a dream of what we almost were

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Last edited by Hannah on Wed Aug 17, 2011 11:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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First of all, brilliant.
Absolutely brilliant, this is my favourite poem today so far, and I've read about ten, so really well done. Your work was powerful, emotional, refreshing, and it was really well-suited technically to the angle you were trying to portray. There were some issues I had with perhaps punctuating a line or two to make it easier for the reader to follow; however, that's just small fry compared to the scope of which your poem got me. Honestly, brilliant work, I applaud you, and I will definitely be on the lookout for more of your work - keep up the good job.
Being children of a cruel reality, we fall prey to the greater powers.
To envy.
To madness.
Betrayal.
Love.
And yet without these things, we cannot remain human. Without these things, we are nothing.
But it is the greatest sacrifice. To envy. To be mad. To betray. To love.
To be human.




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I also applaud you, it was extremely brilliant. I love these poems that take something simple or ordinary, yet lace it with so much magic and meaning. They sometimes end up deeper than the writers who use all this dramatic wording( me *disguised in coughs*). Your skill at this is certainly commendable. This poem is so unique and refreshing, I'm enthralled.
one thing I will say, It might be in your best interests to capitalize your I 's. I'm not a grammar Nazi but I know some people are and I don't want them too turn away from this for something as little as that. I don't think anyone here would do that, but you never know.

I will also be looking for more of your poetry. Thanks so much for writing this and I'm so glad I found it!
Check out my newly published YA fantasy novel here!

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/SaraETall




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As the two review above claim this is really a breathe of fresh air, seems like a picked a good morning to poke my head around YWS I'm finding a lot of great work.
The simplicity of this make it close for anyone to relate to, and yet the tapestry you use to hem it all together is fantastic as well. Great poem!
Can't wait to see more, I'm now a follower.
We all die. The goal isn't to live forever, it's to create something that will.
[Chuck Palahniuk]




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Cool, a review for Hannah, and no mercy.

Very personally bound, even if not from your experience directly, this is a poem precipitated on the personal recollection of wishing and a fantastical sojourn of younger days...etc, etc. The strength lies in the vast cuisine of interesting descriptions and scenes you thrust on us in order to advance the poem.

I'm not interested though, and I think you lack truly significant drama in this poem.

Why is Hamlet compelling? Because of Ophelia's cruel end? Because of brooding little Hamlet? Because of omens? Why do we read Don Quixote? Perhaps we are seeing the soul of Spain hung on a noose and let somehow left living on a vein of oxygen that reduces it to babbling for centuries based on the suspicions of an insecure ruling class. Maybe we just love Sancho Panza that much, and those fucking windmills.

Drama is something everything struggles to grasp. To display, to make real, to elucidate from nothing into something; to create life like a god and make it compelling enough to survive beyond a moments whimsy.

To the review~

i think about taking you with me
to the orange stone columns spread across the skyline. i
think
they look like the time your sister
took safety scissors and cut
chicago out of construction paper.
you know the way it smells.
instead i take you out
between the breaking houses
where we know
the couches smell like
cats and soup and casseroles
and cigarettes even though
they made plans to build back porches for smoking
and their collapsible lawn chairs
striped fourth of july parade and neon yellow.
it's like how my brother keeps his
red and white cooler in his backseat.
we sit next to each other on separate benches
and talk about preying mantises
and you tell me they kill each other
when they finish loving.
then we turn back down toward the city that
sucks on the edge of the great lake
with a storm hanging on its lip.
yesterday we drove the same way
and you put your hand on top of
mine on top of the stick shift
but not after that.
not for a while, at least.
dinner's cooling when we walk in
and you catch the screen door with
your bare heel
and i think of how you might
buy terrycloth slippers to match your wrinkles
when we're old.
and you smile at me. you
ask me if the colgate's working yet.
i don't want to talk about that right now.
i wonder
sometimes
just how far one tank of gas would take us
if that were all we had.
i wonder
if we would still see the lake from there.
it's endless.


Cut this baby up. Print it out, and take each and every stanza and rearrange them, because while I may not like the drama, I like how you still make this complete. I want to see if you can make this into another poem with the same parts or your retain the same feeling and vision.

If that happens, this could be a damn good poem. IF, but right now, it's certainly saying it has the potential to be strong.
I'll get to specific revisions and phrasings and choices later this week. SEE YOU THEN HANNAH-LA, BYE!

(have fun)




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I loved it. I did. It had a very nice flow in my opinion. I love the wording that you used. I actually don't knows specifically what it was about this poem, maybe because I just finished listening to "When I'm Gone" by eminem, but this seems like the perfect follow up.

Really, well done, and I hope I can be like you someday.
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That was incredible. Wow.
Just a few things, though:
I would reword the part about The back porches for smoking, it seems a little out of place. And also the part about breaking houses, I would find another word for breaking because it again seems kind of out of place. The wording was kind of off in some parts, too.
And everyone basically covered the rest
Overall, this was sooo good. It's definitely my favorite so far. I absolutely loved the part about the construction paper.
"I am still so naive;
I know pretty much what I like and dislike;
But please, don't ask me who I am. A passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?

-Sylvia Plath



Who knows anything about anyone, let alone themselves.
— Hank Green