A vivid reflection-second draft up

**This is based on a true event- but please, do rip it to shreds! It needs a lot of work.

The sharp end branches shook amber leaves
away that year; but Halloween fireworks never came.
Instead a coldness that none could bear shrivelled
to a memory, still strong as a warm handprint on my head.

At seven, who could understand,
the depth of what had happened.
Instead, I simply watched the murky pool
of grief, at a distance, safe by the blessing of youth.
Except once, I saw my small reflection stare quizzically back,
an empty sky of white behind me, exhausted by summer.
The earth already dead, and my family the mess of existing
living things, left behind to slowly rot.

Making the mistake that one is ever immune
from bearing witness to human nature at it’s rawest,
Is as juvenile as any.
Once we see the curious hand bitten by fire,
a wariness latches on like doubt,
and it’s impossible to shake off.

And yet, how does it go on?
Life and years make fools of us,
weathering the marble stone over the carved date of the disaster.
The wound inside still gaping, stings at the cold air of a question;
‘But, don’t you have four brothers?’

‘I do,’ I reply, ‘but one lives far away.’

I LOVE IT!

That was beautiful. Who said this needed a lot of work? Sure, there's always room for improvement, but in my honest opinion, this is near perfect.

That intro was phenomenal. The imagery... se magnifique! I love that simile also.

And that ending was also perfect. It summed it up quite nicely.

Just brilliant. Your voice, your message, all there. Very emotional.

Oh but one thing:

At seven, who could understand,
the depth of what had happened.

Isn't that a question?

Haha, only one thing I found wrong and it's only grammatical!

A++ and a star!

P.S I've become a fan of yours!

Hullo darling! I love reviewing your poetry. Curious: did you edit at all before posting, since it was old?

The sharp end branches shook amber leaves
away that year; but Halloween fireworks never came.
Instead a coldness that none could bear [s]shrivelled[/s] shriveled
to a memory, still strong as a warm hand print on my head.

"sharp end branches" is a mouthful - try to find one word to describe the branches. Halloween and fireworks don't go together for me... Perhaps that's something they do where you live, though. For me, Halloween is candy and people dressing up, and all of that. Of course, you don't live in USA so I'm not saying change it, and make it to fit me, but perhaps find something - or a phrase - more universal, so that anyone can relate. The other lines seem too abstract for me to get anything out of, and I can't feel anything. A coldness, which was too cold to stand, turned into a memory, but it is still as strong as a warm (but it's a coldness?) hand. It's much too abstract. Rather than dancing around what you're trying to say, say it outright, and make it so vivid that the reader can't help but feel. You do good here at trying to be vivid, but it fails because what you're saying also doesn't make sense. Try not to have the feelings - hot and cold from the same thing - contrast each other. The biggest thing I noticed was your line breaks. They're all strange and awkward. Try to pay attention to where you break your lines, and the significance it has in the reading. It keeps the poem from flowing, here, and everything seems strange.

At seven, who could understand,
the depth of what had happened.
Instead, I simply watched the murky pool
of grief, at a distance, safe by the blessing of youth.
Except once, I saw my small reflection stare quizzically back,
an empty sky of white behind me, exhausted by summer.
The earth already dead, and my family the mess of existing
living things, left behind to slowly rot.

Again, you're too abstract for the reader to relate. The problem with writing poems about things that are close to us, is that we can feel it loud and clear, so we forge that the reader doesn't know what we're feeling. You have to make the feelings so real to the reader, like the edge of a cold knife sliding on your skin before it presses in and rips the skin apart, that they want to cry. You shouldn't have to say "I wrote this about my brother" - we should learn it from the poem. If a poem needs an explanation, it has failed.

Your extended metaphor, the pool of grief, goes on for too long without ever making sense. What is a pool of grief? I have no idea. I can't relate to it at all, and I just start getting confused and it stops making sense. Watch what you say - and say everything with intent. Every word in a poem matters, and if you do not need it, kill it. "My family the mess of existing living things" - not only are you missing commas in a few places here, but existing and living are the same thing. Since every word is important, avoid redundancies as much as possible. The way you start the stanza is too telling. Instead of saying "I was seven and it was so hard to understand" show the speaker confused through word choice, or perhaps the way you style your stanzas speaks to confusion. The only thing I could suggest to explain this would be to read Varadmin's POV in As I lay Dying by William Faulker, but that would take too long, though it is a good book. Find a creative way to express the same thing. Poetry is amazing because you can express things in so many ways - without saying it at all.

Making the mistake that one is ever immune
from bearing witness to human nature at it’s rawest,
is as juvenile as any.
Once we see the curious hand bitten by fire,
a wariness latches on like doubt,
and it’s impossible to shake off.

What I'm getting from this is "It's really stupid to think that people don't die, and once you realize that it's hard to forget it." It's all true - but it has no feeling in it. It's only internal monologue. Which is perfectly fine, but if you want to do that you have to do more with it. Make it move, make it do something, make it say more than it does. Again, try to show more than you tell. Your metaphor of the hand is beautiful, but it's not needed because the whole stanza isn't needed, really. The idea behind this stanza is nothing new, and almost everyone knows it. Don't tell the reader something they probably know already. Instead, show them the speaker coming to terms with this idea, learning it themselves. Give it power - make it more than words.

And yet, how does it go on?
Life and years make fools of us,
weathering the marble stone over the carved date of the disaster.

I've broken up this stanza - you'll understand why later. Again, you're saying things here that don't need to be said, and don't give anything to the reader. Your description of the tomb stone is beautiful, but I'd like to see it less wordy and more exact and with more power. I'm not sure what you mean by weathering, either. Withstanding...? I think all of the "the"s is what is holding the line back "Weather a carved date on a stone of disaster" or something. Not exactly that, but you see what I mean.

The wound inside still gaping, stings at the cold air of a question;
‘But, don’t you have four brothers?’

‘I do,’ I reply, ‘but one lives far away.’

Pain being related to a wound - though a great metaphor - is old. If you're going to do it, make it more lively than just a wound. What kind of wound is it? where is it on your body, and what does it feel like? If you can make the wound a real one it will have more power than just "a wound". Perhaps (and though it's cliché it can work) the wound is in your heart, and you can feel it shaking with your every breath, and when someone asks the question, it stops beating for a moment and feels like someone has dug their nails into it. The heart is hard to work with, for touch, though, because we generally don't feel our hearts, so it's hard to imagine it unless you use strong words. (I didn't.) But you get what I'm staying. Cold air stinging is also cliché. I think you could cut the "question" part all together, and just:

'But, don't you have four brothers?'

'I do, but one lives far away'


This is my favorite part of the whole poem, because it does what I wish the rest of the poem did: it says something so much about the speaker without saying it directly. We understand how the speaker neglects the death, ignores it, pretends it's something more manageable - but we know it isn't. It's strong and it's beautiful. I think if you were to rewrite the poem, and make this the center of it (but do keep it at the end!) it would be amazing. These two lines say more and mean more than anything else you write in this poem. This shows the skill I know you have when writing poetry. Scrap the rest of it and rewrite.

You aren't a bad writing - dare not think that. Sometimes it takes a rough draft to know where to go, though. Everything has to start somewhere; thankfully there is no where to go but up, and I have a lot of confidence that you can go up. Show more than you tell, and know what you want your reader to feel. Keep in mind that they do not and cannot feel what you do - but you can make them feel something akin to it, and you should. Pay attention to your line breaks, use specific diction and imagery, and know what you're trying to say. I think this poem was more vague than you usually are, but I understand why. Like I said, it's hard to write a personal poem that other people can relate to and like - we're often blinded by our own emotion. Try to read this with an open mind, as if you were reviewing it and it wasn't your own. Also, don't tell us what it's about - like I said before, we shouldn't need the explanation.


If you have any questions, as always, come find me!

Ooooh... this is the best poem I've seen from you yet! It's very personal, yes, but that makes it awesome and there's some really fabulous stuff in here. I'll be sure to point this out as I continue the critique, no?

The sharp end branches shook amber leaves
away that year; but Halloween fireworks never came.

I love this beginning! It has a good hook, and it's so weird that it catches your attention at once. First, you have the imagery of falling leaves off of a tree and, because you use Halloween, the trees seem to turn into sharp skeletons! Which is a really cool metamorphic thing and I love it! So you set the scene at once to be creepy and morbid and oh-so-awesome, not by telling us what is happening but rather, you use strong imagery to show us. And this is just good, solid writing. You should be proud of yourself!

Instead a coldness that none could bear [s]shrivelled[/s] shriveled
to a memory, still strong as a warm handprint on my head.

Eek! First of all, this is needlessly wordy and very ambiguous and BORING. I mean, coldness that none could bear? You're telling us this, not showing this. I mean, you use such a cool image in the beginning! You should extend this image. Even in sunny California when the leaves are dropping, you can still see your breath frost up! You can use this imagery--and others!-- to indicate that there is a chill that penetrates everything and makes life shriveled. And, after that, you should make the last line say something like the "warm handprint on my head." That's strong and solid and beautiful. But you need to support this line!

At seven, who could understand,
the depth of what had happened.

I would delete the second line, just because it doesn't really add anything, and what can I say? I like my poems stark and depressing. By making it barer, I believe this makes the feeling lonelier, and I want to see this happen! ALSO. You must use punctuation to put some kick in this piece. I mean, normally I don't care about punctuation, but this is crying out for a question mark at the end. So put one in.

Instead, I simply watched the murky pool

of grief, at a distance, safe by the blessing of youth.

I... don't like this metaphorical extension. I think you're reaching out too much. Your first two lines don't match with this line, so you're going from autumn to a pool. And you're not describing this pool very much, save for you say it's murky. Um... what? So slow down. I think you're writing two different poems, and I think it's suffering because of that. Focus! Either use autumn or pools, and not both. I personally like your first idea, because it was a really cool beginning, but whatever. In any case, you explain this.

Except once, I saw my small reflection stare quizzically back,

If you do stick with the pool metaphor, keep this line. It's very beautiful.

an empty sky of white behind me, exhausted by summer.
The earth already dead, and my family the mess of existing
living things, left behind to slowly rot.

Overdramatic much?

Delete this and instead describe your appearance in the reflection, if you choose to stick with the pool metaphor. It'll be a lot better... right now it looks like you're extending yourself wayyyy too much. And we don't want you to pull a muscle!

Making the mistake that one is ever immune
from bearing witness to human nature at it’s rawest,
Is as juvenile as any.
Once we see the curious hand bitten by fire,
a wariness latches on like doubt,
and it’s impossible to shake off.

I don't like this at all. It doesn't say anything profound, though it pretends to. Delete or replace with something pretty.

And yet, how does it go on?
Life and years make fools of us,
weathering the marble stone over the carved date of the disaster.
The wound inside still gaping, stings at the cold air of a question;

The last line is going to have to be more pithy so that the shock of the dialogue hits us with full impact.

‘But, don’t you have four brothers?’

‘I do,’ I reply, ‘but one lives far away.’

The last line is several times awesome. Seriously. It has punch and it's in your face awesome. And that's just great stuff there.

So yeah. Slightly brutal, but I hope this helps!

Hey Eimear,

Small favour in return for reviewing several of my other poems! ;D

First point: I don't agree with Suzanne and some of the others (much as they are superior powers than lowly me) that 'shrivelled' should be 'shriveled'. The latter is the American spelling; hence the former is British. I presume Eimear is British and thus she would be correct.

Right, on to the poem: I thought it was great. Yes, it needs work; yes, you tell in parts rather than show; but this was wonderful. Some of your imagery was fantastic:

"...my family the mass of existing/living things, left behind slowly to rot.'

(I don't think you need 'slowly' here as rotting is a fairly long process, anyway.)

Your ending also was superb and had that lovely wistful feeling that encapsulated the poem's message. Trouble was, the rest of the poem lacked this. You used several passives:

"an empty sky of white behind me, exhausted by summer."

This is a feature of telling. Make this active - SHOW:

"Summer had sucked away my reflection,
an empty sky of white behind me."

This is far more effective. As a consequence, you should look for any passive or 'was/were' phrases ('He was happy') that you can turn around or amend. Often the end result is much better than the original.

Good luck!

Gahks

8/10

Hey, E. First of all, I'm really very sorry for you, for what you have had to go through. But I'm glad that you could turn your feelings into something this great.

The sharp end branches shook amber leaves

away that year; but Halloween fireworks never came.

I love the wording here, but I've never cared much of a semicolon in a poem.

Except once, I saw my small reflection stare quizzically back,

In my opinion, the word "quizzically" doesn't quite fit in the atmosphere of the poem. To be honest, I didn't really like it there.

‘I do,’ I reply, ‘but one lives far away.’

Beautiful ending.

I'm sorry that my review isn't any better than this (it's my 150th, yay!), but I hope you know that I appreciate your work very much and this, indeed, was one of the best poems by you.



Love,
Demeter xx

Thank you all so much for such quick and in-depth replies. Each one is greatly appreciated, and will help me so so much in editing this.

Hugs*

Eimear xx

Hey,

As far as I could see, there were only two gramatical errors:

The sharp end branches shook amber leaves (should this be sharp ended, or sharpened?)

and

Instead a coldness that none could bear, shrivelled

to a memory, still strong as a warm handprint on my head. (I have added a comma)

Otherwise I thought it was quite good. Some of the extended metaphors made the writing a little stunted, they interupted the flow at some points. Also, I agree with Snoink and Suzzanne, the last two lines are fantastic! They end the poem beautifully and they express your sadness but also the way you view the incident perfectly.

Overall, well done and keep writing more!

~SishBee~
x

**Second draft

Death lives far away

Facing a small reflection,
through the glass that separates the young
from the wise, I saw them.
Reaching out, at the slip of a palm.
But one moment too late.
He was gone.

Halloween lingered with us for a while,
as if to tell us all was not lost.
But the stark branches couldn’t
stop the shaking, and nature wasn’t overly polite,
to the grief of mere mortals.
Winter came, just as harsh as any.

Years and passing seasons,
make fools of us, weather gravestones.
Others are sorry, yet that doesn’t return to you
big brothers, who carried you on their back.
When I meet the culprit, whether it be tomorrow or fifty years,
they will have my questions to answer. A thief, must be punished.

‘Coming to terms’ is sickeningly untrue.
Would you accept your family stolen from you?
My experiences with life’s final show have been tainted,
so imagination takes me to him, and lies become simple unseen facts.

‘Don’t you have four brothers?’

‘I do,’ I reply ‘But one lives far away’

Yes: much better!

I particularly liked your wry comment:

" 'Coming to terms' is sickeningly untrue."

You really have taken on board what everyone has said: you show now much more than you tell.

My only worry is that the final snatch of dialogue is completely unrelated to the outpouring of grief we have just witnessed. Set it up somehow; introduce it.

Excellent work! Good job.

9/10

While there is quite a bit that was improved from your first draft to your second, I feel like you've introduced a little more explaining rather than showing. It's more concrete, true, but you also lost some of that imagery. If you can manage to keep the abstractness of your imagery intact while still retaining a sense of coherence, this will be golden.

Eimear wrote:Would you accept your family stolen from you?
My experiences with life’s final show have been tainted,
so imagination takes me to him, and lies become simple unseen facts.

I feel like this stanza in particular is the one that's guilty of weighing down the 2.0 version - what's said here has already been said. In addition, those last two lines say a lot, so I think it's okay to keep the lines before it a little sparse. I'm not sure if I'm really making sense here, but basically: I think the newer version does a good job of making the concept more tangible, but these three lines compromise the poetic factor a little too much. If the person has read this far in your poem and sit still isn't clicking, they're going to find out in the next two lines, so there's no need to reiterate the point here.

I miss the line about the warm handprint on the forehead. But I am particularly in love with this bit:

But the stark branches couldn’t
stop the shaking, and nature wasn’t overly polite,

It's so brutal, and yet really illustrative.

A thief, must be punished.

Why the comma after thief? I'm guessing it's a stylistic thing, but I'm not really seeing the need for it. To me, it's just breaking the flow of a perfectly functional sentence.

This has such a strong theme - really really plaintive and very telling. Very emotional. The first stanza (i like how you integrated it) is probably my favorite. Lovely piece.