Conversation with the Muse

Taken down.

oh you could definently write a bumping song to this, the feelings are so expressed in this bro. i looked at the eyeballs out the socket and the stone, i love your references. definently keep on so more people can see your style.

Audybear. <3

So, I’m not gonna lie. This poem is a beast, and it really takes intention to go through it, particularly from a critical standpoint. And if I were to review this as I review most often—that is, discussing each stanza (not saying I won’t)—it would take me hours. So have a list of things that I know need to happen, and then we’ll start our discussion/review.

1. Reel in your imagery. Whiplash for a reader is never a good thing, and it makes your writing thick and intimidating, at least to those who don’t like the thick and intimidating, which will be a good 80% of your audience (Audyence?).
2. Be sure you’re not just writing for the sake of writing. Keep in mind that you should have a focal point, and your images, scenarios, and lyricism shouldn’t veer too far away from this.
3. Find some way to condense this beast.
4. With #2 in mind, remember not to go off on tangents.

There may be more. But I’m a bit wary about pointing fingers before I really soak this in. So let’s begin. I won’t hold back my opinions, but remember that they’re just the opinions of a very prosaic poet.

So the poet, as always, calls on the Muse to help her; and then writes nothing down. Well, this obviously sets the muse off on a tangent, and it’s fairly obvious why—the poet is drawing from her, but for what? She’s failing to write things down, which I think is a metaphor for actually writing empty poetry, and she’s failing to see what the muse has given her. Now, the muse—just noticed that I stopped capitalizing it; ah well—has always and will always be a municipal collection of joys and sins and tragedies and scenes both revolting and alluring, and the poet fails to see this. But really, what the muse is ultimately ends up defined under opinion.

So for this moment, I want to ask you what your muse is.

Is she the naked girl, neglected by her mother? Is she the revolting image of mutilated skin, destroyed eyeballs, and broken teeth? Is she Eve in the garden, flipped on her biblical head because the idea of sin’s allure is so cliché that the apple must be made of stone; that all clichés must be turned to stone?

You’ve taken all of these muses and you’ve packed them into this beast where they’re less-than-accessible. It interests me how you’ve constructed this poem, like serpentine vines. You have muse stricken from all corners of your mind, but they’re so tightly interwoven that the essential core—the fact that the muse is legitimately angry with the poet for neglecting her revelation—takes hefty weaponry to reach.

Side-note: I hate it when poets do things like

stretch—
ed

I hate it so badly.

But I need to get away from your construction and onto your voice. The muse’s voice, rather. It reminds me of a Chuck Palahniuk narration, one of those the person who loves you and the person you love are never, ever the same person deals. You take this preaching, but you make it so angrily colloquial, almost sassy in its lack of poeticism that it works somehow.

I just wish it wasn’t so thick, Audy.

“This is not for the apathetic” needs to be specified. This poem leaves no room for vagueness within your lines. Do away with it if you can’t specify. My favorite lines of the poem come in this stanza, however—or at least my favorite sentiment:

Face it sweetheart, you’re just a wannabe worm who
spits nothing but empty words no one bothers to hear.

I think the second line is rather cliché. Or at least boring. The comparison to the worm, though, is lovely.

The next stanza, however, makes me angry because you take us away from your point completely. If you want this stanza, then lace it into your lyrical narration. If you can’t do that, then nix it. It’s not necessary. I don’t think that this is true of poets, and I’m unsure you really meant to say that, specifically. At least, I don’t think I’m a beast.

Your flow changes gears in the stanza after that, slowing down and making things choppy. I don’t like it, so give stanza 2472407014 some love and care. Then again, the stanza after that turns into an almost-grocery list. So maybe your flow is fine. I do like the ideas in this stanza, though, about ideas not to be domesticated. Rather fresh.

I actually don’t like the final stanza at all. Keep the girl-in-volcano image, but rework the remainder. Wrap things up with a haunting—not a summary.

And that’s all I have for now. As I said, let me know if you want to chat. I hope this helps, and doesn’t come out as awfully as it seems right now. Let me know if you have any questions or comments.

-Lumi

This is a little pretentious, Audy.

Because of that, I'm going to start off with the goods in this poem. And by goods, I mean the voice you use. Its very sardonic and ironic, which I like. Kind of pulling at loose strings, which is nice to see. And a great poet does not simply write what is obvious. They question. You did this very, very well.

Now, did you use it effectually, though? That's where my line is, unfortunately, drawn.

First and foremost, for what you've proved and what you've achieved - albeit metaphor, imagery, repetition, and what not - there is... well, quite a chunk of writing here. A very thick, very forward piece at that which rips on traits in which many writers find themselves tearing holes in each other about. This could be all fine and dandy yet you start to get a little bit.. preachy.

By preachy, I mean you really like to go into the dramatics of things. For instance;

I've been inside that erupting volcano, spitting and spewing out
not fire, but smoke you can't even grasp at, child, and
the only thing you can do is gasp and cough and wheeze
and intake poison (it slowly kills you. Poets are known to die young.)

I realize that narration is an important factor of this poem, but the voice in which you portray is a bit too forward. Spewing the message of experience over anything else, and though this is an important thing to have to be able to understand and truly appreciate poetry, it is also a rather conceited thought process. Like saying that if someone hasn't felt the string of what you define as 'real' pain, they cannot possibly know what real poetry is.

Is that really true, though? What defines poetry? Pain? Sadness? Does poetry have to be defined by certain emotions or experiences?

From the moment I started reading this, I had the sudden urge to say 'calm down. Everyone has their reasons', but restrained simply because I'm unsure of what you were trying to prove other than the vast majority of telling someone what they should understand if they want to attempt poetry. Of course, this is all personal opinions now. Poetry should be expressing you and your opinions. Whether I agree with them or not does not really affect the poem in itself. Maybe my ideals towards the poem as a reader, but the poem is still a poem with or without my opinions. Not everyone is supposed to agree.

Merely, I fear that you're being far to pretentious with the idea. Delving into what poetry really is and what poetry isn't. And no one knows. But this poem comes from very different angles like 'what gives this poet the right to tell me or anyone else what good poetry is?' or 'I may not have jumped into a volcano, but I've had my fair share of life's twists and turns which all inspired me greatly'.

So maybe the best approach here would be a subtle approach. Talk about pain as not only a physical and emotional struggle, but speak of the senses, the mourning. The pain that is temperate and inner and not always brought on by the worst of things, nor do the worst of things really matter in the long run. Inspiration comes from emotion as a whole, and I don't think it takes a (excuse my contriteness) rape-victim or an someone who has been abused mentally and emotionally to write 'good' poetry. Merely, everyone should have the right whether experiencing pain or not.

As for the structure of this poem... well, its a bit sloppy. Not excruciatingly so, of course. You have some very interesting points. Merely, I found myself getting wound up in some of your sentence structures quite often, such as;

and she's naked, alone, and she's naked.

I realize this was intentional, but when we think of someone who is trying to prove a point about 'good' poetry, shouldn't we expect that person to not jump around and look so flighty? And there are a lot of lines that come across as being flighty.

Your imagery is fantastic, though. Really quite frightening and gets the image of what you are trying to imply across quite vividly. I would like to see you working with more of the senses, though, rather than just sight and touch. Hearing and tasting and smelling are all quite vivid as well and will help shape this in a way that physical and emotional ideologies cant.

If you have any questions, PM me.

~Walker