Georgia Mourning

Spoiler

I don't expect you to like this, but it's been a while since I've posted. Too non-fiction for my tastes and all that jazz. It's a first draft without a lick of editing, so it probably won't look the same in a week or two. Cathartic poetry and all that. Have at it. I'm thinking of taking the tombstone motif from the end and putting a clone somewhere near the beginning.

mama says my fire used to burn brighter than it does now,
that I used to have a smile that could light up the Georgia woods like fresh revival.
and she touches my face and wonders why my eyes are so cloudy now,
why I let the devil take away all my joy like a quick current in shallow water.
she won’t take my simple answers, and I don’t expect her to—
but I tell her that I’m tired of the cold, really I am,

and that I’ve just gotten used to it. like the heat
in july when the fans are busted, or like the twang in sour tea
when sugar costs too much and daddy’s been out of work for three years.
it’s all about getting used to pain, I say, and she just stares at me
because I’ve suddenly aged a decade in her arms
and I’m not just her baby anymore.

but I just feel so stupid, so mediocre like the day I was the last
to learn my multiplication tables because my daddy couldn’t teach me.
and I feel so worthless because nothing I write measures up to the ones
who will always lord their superiority over me, at least in my mind.
it’s a self-hatred I feel when I see others succeed so brilliantly.
it’s anger at my own inadequacy, and not at their power.

I’ll just always be in the background, known for nothing
except maybe a beautiful tombstone.

Strong stuff!

The second stanza, imagery wise is the strongest. The bitterness is real.

What I liked immediately about your poem was the hot and cold tropes, it is used really well, and works too for such cathartic emotions.

But this, "but I just feel so stupid, so mediocre like the day I was the last" bothered me a little.
I feel that this line is too plain to go with the feel of the poem. The anger dies down by commonplace words like "stupid" you know.

And I know exactly what you mean by the self-hatered coming from surrendering to the fact that there are others better than you. I feel the same way too, it's a plunging feeling. I think you have expressed it well here.

As for the ending, I know that a lot of poetry today just ends with a sardonic, punch-line-esque finale, but I'm not sure that the last line in your poem can come out as that. It's somehow a little anti-climactic.

Or maybe, it's the word "beautiful". The adjective did it again. Maybe you could try something with the whole "don't tell, show" policy?

In general, I liked the tone of the poem, only it seems to hit speed-breakers at times, which does something not wanted to the flow. That's a weird way to put it. And the title is quite intriguing.

I like it. The....emotions and description are really well written. I agree with what you said about the last stanza also being cloned as the first (It'd be really cool).

I’ll just always be in the background, known for nothing
except maybe a beautiful tombstone.

This was my favorite stanza.

P.S.
Whats Cathartic poetry??

I just have to say I really reallly really liked that.

I love poems like these that really have so much life and character to them, as if they were so real. I never can write poems like these. Another person on YWS that writes poems similar to this is Kylan. Of course, their both very different writing styles, but both still good. Images in this poem remind me of reading a poem by Kylan called, "kissing lessons".

But anyway, back to yours!

I want to point of my favorite parts of your poem, then talk about the ending and the title.

mama says my fire used to burn brighter than it does now,
that I used to have a smile that could light up the Georgia woods like fresh revival.
and she touches my face and wonders why my eyes are so cloudy now,
why I let the devil take away all my joy like a quick current in shallow water.
she won’t take my simple answers, and I don’t expect her to—but I tell her that I’m tired of the cold, really I am,

I've highlighted my favorite parts. I like the imagery of her touching the narrator's face. It's a gesture that shows concern and worry for her daughter/son. And then the second thing I highlighted makes me think of how much parents (should) worry and care for their children. Parents who are so scared for their children's safety, so they start demanding explanations and reasons why. It's like they want to know everything and when they can't understand why their child would do or feel something like that, it creates a tension between the child and parent. I think this is because a parent feels like they should always be able to take care of and protect their child and when they realize that they aren't doing that, it's very shocking and scary to them.
And it shows how distant we are as people, how we will never fully understand one another, even though we all feel the same feelings and have the same basic and raw emotions.

and that I’ve just gotten used to it. like the heat
in july when the fans are busted, or like the twang in sour tea
when sugar costs too much and daddy’s been out of work for three years.
it’s all about getting used to pain, I say, and she just stares at me
because I’ve suddenly aged a decade in her arms
and I’m not just her baby anymore.

Hehe, as you can see I've highlighted this WHOLE BEAUTIFUL STANZA. I love imagery like this. These examples that really are clear and easy to understand. Like a busted fan in a hot summer day, knowing that you want to be cool, but you can't be, so you've got to deal with it and get used to it. I don't drink tea, but I can imagine the sourness on my tongue, and the bitterness in knowing that you've got to deal with sour tea because dad doesn't have work, and it's just something you have to get used to.
Then, I love the last three lines so much. It's so sad to me, but so beautiful at the same time. It's the hardest part for parents, I think, to understand that their children will grow up and maybe be parents, and that their children won't really be children anymore. And that it's something they have to get used to as well, and deal with, because children can't stay children forever. We age and grow old just like our parents.

but I just feel so stupid, so mediocre like the day I was the last
to learn my multiplication tables because my daddy couldn’t teach me.
and I feel so worthless because nothing I write measures up to the ones
who will always lord their superiority over me, at least in my mind.
it’s a self-hatred I feel when I see others succeed so brilliantly.
it’s anger at my own inadequacy, and not at their power.

I feel like this stanza is very personal to the narrator, but also it can relate so well. It's easy to understand these feelings, at least, to me it is. I know how difficult and frustating it is to watch others and wonder why you aren't as much as them, and then realizing you can't do anything about it because it's yourself you're trying to fix. And I think when it comes down to it, you don't really know that much about you. (And I'm not talking about you directly, just a general you.)

I’ll just always be in the background, known for nothing
except maybe a beautiful tombstone.

The one thing I do have to say, though, is that this ending is very complicated. It can make the poem go off in many different ways. I thought, at first, when I read the title, that it would be about somebody's death.

I love the title, because it can be read as, "Georgia Mourning". As if it were a person named Georgia who is mourning the loss of someone. Or, it can be "Georgia Mourning" as in the state is mourning for the loss of someone. Or even, "Georgia Morning" like a sunset morning in Georgia that only someobody from Georgia would only understand. Because they wake up there to see the morning rise from the window. Especially in the summer time, it's got to be pretty. I imagine every sunrise is the same, but also just a little bit different for every person who sees it.

But, going back to the end, I almost feel like the whole poem could be about the narrator suffering from depression, and in the end, plans to kill themselves. There are feelings of being cold, and worthlessness throughout the poem, and in the end, they act as if all they're going to mount up to is a beautiful tombstone. So maybe they think they won't be anything, or won't be able to be successful at anything, and so they feel low and little.

But that's just my opinion.

The whole poem had a sad tone, though. And I love sad poems, lol. And I love poems like this one. And I love this poem.
Thank you very much for the wonderful read. Personally, I don't really think it needs any editing, but you're welcome to go ahead. I just wanted to say I think it's good as it is now. Very raw and emotional and full of life.

Darling, darling, this is gorgeous. Your therapy manifests itself in beautiful ways; I guess that's a blessing for the rest of us.

I love your first two stanzas. I adore them, I can feel the heat of Georgia--impressive, because I've never been to Georgia!--and that slow Southern style. Lovely-lovely.

but I just feel so stupid, so mediocre like the day I was the last
to learn my multiplication tables because my daddy couldn’t teach me.
and I feel so worthless because nothing I write measures up to the ones
who will always lord their superiority over me, at least in my mind.
it’s a self-hatred I feel when I see others succeed so brilliantly.
it’s anger at my own inadequacy, and not at their power.

Now, this stanza. "but I just feel so stupid, so mediocre like the day I was the last to learn my multiplication tables because my daddy couldn't teach me" is gorgeous. I feel a little twang for this person, whoever it is. But why do you feel stupid? What's bringing on this reaction? And the rest of the stanza, while angry and brilliant and sharp-edged, is a little confusing, and strangely different than the other two stanzas, which focus more on slower and more beautiful language. I think in later drafts you should try to find a way to put in this sentiment more elegantly, with more ache instead of just hatred. (Sorry. It's a little confusing. But I guess I'm saying be more subtle in this last stanza and it will bring your poem to life.)

Your very last two lines, I love.

I've missed your poetry. Keep writing.

There is nothing left I can say, except that this was incredible. I loved it!!

I really like this. Thank you.

I have comments about this, for a time when my laptop is charged. Remind me to come back.

It's a beautiful poem. The best I've seen from you yet. The ending lets it down, however. Will explain more. Thank you for posting. <3

It's deep... and quietly, calmly bitter. Very good.

overall i did like this poem, i really liked the second stanza too!

You brought the point across, in my opinion.

I actually do like this poem, keep it up!

,Writingaway

Ohmygosh this is such an amazing poem. I love the imagery it creates and everything. I'm not good at looking for mistakes so I'm not much help, but I can just say I couldn't find anything wrong with that poem. I do admit the third paragraph didn't stand out as much to me, my favourite verses were the first two.

I love it and keep on writing!!!

I agree with the first comment made, “Strong Stuff!”

First off, let me say this, the title attracted my attention because I was born in Georgia and I love hearing others perspectives on it, no matter what it may be involving.
I was very surprised as to the direction this poem took but I truly loved it!
And now for my critiques and compliments:

Rather than say "and" before this sentence,

and she touches my face and wonders why my eyes are so cloudy now,

Maybe you could start with saying "Now, when she touches my face..." (Just a thought)

I let the devil take away all my joy like a quick current in shallow water.

I love this line!!!

Rather than say

when sugar costs too much and daddy’s been out of work for three years.

Maybe you could say "when sugar costs too much since daddy's been out of work for three years"

I feel so worthless because nothing I write measures up to the ones
who will always lord their superiority over me, at least in my mind.

Not only do I love this line, I am so impressed at the way you simply stated that it was only in your head towards the end of the sentence.

Overall, I am truly impressed! I have no idea what anyone else has said or corrected about this poem but I stated my opinions and just wanted to say one more time how powerfully moving this piece was.
Possibly a stupid question, but where did the inspiration to write this come from? Reality or something else?

~SnowBerry

Hey,
I like this! It's really strong. I can feel how sad he his- it kinda makes me feel depressed...

great job! I don't really have anything that I think you could improve on. I know this didn't help, but I just wanted to say something.

Lumi, I'd love to see this from the perspective of the mother. Maybe even the tombstone.

This POV sorts of falls too cleanly. Each lines speak itself to me before it comes. The final jarring impact is like a feather on my window. I can't hear it, and can barely see it behind my blinds (a near pun there, sort of, ironic).

Love to see what you could come up with though if you choose either of those routes.

Hello love! I’m sorry this has taken me so long, I am ridiculously lax.

Now, I said in my note that I like this, and I really do. It has exactly the right tone and it’s a smooth voice with the right sliver of bitterness. A kind of lament to living, if you will. I also mentioned that I thought it ended poorly, and this is because your ending is too... contrived in a way. It’s too neatly put together and is missing all of the deliciously raw and inviting emotion you have running through the rest of the poem. I can see this as an indication of the giving up, almost a personification of the poem within the poem, but I don’t think it’s working for you in the way that you need it to work. We need and ending which hits the reader smack between the eyes and pulls us through the veil, as it were. Right now we’re waiting on the edge of the curtain, looking through without any kind of contact. We’re being purposely disconnected from the event and the narrator through the bluntly bitter, and self pitying ending. And this is a self pitying exercise, however we may want to look at it. This in itself isn’t really a problem; all poetry hints at the self and saturates itself in pity, regardless of where it is hidden and how well it is disguised. What is a problem, however, is that this isn’t hidden nearly well enough for your reader to get past it and connect with real strength to your underlying poem. (For this purpose I will assume you have a layered poem. One above and one below) The poem below speaks for the root of the matter, the slick of understanding which comes from loss, and lack. Having a lack, or perceiving a lack can be much more detrimental than the understanding of it, because we push away the truth of the matter in favour of wallowing. Your narrator is allowed to wallow in his situation, in the decadent swathe of heat in every movement, he’s allowed. However, we need him to be a little bit stronger for us to end on. Less of a slip and more of a jump, if that makes sense? To put it more clearly: Your last lines are memorable enough for your poem.

I’ve talked a lot about that, I think because it connects with the rest of your poem. The diction is lovely and your imagery is very pleasant. I find the poem somewhat too... narrative for me? In that the narration is strong, and the element of storytelling, or monologue is clear. Again, not necessarily a problem but something you may want to think about when refining the poem. Is the narration so necessary, or can you jumble the story up and give us something a little more disconnected (to metaphor the situation itself).

“or like the twang in sour tea
when sugar costs too much and daddy’s been out of work for three years.” This is your best line(s). They show and they feel and they are wonderful.

Thank you terribly for the read, I’m very sorry I didn’t get here earlier. Tell me if you change it.

Lovelovelove