critiquing is very hard!

Justin, your poems are extraordinarily good. I like how descriptive they are and how you managed to infuse certain sentiments and ideas in them. It is extremely difficult for me to take it apart because they are so neatly crafted. I have little to comment on your style, it is very wordswordian yet distinctive. You create an interesting voice for the reader, distant yet still welcoming. These poems sound very private (especially "sitting across...") as if one had stumbled upon hearing a monologue amongst yourself.

I noticed you like to conclude your poems with some sort of diversion. The concluding stanza seems always curt and short. Its a little "punch" if you will. You pull it off well, but sometimes it seems the diversion is a bit tacked on for the sake of ending a poem. I notice this mostly in "to a willow....", the sudden rhyming pattern and meter is a surprise after such a strong prose. It sounds almost lightly comic, as to bring your romanticization of the tree "back to earth". i'd be interested as to know why you choose to write this last stanza. I like the poem, especially your description of the tombstones.

"Rust and Fire" is a very strong poem with much invested energy that is especially apparent in your language such as in the lines "...my heart’s eyes" and " you are ablaze" and others. I like how it seems you are speaking to someone in particular, yet the poem may be directed to all women. However, i find that the poem is a bit of a contradiction since you are speaking of women yet there is no voice from her. She remains your subject that you describe from your (masculine) point of few. it reads almost voyeuristically. I know your intentions are good, but this is such criticism you may receive from other readers. perhaps removing your intimacy with the subject by taking the "I" may universal the voice, rather than keeping it yours or belong to someone. To make it ambiguous of who is speaking is one strategy you might want to consider.

"Sitting across..." is a very sweet poem. It is very introverted and speculative of "common people". I refer to Wordsworth's romanticization of the peasants when i say that. You take a portrait of a stranger and make him familiar through imagination. It is a very sweet and magical transformation that only poetry can allow. My only question is why make this stranger suddenly become a close and gracious figure to the reader, and then take away that familiarity with a latin phrase? It is rather esoteric and often not associated with "an art of the people". And again, as in "To a willow..." the poem ends with a curt volta-like turn, bringing us back to grounds. I would like to know why you choose to end the poem like that?

thank you so much for submitting your poems; they were a pleasure to read. I hope to further discuss them and read more in the future.

Annie.

My Submissions for Possible Submission

“To a Willow Tree in Mt. Pleasant Cemetery”

Wisdom found in each drooping branch,
nestled in the beard of an old man
who stands stooped but firm at the edge of the world...

(cascading)

...surrounded by the speeding monuments of the living -
above, below, around and through -
that infringe upon the slabbed stones of the dead;

past the Eaton mausoleum
where men bring their excesses,
and lions keep their secrets,
to the grave.

(cas-
cad-
ing)

What memories and tears
of long ago romances and funereal rites
have you etched into your bark
and drunk into your roots?

This is our waterfall of cascading leaves
that do not drown us but embrace us
as in the arms and sighs
of a hundred friends and lovers.

Oh, wily willow tree,
rain your wiry willowed branches
    down on me.


“Rust and Fire”

In the limitless yet discerning view of my heart’s eyes
  I see your life, breathing heavily,
  as though strained and tested,
  and for one moment
  you are ablaze
  in rust and fire.

But I will not go to you as a saviour
  or label you as a fallen angel
  or think you virginal in your sleep,
  perfectly innocent,
  as even in your dreams
  you are less than innocent.

For you are a woman
  (worthy of praise enough)
  and above all
a human being.


“Sitting Across from Me on the Subway”

His hands are large
and calloused,
probably from playing guitar and building things,
both an art of the people.

He could use his hands to lift you up
and place you gently upon the
               bed,
leaving sparks across your waist
from where he held you,
gooseflesh trailing up your back and
    shoulders (
more romantic than
cutis ansirina)

                  My hands are small and
                              weak.

eliot is over rated anyways

Thank you Justin for your insight readings of the poems.

I particularly like your reading of Song of Childhood, and your interest in the “child’s mind”. I don’t doubt the twins have anything to do with this interest.

There is a prevalent nostalgia in the poems we’ve chosen, particularly in Wordsworth’s ode. However, the sentiment of lost childhood I find is somewhat different from Hendke’s. Wordsworth is one as we can say for the sake of a better word, a “romanticized” lost, where the mind and imagination of the child are epitomic faculties of a human spirit untouched by the pollutions of civilization. It is this ethereal and ever fleeting moment of pure innocence, of art without language, of love without judgment, that dissipates in the exchange of social order, etiquette, and minimum wage.

I find In Hendke’s poem however, the theme of childhood is not so much explored as a stage in one’s life, but instead looks at the characteristics of children that are inherent in all of humanity. As you’ve mentioned Justin, that the refrain does point out to the audience, making the anonymous “child” the reader. Thus, the child that is in all of us, is the inherent nature of Man’s curious being. This is not to be mistaken with the idea that we are all childish at heart, but that our existence is also one as fragile as a child’s, that we as a species are foolish and curious, that we have grown up, but not grown out our nature to inquire, play, indulge, and joyously love.

I think it’s interesting that we all choose one poem dealing with the theme of childhood. Song For Naomi, is an interesting deviation from the others I think, and one Justin, I’m sure you appreciate. It differs from the others because of the voice of a father. Unlike the others that investigate and explore the idea of childhood, Layton’s voice is almost distant as an onlooker, a protective father watching his daughter from a distance. The refrain “who is that…” however, does sound nostalgic, as if her growing up so fast makes her unrecognizable to him. Unlike the others, I think, it is a personal poem about his growing daughter. The poem is not particularly a mourn, an ode, but a gentle internal sighing. I love this poem.

As for the Eliots, I don’t blame you Justin for being so curt with him. He is a subject on his own. I love Eliot because of the damning banal existentialism that plays like a violin throughout his poems. The wasteland as you boys might have guessed should be on my list, but preludes, and song for… are the two that really get me going. Like Layton, they are portrait poems of sentiments painted in the modernist fashion.

Thanks again Justin for the critiques, and I apologize with being so late with mine.

I would like to hear Peter’s thoughts on the poems before we move on to workshop each other’s poem.

I think a good way to start our workshop is to read one member’s poem(s) that he (or me) wants to critique. That group will read the poem and provide feedback before the poet shares his (or her) own reasoning behind the poem.

If you are comfortable Justin, do you mind if we could workshop your poems first?

Annie.