Cliché love

I listen to the rain, clenching my teeth
and wonder whether the birds' song comes from the stereo
or from the outside.
Be reasonable; it's after midnight and birds sing to the sun.
This is pickled happiness (Sweet/Sour)
and there's no colour when I close my eyes,
so I keep them open.

Watching you, my insides quiver and tremble,
A night-moth on my collar bone sends a shiver down my spine.
I see the sharp edge of a jaw, erudite hands, mellowed by organic light;
and hair alive with shady patterns, painted into window-dust.

But none of those sudden smiles today;
Lips flinched. A beautiful hurt mouth
and bright red slander stumbling over teeth and tongue
on wobbly, spindly spider-legs.

Those mercurial words, pearling silver and enchantingly lethal,
are glistening like the shattered rain that wets your silent face.
Then a whisper. Finally.
My hand is reaching out for it. To catch the words and keep them.
How could I not forgive you now? I knew you before life began
and though it's a cliché to say, I want you to know
that the moment you die, I'll die with you.

Hello. I've been dreadfully tied up with work at the moment, but I promised myself to get some reviews done today in all the madness. So here I am! And one of yours? A treat!

I'd start by changing the title. As annoying as it is, the word cliche is off-putting in this day and age to almost any reader. Perhaps you were using irony, perhaps not. But your at once putting yourself at a disadvantage- the title should make a poem. This one doesn't. It- like some aspects of it, is vague and unnecessary.

I do like it though. You create a vivid theme and your descriptions are engaging and visual. I especially like this:

A night-moth on my collar bone sends a shiver down my spine.

Somehow though, it failed to touch me majorly. I attribute this to the sometimes poetic for the sake of being poetic over describing, the slightly scientific approach you gave to feelings, and the voice which lost it's way here and then.

My advice? Revise this piece closely. There's a lot of juicy stuff in this- images and a great atmosphere of love and trying to understand it. You just fell short of really wining me as a reader. Read more. Poetry, books, newspapers. Think more deeply. Don't be afraid of a red pen. Murder your darlings. Just not your friends- you might need them come September. Hehe. Hope this helps.

Love,

Eimear

A very dramatic poem! But ya really hit the emotions in this poem it's great!

Oh, I do have a thing for love poetry, I do.

I identify two main problems in what is otherwise a strong poem:

1) It's too prosaic. To be fair, I say this about a lot of things, but I personally love poetry that has a lot of flow and freer feeling in it, whether it's free verse or traditional verse. When I say prosaic, I mean in a bad way, because I have read poetry that does it in a good way. But the feeling I get from this poem demands, I think, more relaxed narration. A little less narration, too, more relaxed conventions, and a little more whimsy!

2) Too many unnecessary adjectives. This is related to the above issue. A lot of the words you're using are good, strong, healthy words, but there are too many of them. Too much of a good thing, you know?

Those mercurial words, pearling silver and enchantingly lethal

This is a fine example. Of the eight words in this sentence, three or four are adjectives, depending on how you're using and what you mean by "pearling". All of these are excellent descriptions, but dear god, do we need all of them?

I think to illustrate most of what I'm talking about, I'll show you what I'd do if this poem were mine:

I listen to the rain, clenching my teeth
and wonder whether the birds' song comes from the stereo
or from the outside.
Be reasonable; it's after midnight and birds sing to the sun.
This is pickled happiness (Sweet/Sour)
and there's no colour when I close my eyes,
so I keep them open.

I clench my teeth and listen to the rain;
I wonder if the birds' song comes from the stereo
or the outside. Oh, why wonder, it's after
midnight and birds sing to the sun.
This is sweet-sour, pickled happiness, and there's no
colour when I close my eyes, so I keep
them open.

I'm actually not a huge fan of what I did to the first stanza. In general, it's not the strongest opening stanza. You might consider cutting the part about the birds entirely; it seems to me a useless digression. I do find myself liking the phrase "pickled happiness" even though it did strike me as contrived and sort of silly at first.

Watching you, my insides quiver and tremble,
A night-moth on my collar bone sends a shiver down my spine.
I see the sharp edge of a jaw, erudite hands, mellowed by organic light;
and hair alive with shady patterns, painted into window-dust.

Watching you, I quiver and tremble. A night-moth
touches my collar-bone, a shiver down my back. I watch
the sharp edge of a jaw and erudite hands
mellowed by the light, hair alive with window-dust patterns.

The first sentence as you have it suggests that "my insides" are "watching you" because "my insides" is the subject of the sentence. Oopsie, huh? In my edit, I used "watch" in the second line for a sort of repetition, and also because it feels more active than "see".

But none of those sudden smiles today;
Lips flinched. A beautiful hurt mouth
and bright red slander stumbling over teeth and tongue
on wobbly, spindly spider-legs.

None of your sudden smiles today. Lips flinch.
Bright red slander stumbling over teeth and tongue,
your beautiful hurt mouth.

I didn't feel that the slander had to have legs, really. It's overdoing the description. I do love the phrase "teeth and tongue".

Those mercurial words, pearling silver and enchantingly lethal,
are glistening like the shattered rain that wets your silent face.
Then a whisper. Finally.
My hand is reaching out for it. To catch the words and keep them.
How could I not forgive you now? I knew you before life began
and though it's a cliché to say, I want you to know
that the moment you die, I'll die with you.

Words like mercury, enchantingly lethal, glistening in the air
like tears on your face. I reach for your whisper,
to catch the words and keep them. How could I not forgive you?
I knew you before there was life. I want you to know
that the moment you die, I'll die with you.

I never use the word "cliche" outside of critique. I think it's almost become cliche for people to use the word to justify using cliches! I don't think you have to apologize in any way for the last sentence; it's stronger left alone.
Describing tears as "shattered rain" strikes me as way too emo.

-Colleen

Hi there!

I really liked your poem. You use enchanting language that engages the reader immediately and you have some very beautiful descriptions.

The theme overall seemed to me that the narrator of this person was hurt by the person she's talking to (red slander or something to that sort?) and because she's so in love with that person, she forgives them. (If I'm wrong, excuse it, please. I haven't critiqued poetry in awhile. ) I think your last two stanzas were your best, though there were the few odd, inane descriptions that definitely didn't need to be in there.

For example, these three lines:

A night-moth on my collar bone sends a shiver down my spine.
I see the sharp edge of a jaw, erudite hands, mellowed by organic light;
and hair alive with shady patterns, painted into window-dust.

seemed unnecessary. No matter how many times I went over them, I just couldn't puzzle them out. And from my experience with poetry, you can puzzle them out, but if you spend more time trying to do that than actually enjoying the poem, something should probably change.

I loved your pickled happiness line. That tickled me! Very cute.

I also noticed you tended to do what I do: be passive. Colleen gave some excellent suggestions for improving your voice so it's active in the poem, and I'd heed her words.

Very nice job, and I hope my suggestions help! My biggest one would be to use some more concrete examples that clearly relate to your theme. Best of luck, and keep writing!

Wiggy