Woolgathering

And we're back to woolgathering and slipping into sun-inspired
comas on the smooth rocks, following the light with our fingers.
It seems like summer lays a veil on the world, threading all the colors
into a bloom of diaphonous haze, leaving them to lazily chirp
out forgotten promises from the winter and spring.

The sun liked to rise early this time of year, almost too early,
but we like to laze under the sheets and rustle the cool spots with our feet--
the windows hold us in lethargic reflections, letting us sleep
just a little bit longer. We bloom from our beds in yawns and
stretches before tumbling to the sidewalks, barefoot and jumping
on the hot concrete-- we lost our callouses quickly with our
winter boots and indoor shoes, and now pipe up and down with squeaks and squeals,
trying to find the grass.

And it's these type of dances that keep us going through the months
where we don't have to carry anything on our shoulders but the rocks we gathered.
It's these days where our shoes are made of mud from the creekbed and my books are
somewhere on the face of the hills, words on the wind and secreted away in the grass.
It's these days where my bed is pavement still warm in the cold starry night, when you can
feel it leech into your lungs and quell the summer fire set aburning in your blood.
It's here that I fall asleep, and wake up bathed in fog, wondering when autumn will come.

Kafka here. Time for another review.

This has potential. I'll give you that. In fact, I'll give you more than that: I like the potential it has. But. There's definitely some room for improvement. I'll take it stanza by stanza, giving you my suggestions and critiques, and then I'll give you my overall impression at the end. Here goes.

And we're back to woolgathering and slipping into sun-inspired
comas on the smooth rocks, following the light with our fingers.
It seems like summer lays a veil on the world, threading all the colors
into a bloom of diaphonous haze, leaving them to lazily chirp
out forgotten promises from the winter and spring.

I've seen you do this a lot, so this critique isn't going to be anything new to you. You're overdoing it with the adjectives and adverbs. Yes, these are necessary if you want to establish an image, but using too much, as you are here, is annoying and disorienting. Since descriptive words are ones that a certain amount of focus is placed upon, an overuse also tends to support a sense of cluttered imagery. Although your images are all ones of the same general feeling (and you do a good job of instituting this feeling), it's clear that you were aiming for a standard of visual atmosphere as well. Unfortunately, the flood of descriptions you threw at me does little to meet this standard. Tone down the imagery, and you'll be good.

The sun liked to rise early this time of year, almost too early,
but we like to laze under the sheets and rustle the cool spots with our feet--
the windows hold us in lethargic reflections, letting us sleep
just a little bit longer. We bloom from our beds in yawns and
stretches before tumbling to the sidewalks, barefoot and jumping
on the hot concrete-- we lost our callouses quickly with our
winter boots and indoor shoes, and now pipe up and down with squeaks and squeals,
trying to find the grass.

This time you don't try too hard, and that's what I like about this stanza. You have to support the feeling with, not only the images, but the writing style itself as well. That's why this succeeds - your ability to synchronize the phrasing, which now is one of informality, with the general atmospheric quality. I have less nitpicks for this stanza than I did the last. In fact, there's only a couple I'd like to mention. First, you use "like" twice in the first two lines. Also, mid-way, you start to stray from the feeling you established at the beginning - not a good thing. It only confuses the reader. You try to correct that near the end, but that makes it seem even more disorganized. If you don't want to homogenize the feeling throughout the poem, at least make the transitions as smooth as possible. Don't stuff it all into one stanza.

And it's these type of dances that keep us going through the months "These" suggests plural, which means "type" should be "types."
where we don't have to carry anything on our shoulders but the rocks we gathered. "Where" should be "when."
It's these days where our shoes are made of mud from the creekbed and my books are Again, "where" should be "when." Also, you switch between plural possessive (our) and singular possessive (my), which is confusing and off-sounding to the reader.
somewhere on the face of the hills, words on the wind and secreted away in the grass. Toy with the wording a little here.
It's these days where my bed is pavement still warm in the cold starry night, when you can Change "where" to "when." Put a comma after "pavement."
feel it leech into your lungs and quell the summer fire set aburning in your blood. Where did the "set" come from?
It's here that I fall asleep, and wake up bathed in fog, wondering when autumn will come. I've seen you do some pretty amazing endings, and this one could hardly be described as "mediocre." I'm positive you can do better.

Since I had more specific critiques (or, at least, nothing that I haven't (or will) tell you) regarding this stanza, I took the liberty to pick it apart line by line.As you can see, there's some wording issues here and there that need to be fixed up. I think that, once again, you're wandering away from the feeling, with words like "leech" and "blood." Even if you surround these words with a contradictory context, they will still carry a portion of their meaning. You can't avoid this. Of course, I also know that you didn't use them lightly. Still, think about changing them up.

Now for the umbrella response. I really don't have much to say that I haven't already, other than that this wasn't quite the best I've read of yours. As I've mentioned, there is no especially clear foundation, and the structure is pretty cluttered throughout. Well, I still did like it, even though I think it could be better. Keep writing!

-Kafka

Persy! I can’t for the life of me believe that I haven’t spotted this until now!!!


I really and earnestly adore when you write about nature and earthy things because you can blend those natural, earthy words with basic language very smoothly like:

It's these days where my bed is pavement still warm in the cold starry night, when you can
feel it leech into your lungs and quell the summer fire set aburning in your blood.

I think you really manage to take words that don’t always seem to work well together like “leech into your lungs” and “pavement still warm” and make them work together better still.


I’m not sure if I care as much for the theme though, as I enjoy the way you wrote it. There’s plenty of poetry that talks about the seasons or even those that compare nature to everyday life (I mean, I know they’re always connected but yeah) but I like the way you write it, Persy. You’ve got style. I’d just love to see you write something very out on a limb and even a little controversial. I’d be shocked but very very proud of you.

<3’s Persy!!!