens]

The colors are what they are, enough. Though, the same or similar effect could come of saying warm sun, which you do, or other sensual descriptions. Though all those are implied already. And sight is often the predominate sense, at least on an apparent surface level. So, so far, so good.

[matsunosuperfan]

When I was a boy
On our farm in Kentucky
I would lay on my back in a field
Of tall, golden broomsedge,
Hidden from all the world
Beneath a yellow sun and azure sky
Surrounded by warm golden light,
With puffs of cloud floating by,
A redtail hawk soaring,
Whistling,
Owning the sky.
It was enough.
It was enough.

This is a lovely small poem and I admire its willingness to be small. I don't confuse that with a lack of ambition. The poem's final declaration kind of self-advocates for its poetics. I find this effective, but also a bit perilous - there's a risk of a whiff of solipsism intruding, if we're not fully convinced that this all is "enough." 

I think we mostly are convinced. I wonder if the poem might benefit from a more palpable contrastive element - if it's so revelatory that this was enough, who or what is often telling the speaker that it isn't? "Hidden from all the world" kind of has to do a lot of heavy lifting here. On the one hand, the poem's vagueness is a benefit, as we are free to apply the implicative gestures to whatever target feels appropriate to us. On the other hand, this vagueness could be unsatisfying in the sense that the poem really doesn't do much to direct our affect. It's affective, but to what specific end? 

In keeping with this worry, I feel like asking for more from language like "yellow sun and azure sky." I get that we're reifying simplicity, but these are just cliches. Ditto for "warm golden light" and "puffs of clouds." Do we also want to praise cliche? One begins to question whether the execution is living up to the good intent. 

First two lines are pretty boring, anti-hook territory, which again may be "the point" but doesn't stop me from being somewhat bored initially. 

"Lay on my back in a field of tall, golden broomsedge" is my favorite moment. To me this strikes the balance between particular and recognizably universal that this poem wants to operate in.

[Bruce V]

When I was a boy
On our farm in Kentucky
I would lay on my back in a field
Of tall, golden broomsedge,
Hidden from all the world
Beneath a yellow sun and azure sky
Surrounded by warm golden light,
With puffs of cloud floating by,
A redtail hawk soaring,
Whistling,
Owning the sky.
It was enough.
It was enough.

This is a lovely small poem and I admire its willingness to be small. I don't confuse that with a lack of ambition. The poem's final declaration kind of self-advocates for its poetics. I find this effective, but also a bit perilous - there's a risk of a whiff of solipsism intruding, if we're not fully convinced that this all is "enough." 

I think we mostly are convinced. I wonder if the poem might benefit from a more palpable contrastive element - if it's so revelatory that this was enough, who or what is often telling the speaker that it isn't? "Hidden from all the world" kind of has to do a lot of heavy lifting here. On the one hand, the poem's vagueness is a benefit, as we are free to apply the implicative gestures to whatever target feels appropriate to us. On the other hand, this vagueness could be unsatisfying in the sense that the poem really doesn't do much to direct our affect. It's affective, but to what specific end? 

In keeping with this worry, I feel like asking for more from language like "yellow sun and azure sky." I get that we're reifying simplicity, but these are just cliches. Ditto for "warm golden light" and "puffs of clouds." Do we also want to praise cliche? One begins to question whether the execution is living up to the good intent. 

First two lines are pretty boring, anti-hook territory, which again may be "the point" but doesn't stop me from being somewhat bored initially. 

"Lay on my back in a field of tall, golden broomsedge" is my favorite moment. To me this strikes the balance between particular and recognizably universal that this poem wants to operate in.

Thanks so much for your comments.  I can tell that you let yourself enter the poem without letting its simplicity turn you off.  
As much as anything else I was trying to re-enter the experience of a young boy who was enjoying very simple things.  It was a simple experience that I still vividly remember some decades after.  "All the world" from which he was hiding, was a small world -- family, and maybe the Boy Scouts that used the farm for summer camp.  As for the "it was enough" .... this was meant to contrast with the life of a grownup who so often finds himself/herself always looking for more.....stimulation, money, entertainment, etc.  It was so easy to be satisfied with the smallest things at that age.

Your comments helped me to look more deeply into what led to this poem.

Thanks again.

[brynmawr1]

When I was a boy
On our farm in Kentucky
I would lay on my back in a field  consider making the field more specific, i.e. give it a name or at least 'the' or 'that' field.
Of tall, golden broomsedge,
Hidden from all the world
Beneath a yellow sun and azure sky
Surrounded by warm golden light,
With puffs of cloud floating by,
A redtail hawk soaring,  consider 'soared'
Whistling,
Owning the sky.
It was enough.
It was enough.   rather than just repeating the line, maybe turn it around to reflect how things might have changed for the reader that makes the nostalgia more relevent.

Hi Bruce,
Nice poem.  I also like its simplicity but I think some minor tweaks could bring a little more depth without ruining the good bits.  I agree with previous comments that the middle suffers from boarder line cliche issues and is an area where some more thought about the language should be attempted.  I hope my comments are helpful.
thanks for the read,
Bryn

[matsunosuperfan]

Reading this one again, I do admire the impulse behind the poem. I think a little Mary Oliver style digression into completely unearned authoritative philosophizing could be the missing piece here - "It was enough" is trying mightily to resonate strongly enough to fill in the gaps, but I think it's too heavy a burden for its ontological muscles to comfortably lift unassisted. Some scaffolding may be helpful to this end. 

e.g. - 

When I was a boy
I would lay on my back 
in Kentucky fields of tall 
gold broomsedge, hidden 
from all the world beneath 
a wide, unconscious sun.

Blanketed in layers of warm
and golden, I allowed myself 
to watch the puffs of cloud 
float by, to be taken by a hawk
as it goes soaring, red tail whistling 
ownership over whatever moves

below. Now I am too grown 
for anyone to call me "boy." Every
morning squares of cloth hold back
the swollen light. Alarms drag me 
from sleep. I step into the shower 
with my clothes on like a cloud. 

[Bruce V]

Reading this one again, I do admire the impulse behind the poem. I think a little Mary Oliver style digression into completely unearned authoritative philosophizing could be the missing piece here - "It was enough" is trying mightily to resonate strongly enough to fill in the gaps, but I think it's too heavy a burden for its ontological muscles to comfortably lift unassisted. Some scaffolding may be helpful to this end. 

e.g. - 

When I was a boy
I would lay on my back 
in Kentucky fields of tall 
gold broomsedge, hidden 
from all the world beneath 
a wide, unconscious sun.

Blanketed in layers of warm
and golden, I allowed myself 
to watch the puffs of cloud 
float by, to be taken by a hawk
as it goes soaring, red tail whistling 
ownership over whatever moves

below. Now I am too grown 
for anyone to call me "boy." Every
morning squares of cloth hold back
the swollen light. Alarms drag me 
from sleep. I step into the shower 
with my clothes on like a cloud. 

Thanks for your suggestions.  I like what you did in the first 2 stanzas, except for maybe "redtail whistling" (kind of sounds as if the tail is whistling.)

3rd stanza is interesting.  I see where you're going with it, although I wonder if it's not a little jarring in juxtaposition to the rest.  I'll have to think on this some more.
First time I've heard of Mary Oliver.

Thanks again