Published December 14, 2009
A/N: For Hannah's Contest. Painting by Pierre Auguste Renoir
she would only bring her hair down in the morning,
when it was to be combed with a whalebone-handled brush, white
and small like the hand of a mother feeling for temperature. in the
pushy hours of the morning, her hair sneaked through her fingers, lapped
over her shoulder blades, deviated and curled and the brush would make
soft barking sounds as she brought it through, untangling her hair which was
dark and disturbed
like boatless water at night.
the room would smell of sleep – a single room with a bathroom and a door
to the kitchen, with naked, suffering walls. the leprous wallpaper was peeling,
patterned with yellowing flowers, delicate and hipped as perspiring ladies. her
nightgown would pool around her and she would dress in a stiff coarse
dress that she was very proud of because it was blue. on the dresser
there was a single bottle of perfume that she never used and a slender,
necking vase of flowers she insisted on, drowsing and napping on their stems
like fishermen in the shade. she would leave before the rest of the house was awake
for hillcrest orchard.
in the orchard, she would pick peaches, plush and blushing, until it was dark.
aluminum ladders steepled and rising through the branches, discreet and still
as great metal praying mantises, and her picking bag would swell and swell
with peaches not quite ripe, blotched red and embarrassed. they would play music
on old, paintflecked stereos that would almost be drowned out by the whispering
gossip leaves. she would ride back to the washing station on a platform pulled by
a tractor at night when the stars spored and spilled, and the branches of the trees
would tug at her as she passed and nicker in the dark.
her hair would smell like peaches
when she came home and she would be asleep
within moments of touching a pillow.
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Kylan, dear.
Off we go.
You know the drill by now. If there is something you cannot decipher from my handwriting, please tell me.
1. Stanza Length
Where you break for new stanzas in the poem is a little odd. I would go back and look at them again.
2. Last Stanza
I like the last stanza of this poem, but I am not sure I love it.
I like this poem, but at times felt the length of the stanza made it weak in places. The second and third stanzas were my favorite of the whole poem.
Hope this helps,
Cal.
Excellent, Kylan. This is better, much better than your other impression poem. I should clarify, though, that it's not half as horrid as my critique made it out to seem -- remind me to never critique in the dark hours of morning again.
This does better on impressions than the other, because the other presented images that we were all too familiar with from looking at the painting. Here, you've taken the impression that this gives you and written off of it a splendid poem.
Favorite part >>
You should write more parts like this in other poems -- it just screams poetic excitement, does it not? Other parts are more outwardly narrated, but this does an excellent job at livening the atmosphere. It's lovely. Absolutely so.
It's a masterpiece; I'm confident it will take you places in the contest. Keep writing, Kylan. Keep writing.
Gold star worthy.
June
(remind me not to critique on no sleep, either...)
You're the man, Smorg. And you too, Jenna! Many thanks for the critiques!
-Kylan
Hey Kylan, this poem is a work of art!
Spoiler
-Good ending.-
One thing missing. When does she bring her hair up?
Wonderful poem.
I love how you wrote a story about a famous painting. That's a really cool idea. Normally I'd tell you to punctuate it, but I like it without capitalization. It makes it softer around the edges, like the painting it's based on.
Morning is said twice in the first four lines. You make her hair sound so wild and alive, though I don't really understand the soft barking sounds image. I love how you end this stanza. It's beautiful.
The third stanza surprised me a little the first time I read it. Maybe it's because of the age of the painting, but I thought this poem was set in a much earlier time. Up until aluminum ladders and stereos, it kind of feels like this poem was set a long time ago, but it's modern? Things like the whalebone handled brush and her wearing a nightgown instead of pajamas make it seem very old fashioned. Just a thought.
The ending is beautiful, I like how it brings her back to the same place as the beginning.The entire poem is really sweet, and gentle. It matches the picture well. Thanks for the link, Kylan.