Young Writers Society

~*~

section A of the Medicare handbook,
loud 'listen, listen' voices,
cracked with age,
withered with a strange hybrid of hope and disappointment.
They have their faux designer bags bought at Chinatown for twenty bucks by their sides
and dark beige Timberland boots tap-tapping on the floors.

HIV meds hide in pharmacy bags
and the noise from the construction work and train station almost conceal-
"the rent in Brooklyn"-
"you heard, she's pregnant again"-
"Jesus has a twin and there were nineteen disciples at the table"-
"she's in a half-way house"-
"gotta pick up my kid"-
the room has 27 cream-colored seats and a broken TV.

WeCARE suggestion hotline
and all these strangers, talking, connected
by food stamps,
disabilities,
and "please show me your photo ID",
"has an american flag on it, isn't that nice."

a toddler plays with broken Barbies on the floor,
a teenager squinting at the clipboard registration sheets,
the lines of motherhood barely visible on her face
and a man in the corner bites his fingers nails,
eyes twitching, shoulders hunched over
his pants too low, his skin too dark.

a woman flings Spanish curses into her Obama phone
and the caseworker leans in the door,
calls another name and the twitching man stands.
she has heard hundreds and hundreds of tragedies,
sympathizing, feeling for the welfare babies,
till she left her delicate emotions in her coat pocket,
to be picked up at 6, when she checks out.

empty diet soda bottles are in the garbage,
next to McDonald's bags, old doctor's prescriptions and other garbage.
learning, imagination, initiative and confidence posters adorns the wall,
white swans on lakes and vibrant redorangeyellow sunsets as their backgrounds.
(peeled and dusty, opportunity on the floor)

~*~

Jasmine,
I've always meant to review something of yours, mostly out of a sign of respect for the older members and showing that we newer members do in fact know who you are and we do read your work. It is, after all, nice to communicate and be open and honest with each other in a writing community such as this, giving honest and thoughtful critiques of other's writing because we aim to help each other improve.

But you know this, right? So to the review.

Nice informational brochure.

But why are you telling me you, the writer, didn't like this?

If you haven't got confidence, well guess what darling, we're at a date. I've ordered steak, medium rare, nothing too crazy, and I've got a nice bottle of bourbon on the way. What will you have to accompany me with this fine evening? Coleslaw? Soup? And you're ordering...sparkling wine?!

This is a relationship bound to fail Jasmine. Some people deserve a nice kick because they're new, fine ; first dates are just awkward like that, especially our very first ones.

You though? Cut the spoiler, that crap can be done here on the Internet, but if you tell that to someone face to face? Yeah, try keeping that date going "I don't understand us much, but isn't this nice?"

"uhh yes, I'm not bothered by a sheepish and overtly cynical description of stereotypes with no obvious satire or sarcasm, that leaves nothing redeeming or variable, certainly. Would you like salt for your soup dear, or rat poison?"

That's what you need Jasmine. Take your work seriously, don't except me to do it for you. So, take the initiative if you rewrite this poem. Be daring, be bold, don't describe. Don't sit back and think you simply attack because you describe or list; prepare for the unseen attack, create the ultimate defense in creating the most vivid experience; you can't list people and things in poems as words, it's up to you, the poet, to create these worlds.

Compensate for yourself and me Jasmine, and like Sun-Tzu said, you will not fear defeat in one hundred battles.

I think this is very interesting but I must say it doesn't seem very "poetic" to me. It just seemed like you rambling about where you were at. Perhaps you could make this into a short story. I suppose it could have a chance of being a poem, but it needs to flow a bit more and don't be afraid to put ryme into it.

Okay one review coming up!
I really liked this. I can see where you don't quite understand it but I've written a poem somewhat like this before. I can definitely picture the hectic scene of a hospital or emergency room-type setting. My favorite line was "motherhood etched onto her teenage face." I like how it symbolizes how she can't change the fact that her life is going to be completely altered if she chooses to.
The very last stanza is interesting, and probably the most confusing. Where are these qualities on the wall coming from? And why is there opportunity on the floor? Kind of ends abruptly in that fashion, but I feel like if you continue with this stanza, you could definitely come up with a powerful ending

Keep writing!
<3 Sara.

I liked this poem. I can see how you don't understand it fully, but to me that seems like not understanding it made it better. That could just be me though. Anyway, nice poem and keep writing!

Hey there m'dear!

So, I'll start off by saying I loved this. It was emotional yet distant, and I could picture a waiting room for an office- I pictured a doctor's office, but was it actually a Medicare office or something? Anyway, I got a vivid mental picture. I think what you portrayed best in this was the idea of a "lonely crowd". Like how no matter how many people are around, you still feel lonely. I think your disjointed snippets of conversation helped this. It gave it all the feel of someone who was observing but not caring- just anxious or upset or so beaten down by waiting in places like this the're just past caring.

Here's the little thing you might want to fix or edit.

A woman flings spanish curses into her Obama phone

I don't think this line is necessary. I would skip right to the part about the man. It also just doesn't read nicely.

and learning, imagination, initiative, confidence adorns the wall,

I don't like this line. I'm not sure of you were trying to make it hopeful or something, but it just didn't work for me. To me, this poem was about the lonely crowd all waiting for their fate to be determined once their name was called- connected only by some hand fate has dealt them. These last two lines seemed like a desperate attempt to be like "but everyone's special!" Sort of like a fake smile after you've just cussed someone out.

Anyway, this was an amazing poem. Keep it up- I've been reading your work and you're improving immensely.

-Tori

Hi Jasmine,

Let us begin!

I wrote this a few weeks ago while at an appointment. I don't like it much. I don't understand it much either.

If you don't like it, why did you post it? I'm generally not interested in justifications of a poem, let it stand on its own. But onto the poem.

--

This is a pile of adjectives and pronouns gathered together to describe the "real" America and established systems within it. Yet I stand rather annoyed at the narrator and the poem itself because it's rather clear very very little effort went into making it clear and thoughtout and interesting and you're feeding me stereotype after stereotype. I could turn on the TV and flip to TLC or lots of other programs if I wanted a recap of how much being a pregnant teen sucks or the welfare system etc etc.

Spewing labels at me won't make this more in depth or explain to me what you're trying to say. For example

Empty diet Coke bottles are in the garbage,
next to White Castle and Mcdonalds bags
and learning, imagination, initiative, confidence adorns the wall,
(opportunity on the floor).

Refering the the first two lines: What does it tell me there there's Diet Coke cans and White Castle (??) and McDonald's(spelling please) bags in the garbage. Was the narrator hungry beforehand? Is it supposed to represent something? Is it supposed to be ironic with the following lines? Same thing with this:

they have their faux Prada bags by their sides and
Timberland boots tap-tapping on the floors.

What am I supposed to take away from a pronoun attached to a couple descriptions of locations to be followed by a supposedly deep closing line where the ghostly entities that are "learning, imagination, initiative" and "confidence" are somehow painted onto a wall where I'm excepted to figure out for myself shape, size, colour, graffiti writing, or painting, or do they retain the non-body that they are.

If you're going to give me something like say, confidence, give it shape and form, don't throw it against the wall like you did here and expect me to pick up the pieces for myself and have my thoughts drift away into what you could possibly mean. You're reaching to create some sort of depth in lines that can barely hold themselves up on it's knees.

her mother squinting at the clipboard registration sheets,
motherhood etched onto her teenage face.

Aw man, she's a teenager? I would have never guessed. And motherhood, it's etched onto her face as if her toddler has taken a pen and drawn it on. Another "non-body" noun that's somehow expected to represent something deep with any explanation or shaping in our mind.

Jasmine, this is a mess of words sewn together so messily it's tumbling out of itself and spreading over the carpet. It's too proud and expects too much out of too little. You haven't given me, as a reader, enough to connect to what you're saying and what I'm supposed to be picturing. You have to be clear and concise when trying to communicate a message and not assume that I'll make the connections with you. Because someone who say, has never heard of Prada or McDonald's or whatever, would probably never be able to make any sense of this. No you don't have to go and explain everything, but you have to, for example, create that dumpster, with the empty bags and cans represent something obvious. Don't have me, who is familiar with these things, guessing.

Best of luck, and if you have any questions give me a shout.

Kamas

Hey, there! Here to review!

So I have mixed feelings about this poem: on one hand, the overall impression I got from this poem was very powerful and tangible. The poem itself reminded me of a hospital, all sharp edges and a hodgepodge of people and cultures and the tang of depression and lost hopes. If I just examined the visceral aspect of this poem, then I definitely liked it, and deeply enjoyed its emotional appeal.

On the other hand, it is very messy with its structure and words, and I feel like you could have edited this at least one more time before posting it. I also like to see authors commit to their poetry, and though there are definitely poems of my own that I dislike, I also have a passion for them, otherwise I wouldn't have written them. I feel like your lack of passion for this poem shows up in the writing, and therefore it feels like the poem lost a bit of its power to that. (I could also see this working in your favor, though, as it could add that detached, disinterested feel that one often gets from hospitals.) But on with the reviewing!

First of all, please, oh please, pick a title! I hate to see poetry without titles because the title really is half of the poem. It lets the reader understand initially what they might be reading about, and it also can contribute hugely to the meaning of a poem, even provide the key to understanding. I could give you suggestions, but I feel that as it is your poem, you probably have more of an understanding as to what it is about than I do. I highly, highly recommend doing this, though, if you weren't already planning to.

Onto the first paragraph, in which I found one thing that was irksome:

jasminebells wrote:Section A,
Medicare,
loud 'listen, listen' voices,
cracked with age, cracked with life and
they have their faux Prada bags by their sides and
Timberland boots tap-tapping on the floors.

I feel like there's probably a better way to incorporate their voices into the poem...Maybe just add double quotation marks instead? Like "? I don't know. This shows up throughout the poem, so I think you would have to find a way to make them flow more smoothly into the poem and then stick with it throughout.

Another tiny error I found was here:

jasminebells wrote:A woman flings Spanish curses into her Obama phone

It just wasn't capitalized before. I did really like this line, because it shows two different cultures and ethnic groups coming together in the same person, and I like how that affected the poem.

These are possibly my favorite lines in the entire poem:

jasminebells wrote:till she left her delicate emotions in her coat pocket,
to be picked up at 6, when she checks out.

Gah - I just love this. It's so emotional and visceral and tangible, and I feel its potency so strongly through the words you chose. Gosh. There are so many instances like this throughout your whole poem, and I adored finding them, because they contribute so much to the meaning. Awesome.

And you ended the poem very powerfully also, though I have iffy feelings about the brackets:

jasminebells wrote:and learning, imagination, initiative, confidence adorns the wall,
(opportunity on the floor).

Without these two lines, your poem would merely have been a jumble of words without any particular meaning to them, but I feel like they brought it together and lent some meaning to it all. However, the brackets just pop up out of nowhere; though I like how they affect the poem, I feel like it might work just as well without them. Give it some thought, maybe...

Overall, I truly enjoyed your poem: however, I feel like half of it was throwing clever cultural references onto the poem, without much thought as to whether the poem really needed them. I think that what you have here is the makings of a truly wonderful poem, with huge, huge potential to develop into something fantastic - if you want to spend the time going through and editing and picking and discarding until you're left with the essentials that really convey your meaning. I hope you care about this poem! Because I think it has so much potential, and, as a poetry lover, I hope you spend more time developing it.

Great writing, and hope this helped in some way!

~Glim

Hi!
This is an interesting poem. It's... different.

Things I liked

cracked with age,
withered with a strange hybrid of hope and disappointment,

I loved this!

HIV meds hide in pharmacy bags

YES. HIV medicines would hide in pharmacy bags. There's a bit of a stigma attached to being HIV+ and you showed this well (What's the stigma for anyway? I'm Flu positive and everyone brings me flowers. It's a virus... so if I was HIV positive, why would everyone seem to shun me?)

a woman flings Spanish curses into her Obama phone

I like how you used 'flings Spanish curses'. That's a great description! Oh and what's an Obama phone? Is it an American thing? (I live just over the pond Atlantic see?

all these strangers, talking, connected
by food stamps,
disabilities,
and "please show me your photo ID",
"has an american flag on it, isn't that nice."

I love how you say they're all connected in different ways that aren't to do with Friends, Family or Work...

till she left her delicate emotions in her coat pocket,
to be picked up at 6, when she checks out.

Yes! A perfect way of talking about how she deals with the tragedies - by leaving her emotions!

Things to be improved
I had to change because I would've spent all day saying what I liked!

"the rent in Brooklyn"-
"you heard, she's pregnant again"-
"Jesus has a twin and there were nineteen disciples at the table"-
"she's in a half-way house"-
"gotta pick up my kid"-

I know that in a speech marks, you have to put a capital letter if it's speech... did you mean to leave the beginning with lower case letters?

white swans on lakes and vibrant redorangeyellow sunsets as their backgrounds.

This is quite nice, but shouldn't 'redorangeyellow' become 'red, orange and yellow'?

Lastly, I noticed that you didn't put a capital letter at the beginning of stanzas. Was that intentional?

Overall
Overall, that was good and very interesting. I've never read a poem quite like that before!
Mac

Jas, you have some snazzy words in your bones, girl, and I don’t want you to forget it. You’ve got something raw here, something scathing, but at the same time so cavalier, leaned up against the bricks of a house in Brooklyn, tapping the head of a cigarette to dispose of the ash…it’s entrancing. And it reminded me of my trip to New York a while back, so I want to say you’ve captured some Bronx soul between the constant talk on the streets and the phones ringing in the government building.

All that said, this is very prosaic—something that would make fantastic political fiction or some sort of snip into a character’s eyes. Perhaps the eyes of that girl by the clipboard, or the black man seated away from the rest. I can almost taste the AZT.

You hit this one point of dialogue that really just made my night—it reminded me of something Chuck Palahniuk would phrase into his writing that just makes everything feel so passive, as if time is barreling by while we read, and the author knows that he’s consuming bits of my life. And he’ll just throw in this line so carelessly, so fluidly that it works as a literary lubricant.

and “please show me your photo ID”,
“has an american flag on it, isn’t that nice.”

Almost depressing in its grip. So you have this golden moments confined in a prosaic piece that rather lacks flow—I think that’s my biggest issue with it—but it makes up for it in wit and gimmick, I think. I hope that makes sense. There’s just so much soul that smoothing the rough New York edges may be a shame, and so it makes my job as a reviewer that much harder.

So you have this piece that’s conflicting itself in my head. Should I change or shine with my jagged edges?

I certainly know that “Obama phone” is too much. Not subtle enough for this. Your last stanza doesn’t really hit well as a last stanza. It just feels like it should continue on into further narrative, which I probably wouldn’t complain about. You have a few unnecessary details, too—the toddlers and barbies, the soda bottles—different things. I’m just not sure what they do.

So ultimately, I’d rather see this in brilliant prose. It would be so incredible, like you don’t even know. But as far as a poem, work on the things that I summed up in the paragraph above (if you want—like I said, it’s delicate), and let me know if you have any questions.

-Lumi