dedalus Posted January 13, 2012 Posted January 13, 2012 Down the village street she goes, past Tescos, past the illiterate graffiti delimiting horizons. Wee Timmy & Sheila are away with the mother, never him, and beyond is the sea, Portsmouth! I’ll join the Navy, lose ten stone and stop shopping at the Paki corner store, every lost ounce will keep Britain free as once it were before. Now the French are over the sea , behaving themselves, and the good old days are o’er; I can’t go running down the docks like I did with Maggie and Silly Liz nor act the happy whore. My life will change, you’ll see, and a range of opportunities, those things will open out before me, no more charity communities, no more pill-popping fuckin life. I will attack France, they seem to need it, and they are right across the water within, you might say, spitting distance. Never mind Iraq and Afghanistan so far the fuck away you’d be having no interest. You need wars with people you know. Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim
Frances Posted January 20, 2012 Posted January 20, 2012 Hallo - I'm new on this forum. I like the subject matter and tone of this poem, and I'd like to offer some crit, but not sure if you just want comments or if crit is welcome too? Frances Quote
dedalus Posted January 20, 2012 Author Posted January 20, 2012 Hi Frances, welcome aboard! As far as I know you can do whatever you like as long as you keep your language relatively non-hysterical and steer away from personal attacks. We're open to ideas and opinions and there are no Site Nazis (thank God!) which makes this a rather comfortable home for misfits and people who are actually poets. Shove in a poem or two, why don't you? Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim
Frances Posted January 21, 2012 Posted January 21, 2012 Hi Dedalus thanks! I suppose I was also asking if you personally wanted just comments or crit...I am the kind of neurotic artist who is particularly masochistic in my desire for lots of criticism and analysis, and sometimes that's not, er, appropriate or desirable for other people. I've posted something of mine, but I jumped the poetry ship a while ago to music and am not quire sure where my latest writing sits yet. I have one main comment about your poem, which is that the voice of it doesn't seem entirely consistent. There, is at some points, what seems to be the voice of the knowing author bleeding through, interfering with the very compelling character portrait. How old is this person? When were they born? Is this a woman? I have assumptions based on the content of the poem, but they don't seem consistent with the way in which she speaks. I also thought the strength of the opening, the great energy of it, stalls a tiny bit on 'illiterate' and 'delimiting'. It felt a bit too verbose and 'showing instead of telling', and the opening is otherwise very immediate and real. Finally : It's nice to be getting a reminder of what poetry can explore, express and achieve. Frances Quote
abstrect-christ Posted January 24, 2012 Posted January 24, 2012 Nice narrative as usual Dedalus. When i read it I saw an older woman who's somewhat bitter and waitig for her opportunity at lifes goal -- though is she from Brighton/hove or the more religious parts of sussex? Cause that bitterness isn't characteristic of a church goer. lol also [R] I believe belongs on the title. Quote Pinhead "Unbearable, isn't it? The suffering of strangers, the agony of friends. There is a secret song at the center of the world, Joey, and its sound is like razors through flesh." Joey "I don't believe you." Pinhead "Oh come, you can hear its faint echo right now. I'm here to turn up the volume. To press the stinking face of humanity into the dark blood of its own secret heart." "There's a starving beast inside my chestplaying with me until he's boredThen, slowly burying his tusks in my fleshcrawling his way out he rips open old woundsWhen I reach for the knife placed on the bedside tableits blade reflects my determined faceto plant it in my chestand carve a hole so deep it snaps my veinsHollow me out, I want to feel empty"-- "Being Able To Feel Nothing" by Oathbreakerhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBPy3xNwwL8 "Sky turns to a deeper grey the sun fades by the moon hell's come from the distant hills tortures dreams of the doomed and they pray, yet they prey and they pray, still they prey"-- "Still They Prey" by Coughhttps://soundcloud.com/relapserecords/sets/cough-still-they-pray
dedalus Posted January 24, 2012 Author Posted January 24, 2012 Frances, m'dear ... Fair comment, as far as it goes. I'm not too bothered about criticism & analysis, which is not to say I don't listen. I do. I've been known to make radical changes in the light of comments received. For the most part, though, once I finish a poem more or less (usually less) to my own satisfaction, I tend to move on willy-nilly to the next one, leaving what you might call a string of poor bastard children trailing in my wake. Except for some of the Irish ones, the ones on Irish themes, because I want to get those fuckers as pinpoint accurate as I can. I do value your comments and would encourage you to combine your interest in music with the written word! Abstrect-christ, my friend ... Basically the narrator is an ex-party girl whose best days are over and she knows it. You think I should put in an [R] rating for language? Whatever you say. I'll see to that immediately. In the meantime, you might want to stop getting laid in a lawn chair every time you post .... . Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim
abstrect-christ Posted January 24, 2012 Posted January 24, 2012 Lol hey I've written a lot worse and swear like a sailor myself so this isn't to me, it's just in the rules for the f bombs is all and partying hard can make you old faster... Maybe that's why I sensed some bitter old woman. However... It's fun okay, can you stop doing something fun such as getting laid in a lawn chair? I bet not... Quote Pinhead "Unbearable, isn't it? The suffering of strangers, the agony of friends. There is a secret song at the center of the world, Joey, and its sound is like razors through flesh." Joey "I don't believe you." Pinhead "Oh come, you can hear its faint echo right now. I'm here to turn up the volume. To press the stinking face of humanity into the dark blood of its own secret heart." "There's a starving beast inside my chestplaying with me until he's boredThen, slowly burying his tusks in my fleshcrawling his way out he rips open old woundsWhen I reach for the knife placed on the bedside tableits blade reflects my determined faceto plant it in my chestand carve a hole so deep it snaps my veinsHollow me out, I want to feel empty"-- "Being Able To Feel Nothing" by Oathbreakerhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBPy3xNwwL8 "Sky turns to a deeper grey the sun fades by the moon hell's come from the distant hills tortures dreams of the doomed and they pray, yet they prey and they pray, still they prey"-- "Still They Prey" by Coughhttps://soundcloud.com/relapserecords/sets/cough-still-they-pray
dedalus Posted January 25, 2012 Author Posted January 25, 2012 These days I prefer comfortable surroundings ... not to say there haven't been some peculiar alignments. OK, 'nuff said! Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim
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