In the Shadows of Trees

In the Shadows of Trees

We walk in the darkness of Balboa Park
after the Glass Menagerie. A flock of
geese showers in the succulence of grass,
squawks and then wings over our heads.
The others duck and shriek and hoot
but I plunk on my toes; I long for their
feathers to scrape my scalp, for their
infested skin to graze my face, for their
beaks to puncture the holes of my eyes.

The air follows them as they soar above
blue-gold buildings made from concrete
molds of Spanish forts. We walk past
a Cyclops, his immense hands flowered by
olive-hued limbs, with one colossal eye
that sits in its trunk. Sarah says, “I adore this
tree: its curves, its size.”

She yearns to hide in its vast branches, to
be protected in the smooth obscurity of
its arms, to be closer to the moon, to feel
the sentiments of being held by a large, sturdy
man that could shield you from foreign accents
and souvenirs. The stoutness of its crust tickles the
moonlike paleness of your abdomen, the silk
of its leaves caresses and embraces your face.

She is a small woman, and I’ve never even
known that she had a world nesting inside her.
Like Laura, she is a woman of broken glass and old
records, of veils and big brothers. The tree is
out of her reach, bordered by fence: at night,
her husband positions three quilts on the bed
for their cool bodies to bond under.

Maybe if I reach for her stone shoulder,
if I murmur to her in warm monotones, if I paint
a painting for her, if I write a play for her,
she would understand me. I would plant
a tree for her: a small one, one she could care
for and water, one she could love. When the
stench from the zoo bleeds at our feet,
we leave to our separate cars and drive
on long, twisting highways and cleft roads,
until we reach home. The air is dry like
the fog on cold mornings, and children
play in the shade of trees: big trees,
small trees.

Alright, I thought this peice had some great imagery and what I think is was symbolism. But this is not like any other peice I've read of yours.

S1
-Well, I couldn't get the significance of geese, but there was a part after it that sounded rather personal and I guess emotional in some way, but it's unclear.

S2
-The Cyclops seems like an important but passing part of the poem. Is it another person? Is there a tree called Cyclops or are you just taking the Cyclops and posing it as a tree? It is well put, I'll have to hand you that.

S3
-This stanza leaves me unsure. Sarah seems to have a preference for the Cyclops. Is the Cyclops a man? Or some feature of a man? Anyway, that stanza is hiding something. It's well put though.
-"your abdomen, the silk
of its leaves caresses and embraces your face"
Who is the 'your' addressed to? I guess it is Sarah but I'm unsure again.
-Also line 5 sounds wrong here. It isn't diffusing any tension and I'd say you should leave it out.

S4
Something went wrong. With all the "I's" coming in I feel a little left out.
You do manage this great charectarisation though-
"Like Laura, she is a woman of broken glass and old
records, of veils and big brothers."
I especially liked 'big brothers'. It gives a deep dimension.

S5
-I'm still feeling left out. And this feeling reaches an apex when you mention "paint a painting for her, If I write a play for her". It lacks beauty and it spoils the tone of the poem. But hey, I loved the ending.

=> Overall, I loved this peice. Except for some parts where you start to talk personally. I saw it in "Soup Kitchen" too, I think. This one started well and reached its climax in stanza 2 itself. S4 was a little flat and S5 started shaky....only the first couple of lines.
As a whole this approaches your best at some points. I'm still confused, which was expected, about the whole point of it. I hope it's pointless. And do say what you read. It could help. Thanks for the read.

Gadi. wrote:In the Shadows of Trees

We walk in the darkness of Balboa Park
after the Glass Menagerie. A flock of Reconsider line-break; the last word should always be effective, strong, not something like "of"
geese showers in the succulence of grass,
squawks and then wings over our heads. I think it may sound better without the "and" in there. Great imagery though.
The others duck and shriek and hoot
but I plunk on my toes; I long for their Again, line-break; I think that if you had "feathers" ending this line, it would be better
feathers to scrape my scalp, for their
infested skin to graze my face, for their Yeah, whether you did this for effect or not, ending three consecutive lines with "their" isn't effective at all, sorry.
beaks to puncture the holes of my eyes. Um, not, "in my eyes"? And why, exactly, does the persona wnat death/pain/suffering from the geese?

The air follows them as they soar above
blue-gold buildings made from concrete
molds of Spanish forts. We walk past
a Cyclops, his immense hands flowered by
olive-hued limbs, with one colossal eye
that sits in its trunk. Sarah says, “I adore this Would sound better id ended on "tree"
tree: its curves, its size.” I really liked the imagery here, effective and rich

She yearns to hide in its vast branches, to "to" on next line
be protected in the smooth obscurity of "of" on next line
its arms, to be closer to the moon, to feel
the sentiments of being held by a large, sturdy
man that could shield you from foreign accents "a man who"
and souvenirs. The stoutness of its crust tickles the "the" on next line
moonlike paleness of your abdomen, the silk
of its leaves caresses and embraces your face. Again, great imagery, and portraying of emotions through it. Um, wait, so what exactly does Sarah want?

She is a small woman, and I’ve never even
known that she had a world nesting inside her.
Like Laura, she is a woman of broken glass and old
records, of veils and big brothers. The tree is
out of her reach, bordered by fence: at night,
her husband positions three quilts on the bed
for their cool bodies to bond under. This whole strophe seems rather out of place. You start with geese and persona in first person, then you suddenly change to a metaphorical (and still mysterious, no offence) Cyclops, and suddenly you're describing Sarah's love life in third person. What exactly is all this about?

Maybe if I reach for her stone shoulder,
if I murmur to her in warm monotones, if I paint
a painting for her, if I write a play for her,
she would understand me. I would plant
a tree for her: a small one, one she could care
for and water, one she could love. When the
stench from the zoo bleeds at our feet,
we leave to our separate cars and drive
on long, twisting highways and cleft roads,
until we reach home. The air is dry like
the fog on cold mornings, and children
play in the shade of trees: big trees,
small trees. You could make this ending much, much more effective. Such as by eliminationg repetition and strengthening imagery.

Um, I still don't know what your poem was about, sorry. I'm majorly confused.

But apart from that one minor detail... good vocab and great imagery, all very effective.

The only thing I'd say is to watch line breaks - some of yours are very awkward, and lose the impact that the line could otherwise have.