We’re thinking about you

We’re thinking about you

We’re watching The Jazz Singer
on a Sunday morning, the rain
snuffing out any energy in us,
the little raindrops thrashing
against the windowpane.

We’re thinking about you.

We’re thinking about the December
daybreaks, when you’d spark from sleep
like embers from ash and walk
around the house in a nightgown
when the sky was still pink. We talk
about how it could never happen again
but secretly hope it will.

She still collects postcards for you.
She stows them under the bed,
snakes on mattresses, sobs
into pillows. I watch her from
the small crack in the door. Then
she sleeps.

The raindrops slice the silence,
Al Jolson sprinkles it with sugar.
Your mother’s feet are planted in
the muted cushions like birthday candles.

At night, her screams leak under
my door. I fold them like napkins
and swallow them whole.

Wow. I haven't read any stuff around here in a while and I thought I could lend my help to this piece, which seems vacant of feedback.

Many of the images are great:

"the rain/snuffing out any energy in us"

and:

"I fold [her screams] like napkins" - Gah! This is so original. And a special mention for your synaesthetic metaphor:

"The raindrops slice the silence,/Al Jonson sprinkles them with sugar." Excellent!

The irregular rhyme scheme is also worthy of note: great!

I do have a couple of criticisms for you. The sole line "We're thinking about you" seems redundant and too telling; I would get rid of it.

Also, the part "snakes on mattresses" doesn't really make much sense. Do you mean she is snaking onto the mattresses? Are there really pythons covering her while she's asleep? Please make this a little clearer.

Overall, a superb effort and a really good read. Well done!

9/10

Guh, gorgeous, you people are making me so jealous today. I like the repetition here:

"We’re thinking about you.

We’re thinking about the December..."

Also, this is a good line: "The raindrops slice the silence", and "snakes on mattresses, sobs
into pillows", like she's a snake right, the way she's lying on the bed? I love it, and the last stanza, and, well all of the description and imagery you use, I don't have a bad thing to say about it - it's beautiful.

There's a nice rhythm in transition and in thought. Also, the narrative stands out without bludgeoning the audience.

Hey! Here's that review I promised you! I hope it is of help, though most has probably already been said.

This is very lovely. The imagery is great; there is not too much, which many poets often do on here. I, like Gahks, think that the "we're thinking about you" line disrupted the amazing flow you had going on there. It seemed a bit out of place, all alone like that. And the snakes thing as well. For a moment I thought that... well, I shan't say that for it seems a bit inappropriate, but I think you get what I mean. I thought the word grouping and the overall poem was written in a very sophisticated, clever way that a reader like me would love very much. Reading this, I found it very original with all its out-of-the-box descriptions. There were many lines I don't think I could have ever even begun to have thought of. The line I particularly enjoyed the most was:

Your mother’s feet are planted in
the muted cushions like birthday candles.

I adored that description!

Anyway, excellent poem, Gadi! I am quite glad I was given the chance to read it!

-Holly

Hi Gadi! Sorry this took a while!

Gadi. wrote:We’re watching The Jazz Singer
on a Sunday morning, the rain
snuffing out any energy in us,
the little raindrops thrashing
against the windowpane.

I loved this introduction. The casual reference to 'The Jazz Singer' and the weather sets a scene and an atmosphere.

The only minor point I'd make is the repetition of rain/raindrops jarred a little - I wanted to find a different word. The only suggestion I could think of was swapping the first 'rain' for 'weather', which isn't particularly strong.

She stows them under the bed,
snakes on mattresses, sobs
into pillows.

I didn't like 'snakes on mattresses' either, I'm afraid.

The raindrops slice the silence; - I'd change the punctuation here.
Al Jolson sprinkles it with sugar.

I absolutely loved these lines. (They clinched the gold star!)

General comments

Obviously the imagery is incredibly unusual, but what makes it work is that the metaphors make perfect sense if you think about them:

At night, her screams leak under
my door. I fold them like napkins
and swallow them whole.

When I read that the first time I thought, 'That's bizarre!' However, when I thought about it again, it is like the speaker hears the screams, gets a lump in their throat and has to keep from crying. That might not be what you intended at all, but that's what I interpreted from that!

I liked how, with the fire image, you referenced the pink sky. Even the colours all tie in together.

Lines like 'She still collects postcards for you' are short and simple but still manage to lend the poem a realistic poignancy.

I'm sorry that I don't have anything else to say! It's a very thought-out poem - I never noticed the subtle rhyming until Gahks pointed it out. There's something new to find on each read and that's special. Well done!

Hey Gadi.


We’re watching The Jazz Singer

on a Sunday morning, the rain

snuffing out any energy in us,

the little raindrops thrashing

against the windowpane.


< To be honest it took me three goes to actually get through this whole stanza. Though now I like it a lot more, and it might just be that I’m tired.


We’re thinking about you.



We’re thinking about the December

daybreaks, when you’d spark from sleep

like embers from ash and walk

around the house in a nightgown < you need some kind of punctuation here, it’s ill fitting with the next line.

when the sky was still pink. We talk

about how it could never happen again

but secretly hope it will.



She still collects postcards for you.

She stows them under the bed,

snakes on mattresses, sobs < “snakes on mattresses” makes little to no sense here. Had you said “in” I might have been able to justify it, but right now that line needs to go.

into pillows. I watch her from

the small crack in the door. Then

she sleeps.



The raindrops slice the silence,

Al Jolson sprinkles it with sugar.

Your mother’s feet are planted in

the muted cushions like birthday candles.



At night, her screams leak under

my door. I fold them like napkins

and swallow them whole.

< I like this last sentence quite a lot. This last stanza is what makes your poem, for me.

Okay. So... I’m not terribly enamoured with this. The best that you have here, in my opinion, comes in your last stanza and that is what saves your poem from mediocrity for me. I think that the images were okay, but failed to let me connect to the narrator, and the characters. Somehow I just feel completely detached from the events and the situation and the whole poem itself. The poem isn’t bad by any stretch, I just don’t think it’s very good, if that makes sense.

Everyone else has liked this, so maybe I’m just a little odd, but I think you can do better.

*Hearts* Le Penguin.

Sorry you've had to wait so long!

We’re thinking about you [I rather dislike your title. I think you can manage something much more original and interesting than this.]

We’re watching The Jazz Singer
on a Sunday morning, the rain
snuffing out any energy in us,
the little raindrops thrashing
against the windowpane. [Not the best of beginnings but not bad either. I think the trouble is, you're concentrating too heavily on the weather when what's much more interesting is the jazz singer. Surely that brings more memories of this person than a little rain can? So why not expand your music imagery, perhaps tie the two images together. Here's an example of what I mean:

The jazz music washes over us in a way
the rain trapped outside,
thrashing against the windowpane,
can not.

And then you could possibly twist in a few hints of what it is about this scene that might remind the narrator(s) of the deceased which I presume to be the dead child of a husband and wife, the husband being your primary narrator?]

We’re thinking about you. [This could create a stronger image. Perhaps personify the thoughts or delve a little deeper. Or if you want to keep the halt to the flow, to make it stand out, this needs to be shorter and more sudden. Perhaps 'We think of you.']

We’re thinking about the December
day-breaks, when you’d spark from sleep
like embers from ash and walk
around the house in a nightgown [I'd love to see a dash here and then a slight alteration of the beginning of the next line to 'while the sky was still pink.' Try reading that aloud and pausing where the dash is. I think it sounds more effective.]
when the sky was still pink. We talk
about how it could never happen again [Maybe '...how it could never be again...' would be that little touch more dramatic. This stanza is pretty good but you need to change some words here and there.]
but secretly hope it will.

She still collects postcards for you.
She stows them under the bed,
snakes on mattresses, sobs
into pillows. I watch her from
the small crack in the door. Then
she sleeps.[I like the idea of still collecting post-cards but the rest of this stanza is a little too bland. And the end of it is very anti-climax. I'm not saying get rid of it completely but think about what else people might do when they lose someone that close to them. Other things that will give some idea of who the deceased was and who the other two personas are. It's hard to be moved when the poem is generic, when the people could be anyone.]

The raindrops slice the silence,
Al Jolson sprinkles it with sugar.
Your mother’s feet are planted in
the muted cushions like birthday candles. [This stanza I like though some of the imagery could be extended on to provide a stronger image. And it's impossible to feel for your narrator when he expresses few feelings himself and seems so distant from everything. As if it has no impact on him. I think we need to know where he's sitting and what he's doing too. Is he beside her? Her head on his shoulder? And does that remind him of his daughter? (Presuming I have the story right of course.)]

At night, her screams leak under
my door. I fold them like napkins
and swallow them whole. [I like the end though it seems to contradict my idea that they are husband and wife. So perhaps sibling and mother? Except the use of 'your mother' would contradict that...]

Overall, I think I've read better by you but if you put some work into this, it could be quite dramatic. You have some powerful and interesting lines which you should maintain but think about re-working some of the rest, particularly the stanza I pointed out above. What you need to do is make this more personal and convey the emotions more strongly, particularly with this being in the lyrical poetry section. Your narrator needs to be more than a disembodied voice, he/she needs to be defined and it needs to be clearer what part this person played in the deceased's life.

Good luck with this one and feel free to ask me to take another look if you change anything,

Heather xx