Eclipses

Everything I know I learned from my father, he said,
and didn't bother explaining that mostly involved running away.

He'd never learned about friction;
the imperfect pendulum of his loping gait swung on and
on and
on. He was ten, and when he stood still he looked
wrong, somehow. There,
like a target in front of the whole class,
asked to talk about what his parents did: his hands
hidden behind his back, his eyes like comets, running
away at night. I wanted to open the windows, but
I think
in his head he was breaking them, and leaping
out into dark fields and shattered glass.

That was him:
in front of the blackboard, half-erased chalk sprayed in
vague clusters like so many lost white dwarves, and
the light streaming in from the open door, his feet longing
for outside and his voice stuttering, like spring rain
over tin roofs or asteroids fracturing on entry—

My father was an astronaut, he said, but what I
heard was that there hadn’t been enough stars
inside his mother's eyes.

I love all the space imagery. This is really great.

I know that's not helpful, but...whatever.

~Blue

Excellent space imagery here! Plus, have I mentioned how much I like all the scientific references here? And I love how you tied everything in with astronomical phenomenon.

The main nitpick I have for this piece (oh gawd... am I nitpicky!) is that I don't think frictional forces really count when you talk about pendulums... the force that mainly slows them down is gravity. Though there technically can be frictional forces, they would be negligible to the gravity force in a pendulum. And, the reason why I am being bothersome about it is because gravity is what pretty much formed all the astronomical phenomenon that we see, so it might be fun to see if you can weave it that in and see what you can do with it. Plus, maybe you can have him not really work in Earth's gravity, so he seems more like an astro boy than he is.

Also, another slight thing is the comets... remember the Hale Bop comet a couple of years ago? It kind of looked like this:



That was there for months! So, it might be better to use meteorites or something? I don't know. Comets are strange things, lol.

I really liked this it was really beautifully written, the only thing you need to work on or at least something I had a hard time with was what exactly did the ending mean? It probaly is just me so sorry about that maybe you could PM or something. Good job!

I think the ending is up for interpretation, snickerdooly! That's part of the fun about poetry. So you can read it however you please.

For me, because I like to construct stories within these poems, I thought that the father seemed really distant from the child. After all, the father teaches the child how to run away, however this child seems to run farther and further than anyone, so much so that earthly description don't suit him and he becomes a child of the stars. Not that he isn't (a nod to Carl Sagan here!) but he becomes more ethereal and less earthly, if you know what I mean. In this, I gathered that the father was very, very distant from the child and had run away from him as well. So, though the child lies and says that his father is an astronaut, that is impossible -- if father were actually an astronaut, he would have known his son more and he would have explored a relationship with his son, just like an astronaut becomes an astronaut so he can reach out to the stars, as it were. However, because all the son has ever learned from his father is how to run away, his father cannot be an astronaut. This is just a hope by the child, who wishes he had a father figure in his life.

And then the narrator steps in and says, "but what I /heard was that there hadn’t been enough stars /inside his mother's eyes." By saying this, the narrator implies that, instead of just being about the father and son, there is another relationship dynamic between the father and the mother that the child does not see but that the narrator, in her wisdom, notices. Though the child longs for an idealistic relationship with his father, the mother seems strangely absent from the narrative. From this, it hints that the mother's relationship with her son is distant without the hope that idealism brings. While the child can dream about his father finding him at last, since he is described as ethereal and his father an astronaut, the mother seems firmly attached to the earth and thus cut off from the stellar imagery described above. While the child longs to be fully free in the universe, the mother ties him down. Here, perhaps the title comes into play. The earth is known to cause lunar eclipses, after all, so as to cut off light from the celestial, if only briefly, and by doing so allows the stars to be seen a lot more clearly.

Were the father truly an astronaut, truly, he would be searching for stars and, had he seen the stars in his beloved's eyes, then it is possible that he would have stayed with them. However, there were no stars in her eyes to explore and so he left. In the meantime, the mother still ties the son down and keeps him from wandering away in the physical sense, but that doesn't stop him from dreaming of the stars.

...yay, long-windedness!

Anyway, that's an interpretation. Reread the poem several times and see what it means to you! You can definitely chew this poem up.

Hello there. (Warning: This review will not be as constructive as Snoink's. xD)

Nitpicks:

Everything I know I learned from my father, he said,

- Strictly speaking, the dialogue should be in quotations marks and not italicized.

the imperfect pendulum of his loping gait swung on and
on and
on. He was ten, and when he stood still he looked

- I love how you separated the 'on and on and on'.
- 'loping gait' seems a little redundant basing on definition.


I must say, I like this poem. I like how you made this poem look simple or seemingly 'boring' though it actually isn't. During the first seconds I was reading this, I was nearly just reading through. But then, I read deeper by the middle and those imageries are just, for lack of word, epic. They flowed so naturally. The story was, in a 'common' point of view, as simple as it was: a boy talking about his father who was an astronaut. But there was actually something more, and you succeeded at showing us what that 'more' was and I applaud you for that. The last part is also nice. Usually, endings are just conclusions, but you added a significant part of the story which the readers cannot just ignore and I thought it was brilliant.

Never stop writing!

Hey! At first I just skimmed this, but then I took it one line at a time, really reading it, and a cool thing happened. I read amazing passages with beautiful imagery and your word choice made the whole thing flow great together! I also really like this because it's different in a good way. There's lots a places we're left wondering, but the story continues to build and in the end, yeah, we don't know the whole story, but the gaps seemed filled and it's a great piece of writing! Keep it up!

Absolutely beautiful. SO much imagery and feeling behind this gorgeous peice. YOu are such a good writer, I wish I was half as good as you, the way the story ties together and ends, just breathtaking. Well done.

Oh goodness. The title caught me a day or so ago, but internet was too stupid for me to open the topic and read it. But anyway, the imagery in this quite simply took my breath away. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful! The last stanza is what really got me. And the bit about the chalk. Excellent work =]

I really liked the consistency with the imagery. The fact that it was all space-related just kind of wove it together really tightly. I haven't read much poetry that actually also manages to create believable characters in the midst of it being a beautiful poem, but you managed that as well. The poem definitely managed to capture my attention and pull me along. There was a lot that was beautiful about this poem, that's for sure. I think it would be interesting if you played with the line structure a bit more, kind of like you did with the separations in the "on and on and on" bit.

Hmmm. This is pretty cool.

He'd never learned about friction;
the imperfect pendulum of his loping gait swung on and
on and
on. He was ten, and when he stood still he looked
wrong, somehow. There,
like a target in front of the whole class,
asked to talk about what his parents did: his hands
hidden behind his back, his eyes like comets, running
away at night. I wanted to open the windows, but
I think
in his head he was breaking them, and leaping
out into dark fields and shattered glass.

These two parts just seemed way out of place in the flow. Other than that, I think I liked this.

Hey Jagged.

Get some confidence girl, you seem to be capable of nailing poem after poem after poem.
Post more, you know you'll get nothing short of praise because you're ever so apt at writing these short, rhythmic lines, relatable and ever so sweet to read. Yes, there is one area I personally feel you constantly fall flat in, but have a little faith my dear.

Nonetheless, critiques are to help you improve so your work is flawless. Technical stuff, you have it down to an art form. It always works together so smoothly, it's great. What I think you're lacking, the bit that takes it from say, to be metaphorical a pillow case to an actual pillow. Because really, you can have the most beautiful pillow case, hand woven with colours etc, but nothing to stuff it it kind of defeats its purpose. Poetry is about creating something, expressing something that you can't quite put into words otherwise by painting a picture, depicting something and attaching the reader too it. And for me personally, you paint a picture, a wonderful scene but I feel no attachment to it and I have nothing to take away except for the faint remnants of poetic personas.

How you do this isn't really up to me, but make the words a little more then tools to paint something for me. Because until I step away from your poem and actually remember what it says, even a line. Some sort of memorable effect that doesn't sound good in the moment, rather gives me something to think about. Past the reading of the poem.

He'd never learned about friction;
the imperfect pendulum of his loping gait swung on and
on and
on. He was ten, and when he stood still he looked
wrong, somehow.

The last line stirs some sympathy from me because it's so relatable.
But everything else falls short of actually reaching me. That's one of the issues with space poetry, for me too, is that as beautiful as it is to write about it never really is relatable because we've only seen pictures of it, scaled down replicas of this planet or this star and the portrayals of special effects crews in movies, or our view of the sky. But it's all way to far away for a poem that makes us sit amongst comets and plants and stars to be as powerful as it could be. It's hard to appeal to the reader with grande science tales. It's good for wonder, for curiosity, but not to drag down to earth and put it in the pocket of people to carry around in their day to day lives. Course it's up to experiment, figure out what works, what doesn't.

Great stuff.

Kamas

You get too many positive comments. Time for a change of sorts.

Jagged wrote:Everything I know I learned from my father, he said,
and didn't bother explaining that mostly involved running away.

Some people can try narrating and prose sentences in poetry. Not here. Also, your phrase is like swallowing metal edged egg shells that are sprinkled with cinder dust. Poetry Jutt, that means perfect flow and rythym, that second line goes something like "and DIDn't bother / EXplaining / THat mostly / INVolved / running away" with stressing and pauses. I trip up on this like mad and then don't find anything to grab hold of after you open up in the first line.

He'd never learned about friction;
the imperfect pendulum of his loping gait swung on and
on and
on.

Magnifique Jutt, truly. Why is such a splendid section after such a painstaking intro? And don't try to tie "friction" to the the second line, that's a weak transition and justification. Your technique and execution here is truly to be envied, but you can't build poems on sections of brilliance.

He was ten, and when he stood still he looked
wrong, somehow.

Don't like the ending of the first line. Pauses. Oddly. Line break is too late in the spoke phrase. Granted, your purpose is to create these jarring, awkward moments. Let's find out if you keep it up.

There,
like a target in front of the whole class,
asked to talk about what his parents did: his hands
hidden behind his back, his eyes like comets, running
away at night.

This works. There's some internal rhyme and rhythm is better, which I always expect out of you. Please stop the alliteration though. If I think about it, it's getting in the way. Also, where's the sensory information? Odd with you, being more prosaic here than sensory detailed.

I wanted to open the windows, but
I think
in his head he was breaking them, and leaping
out into dark fields and shattered glass.

Drama! Conflict! And...is this your style alone? I have suspicions, and it's awesome nonetheless to see such a change here. The narrative flow, fwiw, is really nice though. Your change from one place to another, a gradual shift to this viewing of some cosmic wonder/event. Very personal, very Jutt, very close to home.

That was him:
in front of the blackboard, half-erased chalk sprayed in
vague clusters like so many lost white dwarves, and
the light streaming in from the open door, his feet longing
for outside and his voice stuttering, like spring rain
over tin roofs or asteroids fracturing on entry—

Took too long to get to this. Integrate your actions and metaphors and descriptions faster next time. Also, look at some of these lines. Read something awkward and jarring in a not so nice way. And, you've lost the boy to space comparison when you solely describe one of the other. Mix them. But that's ridiculously hard to do, so one step at a time.

My father was an astronaut, he said, but what I
heard was that there hadn’t been enough stars
inside his mother's eyes.

D'aw. Thanks for making me read deep enough to be touched there. No really, you do this well, without dumping catharsis on us and then manage to make it have elements of "art", whatever that is. Damn you for the vague, obscured exactness of your terms as well. But that's a sign of good poetry, or at least promising poetry.

So? Make the form of the poem more unified, watch your rhythm more, and try to make images more interesting in relation to where and when. Sensory stuff here...maybe not so important.

A pleasure to do this Jutt. Keep it up.