If you have read this post, or recieved a PM/FB message from me in the last few days, you may be aware that some of us thought it might be a good idea to have a thread in here where you post a poem, and crit the poem above to help us prepare/get better at poetry/brush up skills etc. for Foyle. As a start, I'll get the ball rolling and post a poem.


EDIT: I know Simmi made a similar thread, but this one has a focus towards rapid crit/responce hopefully in the run up to Foyle..

So, as to how it will work.

1. Start your post with some feedback on the poem above, as much detail as possible, critting standard and all that shebang.
2. Post your poem below it.
3. Recieve a crit.
4. Edit poem accordingly.
5. Crit whichever poem is now at the end of the thread and either repost your new draft or a new poem.

So, to get the ball rolling:


Crinkle, paper-satin
raindrops. The soft (s)pools
gliding seamless, yet
with the crackle of breaking ice,
sound betrays the delicacy.
Shimmered lakes underfoot
like silent mirrors turn - screech
when a foot falls. Walk toward
a silk carpet, dabble your feet in the soft
curves. Close your ears from
a steady drumbeat,
a crackling, crinkling
breaking shriek.

Your critique:

Spoiler:

Crinkle, paper-satin raindrops. The soft (s)pools

I don't know if I like 'crinkle' as a way to describe raindrops. It's original imagery, sure, but do I relate to it? Not particularly. Your images should be both unique and accurate relative to the concept it's describing, which is where the difficulty lies. I like (s)pools (:

gliding seamless, yet with the crackle of breaking ice, sound betrays the delicacy.

Watch your line breaks, '(s)pools / gliding' is a little off, but 'yet / with the crackle' throws your rhythm ... Oh hang on, maybe if you tried this:
the soft (s)pools gliding seamless, yet
- with the crackle of breaking ice - sound
betrays its delicacy.
That's an improvement to get you started, I think. Consider meter, read your poem aloud to yourself when editing it. I changed 'the delicacy' to 'its delicacy' -- I think it sounds better to be possessive wherever possible, for the sake of clarity, and a sense of sharpness to your writing.

Shimmered lakes underfoot like silent mirrors turn - screech when a foot falls. Walk toward

'shimmered' reads like an awkward spin-off of 'shimmering' to me. I really like silent mirrors.

a silk carpet, dabble your feet in the soft curves. Close your ears from a steady drumbeat,

I like the working behind all of this. It's down to personal preference, but it's bothersome that the person who falls through the ice is never given a character. It incites interest, but at the same time feels a little vague -- I don't empathise with the situation because the act of falling seems so detached here. You address (the reader? another character?) in second person here, which pulls us into it, but I'm not quite sure what we're supposed to be looking at. You make use of tactile imagery etc etc with 'a steady drumbeat', which I like. I just feel as though the sound and vaguely visual effects that a fall has on a frozen lake are not, in themselves, enough to stick in my memory.

As I said, personal preference -- you might want a second opinion on this.

a crackling, crinkling breaking shriek.

Normally I don't like overloads of 'ing's ... or overloads of adjectives in the first place. Here I'm ambivalent. On the one hand it strikes me as off-key that you choose to describe a shriek as all those things. On the other, your line break is good here, and you could probably only afford to lose 'crackling' without harming the overall effect that the words create. Up to you.

Your style overall still seems a little panicky, as if you come up with one image for one tiny thing and think 'right, now onto the next bit, action action action' -- relax a little. Allow yourself to flesh out images as well as concepts. 'silent mirrors', for example, is a lovely simile that you could put more thought into, rather than inserting it into the text as if it's just an after-thought.

I can't put my finger on it exactly, but your poetry often gives me trouble with its line breaks. It's not a forte of mine either, so maybe ask for a second opinion on this too, but your line breaks stunt my reading sometimes. Tip it around, play with syntax, until you find something you're happy with.

Other than that, this is much more fun to read than the last piece I critiqued of yours. I think this one's definitely worth an edit or two. Good jooooob

If someone, anyone, could take a look at this poem before I go crazy, I would bathe you in milk:

http://www.youngwritersonline.net/showthread.php?t=6939

-- Now I'm re-reading it, parts I and III both need work. I could do with some pointers to get me started. If you don't have much time, I will still love you if you only look at one part <3

Your crit:

Spoiler:

Is having problems. I'll post it in a privatised googledocs document:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1...thkey=CLzX4ooM

That's not searchable or anything, so don't worry

_____________________________________________


While I'm still working on my previous one, I'm going to post a different one, see how that goes:



Little checks, a regular alternation
red-white-red (one pure muslin, one tainted),
run down her back in
seamless waves. The twists of thread
spun to cloth by fingers almost as small
as hers. Theirs, care-worn, torn at the seams and
frayed. Hers, perfect white and creaseless, the very
vision of porcelain.
Her hair is as black as theirs – it should be, it was once theirs.
It hung in loose locks from one lovestruck girl, cut off and sold
for trinkets and lust. Now the curls are tighter, wrapped in
checkered ribbons (a lust/love alternation).
Cycle of past entangled in hair, passed as it will be
to a girl (blond this time) who will forsake
ribbons and dolls to join this greater game, and she
will sew her dress in checks, twisting her hair,
still pretending each dye is pure.

Your crit, m'lady:

Spoiler:

Originally Posted by Fi Bear in mind what I told you about my inability to critique or even understand poetry. I'm aware that I will sound very newb-ish. Sorry, again, in advance. Little checks, a regular alternation red-white-red (one pure muslin, one tainted) This is nice. There is a nice technique that Rose and Rushdie (proper writer, him) use, which is just to combine the words so it's less 'stop starty': "redwhitered". Just an idea you might want to consider. run down her back in Line breaks are not my thing. Just wondering whether it wouldn't sound better if the "in" was on the following line? seamless waves. The twists of thread spun to cloth by fingers almost as small as hers. Theirs, care-worn, torn at the seams YAY, contrast. Good 'un. and frayed. Hers, perfect white and creaseless, the very vision of porcelain. Her hair is as black as theirs – it should be, it was once theirs. Feel free to ignore this, but the "was once" caused me to stumble slightly. For some reason, it feels awkward. You might want to consider simplifying and going for "it used to be theirs". It hung in loose locks from one lovestruck girl, cut off and sold for trinkets and lust. Now the curls are tighter, wrapped in checkered ribbons (a lust/love alternation). <-- Is this necessary? To me, it sounds too repeated. "a lust/love alternation" is confusing, as you introduced 'lust' to describe the hair but now seem to be talking about the ribbon. Also, the use of "alternation" is repetition, but hey. I just don't think you've introduced the 'lust/love' idea previously, which is why it stands out. Cycle of past entangled in hair, passed as it will be Although I quite like the play of "past/passed", I think you should focus above all on it making sense. Yes, I'm easily confused... I personally don't see the need to omit the "A" for the "a cycle". The "cycle of past entangled in hair" is just confusing, frankly. It could be a beautiful image, but I feel as though words are missing from it (intentional or not) and I think you could, if you had time, room, energy, develop it a little more. Just work on clarifying the image? to a girl (blonde this time) who will forsake ribbons and dolls to join this greater game, Nice, I really like this. and she will sew her dress in checks, twisting her hair, Okay, now we get to the bit that really confused me. For some reason I struggle to grasp some of your images, this one in particular. I don't know if it's me being slow, or me trying to read too much into it, or a lack of clarity on your part (though I doubt it's the latter - get a second opinion). Who is sewing the dress, here? I, unnaturally, assumed that you were talking about child labour and stuff, which means that this image doesn't make sense, since the new owner of the doll is apparently sewing herself her own dress? I don't know whether I'm being too literal, or just plain stupid, but I just don't get it To be honest, I don't know what to suggest. God, I'm useless. Sorry. still pretending each dye is pure. Nice contrast with the previous 'tainted'.

By the way, if I stopped and highlighted every bit I liked, we'd be here for a while. There is some lovely imagery in there and the contrasts you make are excellent. My only thing would be: don't over-complicate things for yourself. I can't understand stuff, god knows why, and I just find it hard to grasp what you're trying to say. If this were prose, I'd say not to jump around and assume the reader can follow, but with poetry, since I can only say: "ohmigod, it's sso pretty, like", I'll limit myself to "don't over-complicate/over-reach the imagery".

-------------------------------------------------

The light catches those whirling particles
you used to love to watch,
thinking they were fairy dust,
and pursing your lips
to direct the air that would knock them
into disarray and send them tumbling
into each other.
You stopped when some boy
(his name was Tom, and you wanted his light-up trainers)
told you they were flakes
of dead skin. Now you close your eyes
when the flecks catch alight
and burn minute and golden.
You stare through the dance
that once enthralled you
and purse your lips
to blow a kiss out of the window to the boy waiting there.

Your crit, Darlin' :

Spoiler:

Is also not working for me. Have a googledoc.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1...thkey=CNOXoboJ

Little checks, a regular alternation
redwhitered (one pure muslin, one tainted),
run down her back in seamless waves.
The twists of thread spun to cloth by fingers almost as small as hers.
Theirs,
care-worn, torn at the seams and
frayed.
Hers,
perfect white and creaseless, the very
vision of porcelain.
Her hair is as black as theirs – it should be, it was theirs.
It hung in loose locks from one lovestruck girl, cut off and sold
for trinkets and lust. Now the curls are tighter, wrapped in
checkered ribbons.
A cycle of past entangled in that hair (bleeds into the ribbon)
the love/lust check pattern, rose-dye and innocence,
passed as it will be to a girl (blond this time) who will forsake ribbons and dolls
to join this greater game,
and she will sew her dress in checks, (it will be cheaper,
and the prick of the needle will allures her mind, spin her
memories away to better times) twisting her hair,
still pretending each dye is pure.

Yo' crit, mi luv.

Spoiler:

Originally Posted by Fi Little checks, a regular alternation redwhitered (one pure muslin, one tainted), run down her back in seamless waves. The twists of thread spun to cloth by fingers almost as small as hers.

Okay, so, first thoughts: I'm a fan of parenthesis, but I think that the usage of parenthesis, and word combination, in addition to commas kind of breaks the flow for me for some reason. I feel like your first two lines are chocked with fanceh stuff. xD

And regarding "redwhitered", then I think it's not linked to the first line that much. [a regular alternation/redwhitered] I feel that there's a word missing between alternation and redwhitered. "A regular"... hmm... not sure about this. I feel that it's just vague. "regular" doesn't strengthen the image here. For me, at least. So, all in all, this stanza reads in a choppy way for me. Also, I don't like: "little checks". Let me try and help you here:

[redwhitered veils drape
over her back
in twisted muslin alternations]

Yeah, that probably was a bad suggestion... Sorry.

Theirs, care-worn, torn at the seams and frayed. Hers, perfect white and creaseless, the very vision of porcelain.

I don't think "Theirs" is important or significant enough to be put on a separate line... is it?

Anyway, it's a personal preference, you're free to keep it like that.

Her hair is as black as theirs – it should be, it was theirs. It hung in loose locks from one lovestruck girl, cut off and sold for trinkets and lust. Now the curls are tighter, wrapped in checkered ribbons.

First line here - I get what you want to say, and it's a pretty thought what you did here. But I think you've presented it in a bland way, as you say: it should be, it was theirs. Um... you can say something like "she wore their hair/ she hid her head with a wig knit by their hair fibers/please slap me cause I need to stop rambling... you know, something along these lines maybe, or, just, try to present the thought in a more interesting way.

As for the rest of the stanza, then I think it works fine. I like the idea of checkered ribbons.

A cycle of past entangled in that hair (bleeds into the ribbon) the love/lust check pattern, rose-dye and innocence,

You should be careful how you use your parenthesis. As a reader, I expect that the lines that include parenthesis should flow and be linked together smoothly whether I read them with or without parenthesis. For example:

[removeeeed]

^ whatever. Not sure if these lines make sense anyway, but you see, the lines flow with and without parenthesis. (I love you/I love picking... for you). And usually, the usage of parenthesis in a poem is to present a hidden thought, or an afterthought, perhaps. But here, it seems like you had no idea where to go with this and just wanted a way to connect your ideas, though, it didn't work much for me. And it shows especially with the parenthesis; your poem's lines need to be limbs-- attached, and growing from one another. Try being implicit and connective, use all your lines to get across this meaning in some way, rather than one bulky one at the end of a line. Don't forget that you can always use dashes if you want to have an idea interfering. You don't have to write every idea in parenthesis just because it seems like you're explaining smething or wanting to have an interfering or hidden thought or whatever.

And I don't know why, but I keep thinking of: "the lovecrosslust pattern" instead of "the love/lust check pattern". I feel like it sounds better, but maybe it's just me.

passed as it will be to a girl (blond [blonde] this time) who will forsake ribbons and dolls to join this greater game, and she will sew her dress in checks, (it will be cheaper, and the prick of the needle will allures [will allure]?her mind, spin her memories away to better times) twisting her hair, still pretending each dye is pure.

For a not-so-long-poem, I feel like you had too many parenthesis. As I said, I'm a fan of parenthesis. A big fan. But the way you use them is what decides whether they're effective or not, and using them a lot in this poem just made them... less... effective.

The last lines were good. Um. Hope I helped a bit, and yes, I sound like a total hypocrite, because I am one. So yeah... excuse me. Feel free to send me a hate mail and cuss and all that. <3

Overall thoughts, you have to work more on your connections. And don't overuse parenthesis, because actually, it just got boring for me... or maybe that's because it's hot here and I'm too lazy to go study history although it's about 5 PM here. And I should really stop now because I'm starting to run out of coherency... again.

***

Xeroderma Pigmentosum

Golden locks,
old fashioned with
perfumed chiffon ribbons tangled—
dangled
loosely on velvet-covered
shoulders that mirrored
a starry sky
before sunset.

Thymine dimers,
the doctor had said,
are what pricked
at your glossy skin
with blue strokes—translucent.

You thought sitting
under an oak tree
that obscured light
would shield
you from UV rays liberated
by a dawning sun
willing to assail your melanin
and feed on microscopic cells.

A shadow floats over
your head,
and it’s your elder sister
unraveling those ribbons
and combing your hair,

telling you she
needs to find a job
so that she can afford
buying an umbrella
and sunscreen bottles
for your thinning skin.

Originally Posted by Rose [ Spoiler: U]Xeroderma Pigmentosum[/U] Golden locks, Not the most interesting beginning, which makes me a bit sad because this is such an interesting poem. I feel like it takes you a long time to get to the heart of the poem, which the woman's disorder (I swear I've read a poem by you on this topic before, or maybe you were just talking about it). Not that I think you should immediately let the reader know that she definitely has something wrong with her, but this entire stanza seems a bit unnecessary. old fashioned with perfumed chiffon ribbons tangled— I trip over this line, every time. It's a mouthful of... can't really describe it. Thick words? I don't know, but it's a lot to take in in the space of only four words and I think something could be done to make the phonetics of it simpler. dangled With the line above, I'm not a huge fan of the little rhyming thing you've got. It's more just my preference, though, I could see it appealing to other people. It just distracts me, which is the main reason I don't like rhymes. I don't think it needs its own line, either. Doesn't seem all that important. loosely on velvet-covered shoulders that mirrored a starry sky before sunset. I mentioned it earlier, but I really don't think it's all that much of an exciting stanza. You haven't really grabbed me yet. Thymine dimers, This is what grabs me, mostly because I'm like 'wtf is that?' but also because it finally hints at something medical going on. I like this. the doctor had said, are what pricked at your glossy skin At the introduction of 'your' I feel a bit confused. In the first stanza it seemed to be just regular third person, talking about a woman, but here it's in second, and you keep with second for the rest of the poem. I like second person in poetry - I like the way it grabs me. I guess all I'm trying to say is that I really don't like the first stanza xD with blue strokes—translucent. translucent is another word that I don't like being 'on its own'. It's not really on its own, but it's separated from the rest of the line. I like the word itself, but I feel like you could have put it somewhere else. Maybe replacing 'glossy skin' because that image doesn't really strike me as much as translucent skin does. You thought sitting under an oak tree that obscured light would shield you from UV rays liberated by a dawning sun willing to assail your melanin and feed on microscopic cells. The only problem I have with this stanza is the line breaks. It's extremely disjointed, like you just decided to put a break here and there because the line itself felt good that way. It's not flowing for me, though. I put emphasis on line breaks when I read poetry, rather than just reading it like prose. And the line breaks here need to be fixed. A shadow floats over your head, and it’s your elder sister unraveling those ribbons and combing your hair, Not my favorite stanza. Kind of boring, a bit like the first stanza. All I get from this is that the sister loves her, and that can easily be portrayed in other, more exciting ways. telling you she I don't really like this line break. I would much rather you keep 'needs' on this line. needs to find a job so that she can afford buying an umbrella and sunscreen bottles for your thinning skin. For the last stanza, I just decided to put in line breaks that I thought flowed better: telling you she needs to find a job so that she can afford buying an umbrella and sunscreen bottles for your thinning skin. So it's really just those first three lines I messed with. Haha, I still don't really like the second line. Whatever, I don't make any sense at all. Just ignore me. It's the first and fourth stanzas, I believe, that need some spice to them, and other than that it's just simple things like line breaks and images that need a little sprucing. Good job. Wow, there was just this huge scary thunder. Sorry, random.

Removed.

Spoiler:

This crit has been deleted for Foyle reasons.

Curve me a hollow, vast craters where the candyfloss-dust and moonshine mix,
where the coconuts grow from the dirt
(and the dirt from the coconut;
the hollow is circular, and one crater falls on the other’s head in the Ferris -go-round).
This is the moon,
waterless,
and the fairground bubbles that drift from its surface.
But where is the child?
The candyfloss is eaten, the coconuts thrown down. The wheels once turned.
The child is the crater. It swallows the young things, churns them through dust,
until the faire is born again.
The child’s thrown coconut soars, turns a pirouette about itself and falls
while the faire dances to the plummeting music, slowly rising – rising with
the tumbling acrobats in the stomach, turning with no spotlights. But soon,
soon, when a new child sees the sky, the drum will sound, the lights will blare.
The old child implodes to the new child’s circus.

just as a quick critique, work on not making such hollow images. You need concrete reference points, and to describe sensation. Sensation is the basis of imagery, as it is the basis of perception etc. Stop worrying about impressing the reader and focus on moving them. Also forget about the parenthesis, they don't contribute enough to validate their awkwardness. If you're going to completely throw form to the wind and wax Whitman on the reader, the verse has got to be damn good, and the lack of structure has to somehow help. I'd suggest editting heavily. Try to justify each and every word, analyzing the meaning of it and its worth in the poem.

I have little to add to what Caleb's said. I notice that you often drop in little plays on words like "Ferris-go-round". The problem is that it's really obvious to the reader that you intended it to be stylistic and impressive. As a result the effect falls flat.

Poetry requires diligence, not intellect. After chatting to you earlier, I think you need to reassess your values when it comes to poetry, and allow yourself to strip your writing down. I only give this advice because this time six months ago I was writing nonsensical images, like, "Grey shrapnel embedded / in the mouths of the young" purely because I thought they made me sound clever.

Most people aim to write:
(a) cathartically -- to get your emotions down onto paper after a shit day
(b) artistically -- to use the craft to incite emotion in the reader
(c) impressively -- to use the craft to incite awe in the reader with your talent
People don't necesssarily aim to do all three all at once, and maybe not as coherently as this, but here's me just lumping the three main reasons for writing into categories. Most serious writers, and I suspect almost everyone who frequents the poetry forum, has a degree of desire within them to write impressively. It's only natural to want to be given credit for your talent.

It's when you lose sight of the cathartic and artistic purposes of writing that you get into trouble. Your reason for writing should never be solely 'I want people to think I'm good at this'.

Now I'm nowhere near a qualified poet, but I've reached a steady track. Caleb's advice of making sure that every word counts is good. A similar exercise (one which I found really helpful in pulling me out from the depths) is to write a poem like you would write a letter, just with a few line breaks. An imperfect example:

Dear Mrs Banks -- I'm sorry
we drew on the freezer door
at the local petrol station.
It was the heat of the engines,
our cheeks were flushed
with oil fumes. I don't know quite
what came over us. Still, better to draw in biro
than in petrol, I suppose!

... You get the gist. If you feel the urge to colour in a little imagery here and there, go for it. But keep it simple, and know when to stop. Don't panic -- just look at the first poem you posted in this thread, compared to this most recent poem. You're getting better fast.

-----------

I have a huge problem with this following poem. The first stanza can't stand by itself, but the subsequent stanzas shift the focus entirely. Any thoughts on which concept is the stronger, or how to connect the two, would be appreciated so much:

Spoiler:

Poor virus, bridged
irrevocably to a patient’s lung capacity,
military vocabulary, whitewashed walls.
You churn human imagination into a pus ball
where every day becomes a Struggle
where waking up constitutes Battling On
and you draw out the immune system as a legion of crippled soldiers
retiring from war, only to find the battle
recommence on their doorstep.

You parade through me proudly
-- or maybe my veins play proud host to you;
together we paint my innards black and crabby, emptying me
into a sterile sink until I flop
like a fish on a sailing ship, rubbery skin
almost green with grief; I’ve been parted from
an incessantly jabbering sea of friends and priests
and my feet kiss a wobbly platform. Father,

I’m scared I might drown.

But poor virus,
you yawn through my blood like a lullaby
-- not so human as a snake, never so cheerful
as a marching band. You fill me with white milk
till my cells are pregnant with the future
all colourful against the backdrop of daily routine
like watercress grown in a cotton wool coffin.