Thanks for the thoughtful critique. I’ll try to improve the second half, and yes the stanza about the man is deliberately vague. I hadn’t thought of him as a son, that’s a great interpretation.
Poetry / The Last Daydreams of a Dying Old Man
She throws my name like a hammer
Then smiles
Then leaves
Till I forget my name again
And yet remember that smile
I remember a shadow
That fled and I followed
The buildings, the blocks
That hid him from me
Was he the one with the broken leg
Who died while his mother slept
While the doctor was away?
Was he the one that came out too soon
And forgot to cry, to breathe, to live?
Was he the one that came back too late
A damaged thing?
He tried to kill me once
And I him
We both failed and said goodbye
I walk twisted and ugly
Through echoing halls
By closed doors
Until I arrive here
And it is night again
I hear a world of sounds
Some of them unknown to me
A voice that could be mine
If I could share it
Is saying something to someone
(Whose thoughts, though made of the same material as mine, I cannot hear)
I get distracted by lights, hovering above me
Almost beating
Almost alive
I am in bed
Awake
I think I’m screaming
They touch my naked body
Though I beg them not to
Drag me somewhere
Where I fall asleep again
My lips move
I hear no sounds
Lights burn my eyes
While someone pets me
Their gloves are cold
I must have been born into gloves like these
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qwesto reviewed Version 2 -
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I really like this. The tone is consistent throughout the entire piece, very dark and grim. Perhaps a bit abstract, though. The vague references and dream-like anecdotes, while adding a very haunting quality, take away from the personal nature you no doubt wish to convey. Try toning down the ambiguity just a little bit to keep that eerie feel while intensifying emotions. Also, I’m not so sure “hammer” is a effective comparison in the first line. Good, though. Definately worth hammering out the small things and submitting.
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dansolomon reviewed Version 2 -
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Wow. This is great stuff, a very compelling and convincing character you’ve created and a terrific treatment of the concept. Lines like she throws my name like a hammer and the one that came back too late / a damanged thing do not fade quickly. Good work.
I have some problems with some of the other lines, however. Mostly, I think once you get out of the character’s inner life and bring us into the action of the piece, I lost interest. I didn’t really care about where he was, what he thought of the lights, who was touching him, any of that – I wanted to spend more time with the memories that were escaping him. Watching them go was a pleasure. I never really got a feel for where he was – a hospital or a nursing home, something like that – but it wasn’t compelling or vivid, more like a background than an environment. The compelling environments you created were in his head, so once we leave that territory we’re given a lot less to get involved with.
The roles of the men in the second stanza is confusing. That seems deliberate, but I thought I’d point it out in case it wasn’t. I had the vague impression that they were his sons, but no real basis for it and every time I re-read them I saw that they could be anyone else, really. If that was intentional, to mirror the confusion he’s experiencing, terrific. If it’s not, you may consider giving some more detail.
Regardless, fine writing here. I’ll be looking for more of your stuff.
—d
Ancienthwy reviewed Version 1 -
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You used so many right words in which it made it strong. I really like this peice.
StutheRabbit reviewed Version 1 -
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wow. um, i usually try and find something constructive to say even if i have to stretch for it. this poem is excellent. the flow, the pacing, the rhythm are all great. i think maybe you could vary the line length a little more to make certain thing stand out and others not so much, a few places would benefit from punctuation, and the end of the second stanza was pretty vague, although it works that way. i might describe how or why he tried to kill you, and perhaps expound on the title a little but, but really there’s not much i would change.
Goddess2006 reviewed Version 1 -
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I like the circular motion of the dying man being held by the same kind of gloves he was born into. Aloud, it reads very prose-y, which bugs me as a poem. I love the hammer in the first stanza. I like the ghosts, this is very surreal. Good job.
tash reviewed Version 1 -
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Very, very good. excellent imagery and sensory words. I can see and feel what this person is going through. Good job!
K_J_White reviewed Version 1 -
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I sat with my grandfather, never leaving his side for 3 days until he died. This very eloquently reminded me of that time. (and the way that he seemed to be seeing and speaking with persons I could not see, bits of his life bubbling to the surface of his mind).
This is an awsome, powerful piece. You made me remember.
Excellent.
Heidith reviewed Version 1 -
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wow powerful introduction…right into dementia.
the second stanza..is this referring to trying to understand who he is …confusing himself with other patients? I enjoyed the language but wasn’t sure of the context.
I love the reference to being born into the same gloves that care for him as he dies.
This reminds me of a poem my friend wrote about his mother dying. I can send you a link if you’re interested.
if you’re interested here is the link:
Amugaba reviewed Version 1 -
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Hi,
very beautifull written, i like they way you write … it’s alost the same style I use …
Good job, hope to find more poems of you …
Kind Regards,
Pascale
fried_green_tomatoes reviewed Version 1 -
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This poem is beautiful and sad. To think of the ill, old, newborn, and
unloved being touched in such a clinical manner. Where was the warmth or love? You capture the awful feeling of being turned away as a person. Looking for someone to grasp onto, to relieve the feeling of rejection. I really think you did a fine job. It touched me very much.
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