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Emily
Poetry / No Beginning (Analysis)
Where warm winds meet cold waters,
I am driving through folds of Maine fog,
the secret inch between the door and the wall.
It slows my car, it flicks on my headlights
feeling around for the cliffs that threaten in
this mist like distant rumbles of thunder,
or that thing that blurries dreams, that always
abandons me on an edge of revelation.
O the heart attacks I’ve known when
he nearly appears– those hot tentacles.
I admire this Maine, I am to move here
in the coming months to begin work
on a masters in Oceanography.
I stop at the library- peruse the journals,
the books spread before me, the flickering
computers- but his hot tentacles rule.
My mind is not lost in the science-
the molecules, the microscopes, nor papers,
but rather the fog of the ocean, the
blue dream that crushes every machine
we could invent beneath its blinding pressure,
the dream that rounds me up into whirlpools
at his thought. I see my life spinning
against the currents, and it is revealed
to be nothing but 1000 pieces.
These are the wails I was born knowing
in the delivery room, I look back
into that void, a hunted school of silvery mackerel
building a wall with their thick bodies-
Look into it! A mirror of swirling
reflections growing, but
always returning to the homeland, I
am home here- in the cold, sopping wet, and unable
to see farther than the length of my arm.
I drive on, the slim roads of middle Maine-
spires of evergreen, fog pockets the
hills dip in and out of. I could never know
anything in all this placeless history.
Seaweed of the Damariscotta drapes
the roadside, it knows this, this placeless
poem knows this. I can see all the dark
oceans before me in all their cliffs, I
pull over and step into the cold empire
of the estuary - water-spiders, dragon flies
glance over her surface, pocking
the green veil every moment or two.
It looked like seaweed at first, that red
snake of a body drifting towards me,
so I reached out just to touch it,
but as I did it suddenly wrapped
its tentacles down to the bones of my wrist.
The sea nettle clung so tightly my pulse
yelped in the outbreak of fire,
but within the circle my pulse still clung
just as tightly to the dream. Imagine
wanting the love of seaweed and sea nettle
so much you would take their poisonous sting
on the grains of your own streaked pink tongue.
“For with my love,” you would say,
“rough to rough, sin to sin, I still love you, in fact
this is what I love so passionately about you.”
I am in a constant fog of what’s always
been inside me, what I’ll never know nor
understand, but will always feel, no matter what.
I lose again and again no matter what
form I come in, but again and again I come in.
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kahr reviewed Version 2 -
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peter_sitkowski reviewed Version 2 -
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TinaR2684 reviewed Version 2 -
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crimsonarchon reviewed Version 2 -
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“or that thing that blurries dreams”
-Blurries should probably be changed to “blurs”
“I was born knowing, I look back
into that void, convoluted, heart-strained”
-heart-strained seems weak, look for a synonym that fits better?
Those are the only gripes I have from a technical standpoint, other than the fact that some of the verses are a bit clunky, such as:
““rough to rough, sin to sin, I still love you,
in fact this is what I love so passionately about you.”
I am in a constant fog
of who’s always been inside me,
what I’ll never know nor understand,”
Try to even it out a bit? As in, roughly the same syllable count per line or an alternating count that is the same every other line? Just an idea. Other than that, I like it except I’m not really sure what the heck you’re talking about.
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zionicyouth87 reviewed Version 2 -
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I like the flow and rhythm of this poem. Good use of imagery. The stanzas work well with one another, and though the subject matter is not fresh or original, you deliver it with great technical competence.
chris_cross reviewed Version 2 -
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Hrm. This is interesting. I sometimes get confused as to what you are talking about. I assume you are talking about, of course, Maine, and how it always drags you back, no matter how hard you try to stay away. I like how you use so much personification; the entire poem seems to be you describing your unending love for this place. Thank you for sharing!
s2poets reviewed Version 2 -
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Your love for the ocean is clear,
a good command of the language bot somewhat forced.
I’d like to see a stark contrast, you
looking at the waves, what do they represent to you?
Nice flow and pace to this.
Elithian reviewed Version 1 -
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I agree with the critique; the work lacks clarity and direction. You have some nice imagery placed in the work but I am left wondering what exactly you would like to tell me. The title fits, “no beginning”. The problem is there is no middle or end. I suspect it may help to think of the story you want to tell and get clear on how your images do or do not do that. Put a clear beginning, middle and end in the work; make it make sense. It is also good to not mix metaphors; find a theme and stick with it. The imagery should be consistent with and compliment the theme. Your metaphors jump around too much. The reader can’t follow you. If it is a vision you want to convey bring those images in that do that. If it is a feeling stay focused on that. I believe your work here represents the ramblings of an undisciplined mind on a country drive in Maine. Poetry is disciplined.
gbaurbis reviewed Version 1 -
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I’d love to critique this poem stanza by stanza because you have spent a lot of time on this and deserve it. So I will try, but if I sputter halfway through give me credit. I do this, because if I was editing I would have read it and passed it on to my readers, mainly because it looks good on the page. I apologize for not explaining everything. My remarks are not negative, they are for you to take or leave. I could say how great you write, and I think you know you are a very good writer. And, if I was still editing I’d ask my readers if this was publishable.
1st Stz. I think the 2nd line would work best as the first line.
2nd Stz. What is “It.” Are there cliffs in Maine?
3rd Stz. I like the enjambment going in to the 4th stz.
4th Stz. In Maine I think of lobsters not squid(tentacles)
5th Stz. no need to capit. oceanography, and “read” is better than “peruse.” Peruse seems heavyhanded.
6th Stz. you are enjambing each stz. which is not necessary. End some of them with a plain old period. This is a great poetic device but too much is disturbing.
7th Stz. describe the fog, describe the pressure, imagery
8th Stz. this seems like a lot of fluff you went from some concrete scientific imagery before and then in to the 9th stz. I’d delete this stz.
9th Stz. At this point I would like to see you describe some crustaceans, fish, anything, the submarine, or even the color of the waves
10th stz. I like the thought of all us being born out of the ocean
11th stz. finally you give us a image of silvery mackerel why not before?
12th stz. another stanza that can be deleted
13th stz. another stanza that can be deleted
Interruption: The seas are filled with phosphorous, huge scary fish, mammals, scary nuclear submarines, garbage, seagulls and terns, I think as a writer you can push yourself to let us see and hear these things.
14th stz. I will have to stop here. The rest of the work has be back on land. I think you have two great poems here.
You put a huge amount of work in this and I commend you.
Please take this as constructive. I’d love to see your revisions.
Break this in to two poems, develop imagery. Bravo. Gregory
ScorpionHunter reviewed Version 1 -
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This is a little vague and ambiguous. I suggest a few lines describing the “thing” in some detail.
The enjambment is worked nicely.
Keep up the good writing!
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