Young Writers Society

Okay! So I've seen you around YWS and you seem to be an awesome critiquer. So I won't try to tone this critique down for you. I think you can handle anything I am about to say.

With that said, this poem is yucky. For another critique I just wrote, I was looking for examples of poetry that included horrible dads, and I found Molly Peacock's poem, "Say You Love Me." I mean, you read that poem and you think, "Wow, what a cruel and horrible Dad!"

And then, to make things worse for you, when I was trying to find this poem, I stumbled on Sylvia Plath's "Daddy." The poem goes like this:

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time--
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You--

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two--
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.

^ So you can see that she really really really really does not like her daddy. I mean, she describes him as a Nazi, as someone who would send her away to a concentration camp... he's really really mean. And although she doesn't hold a perfect rhyme, her rhyming is of "oo" words which makes it sound childish, and even though she's writing it as an adult woman, her words seem stunted, probably from the trauma she has suffered from him.

So I read all this good poetry... and then your poem. And it is so lacking! The narrator doesn't describe why she hates her father, why she would rather be with her mum, or any other sort of thing, and because there seems a complete lack of hatred, it seems unrealistic and unemotional. There is no feeling to this poem. And that's gotta change if you want to affect the reader in a deep emotional way.

So yes. You definitely need to revise us. Make us see ourselves in the narrator's shoes. And then it'll be that much better.

When I say I have a difficult dad,

My Mum purses and gives me a frown.

She says to me “You’ll be sorry,

When he’s not alive or around”



But I just can’t abide,

By his oaths, rants and rules

“Stop throwing towels in the bath,

And for Christ sake don’t use my tools”



I literally hate him,

He’s vile and he’s cruel.

So why do I crave a trip to the park,

Or an hour at the pool?



I say I have a difficult dad,

Regardless if she’ll disagree,

And wait for that euphoric day,

When it’s only Mum and me.
===================
I must say, I understand the emotions quite well here and could connect except for me it's with my mother. I feel no love for her at all.
In the first two stanzas I might say, your punctuation appears slightly off. You may want to double check that as sometimes it is even non-existent. It takes aay from when the reader knows one thought is finished.
Your use of quotations of your parents is really good and I totally could picture some bloke with a terrible accent nagging in my head.
Your wording was OK i guess, but I feel you could've been a bit more creative. You did a lot of telling and only 30% showing.


So why do I crave a trip to the park,

Or an hour at the pool?
Here, I didn't think this fit.
Lets not be rhyming just for rhymes sake. Let the creation mean more than the words. Put all your emotions into it and only then will you succeed.

Overall:

It was good.
A piece many can connect with.
I love when people write about hate.

8.5/10

I was sure I had reviewed this before! But I haven't :O Weird?

Alright, let's get to the point already. I think this is quite a simple poem, nothing really special (I'm sorry but that's how I felt). Some cute rhymes and a subject of which you could write much more broadminded poem than this is.

I also felt it being a little naïve but I think that's just because you had to find suitable rhymes in it. The title could have been more... I don't know, not-so-obvious?

"Stop throwing towels in the bath" - this is somehow weird, does anyone really do that? Or if does, is it such a mean thing?

I liked the structure, though. But overall I think I have read better material by you.

Best wishes from your friend
Demeter

put some more emotion to it
you have the ability to write work it!
best regards

I personally quite like the vagueness, it forces the reader to formulate their own interpretation; I do agree with Vernon, in that you have to show rather than tell.

Some the words you use are quite clumsy (perhaps simply chosen for the sake of rhyme?) and don't piece together well:

By his oaths, rants and rules...And for Christ sake don’t use my tools

I would like to politely disagree with Vernon on a few points.

I don't mind the vagueness of this poem. I like your rhyme pattern. It was consistent and intentional.

Though my only contention on that is "me" with "disagree" is kind of a boring one.

Also, I think for me, as an aesthetic choice I would have preferred the words "father" and "mother." I think for me, it would've flowed better with those choices and possibly make it more universal.

I see you also have another pattern of 2 sentences each stanza and then one sentence in the last. Which i think is nicely done.

I think for Vernon's choice to be picky to "For Christ's sake" line is good one. I would personally make it more vague and take out "for christ's sake" and stick with "don't use my tools"

I also have a problem with "abide" and "oaths" as being used in the poem. try other words. or cut out words.

For example you could say "My mother purses and frowns" or "My mother frowns" "But I cannot abide/oaths and rules"

You could also be clearer on why you have the craving for pools and parks. "I despise him for his lackings/he is a vile one, a cruel one" actually lackings is an awkward word. But those are suggestions.

I would also clarify "regardless if she disagrees" or something else. Look at that line. It's kind of awkward.

I would say it's still an interesting poem and something worth exploring. I also like your technique. That's your strength in this poem.

Hmm, from what I've read of your poetry it has a vaguely familar style each time, this isn't a good familarness I'm seeing. You keep making the same errors, telling us, telling a story rather than showing it. Saying stuff but not giving us any real reason to feel anything, rather you tell us a typical story in teenage times.

When I say I have a difficult dad,
My Mum purses and gives me a frown.
She says to me “You’ll be sorry,
When he’s not alive or around” (Way too vague, you don't even explain it. It sound more like a beginning to a novel.)

But I just can’t abide,
By his oaths, rants and rules
“Stop throwing towels in the bath,
And for Christ sake don’t use my tools” (WHy, why, why? It's just flies past the readers heads)

I literally hate him,
He’s vile and he’s cruel.
So why do I crave a trip to the park,
Or an hour at the pool? (Look, it's all and well telling us all this, but it doesn't get any emotional response. You should probably consider turning this into prose. As this seems to be so)

I say I have a difficult dad,
Regardless if she’ll disagree,
And wait for that euphoric day,
When it’s only Mum and me. (Just, not enough...)

Overall: You need to work on this hard, make it a story, but make us feel the emotion. If you wish to turn this into prose which I suggest, you'll need to do the same. Show don't tell. Hope this helps.