prokaryotes

Hi Kylan!

Well, to begin with, there are some great words in this poem! One thing that confused me, though, was the part in the first stanza where there's "makes you look young again". First I thought you were referring to the cheekbones, but that wouldn't make sense because you have "makes" instead of "make", right? So now I'm left wondering whether you actually referred to the dish, the light, or whether you just simply made a typo. Eh. That's too much time spent on one word from me.

Something I didn't really like that much was the fact that you suddenly seemed to use a lot of repetition. Or, or, or. You cannot, you cannot, you cannot. I haven't really noticed you do that before, and maybe it's a new thing you're wanting to try, but I'm not too big a fan of that.

I agree that it did seem a little disjointed at places. Not so much it necessarily requires dramatic action, just something to think about.

I like "the whalesong of freight train whistles", "gothic city architecture of motherhood", and "late summers in ohio", to name a few parts.

Hopefully I said something helpful, but if not, that's okay!


Demeter
x

Hey Kylan!

I don't think this really belongs in second person, mostly because it seems very specific, as if you're talking about an elderly woman. Not everyone will feel this way, so it kind of falls flat on its face. Also, I don't think you've really tied in the idea of this being prokaryotic. You tried... it didn't work. Either try again or change your imagery to something more fitting.

I agree with what Fire said. This poem isn't up to your usual (very, very high) standards. It's not bad, but not quite up to what we're used to from you.

Now, I'm going to sound immature when I say this, but you use too many big words. Now, I love big words. But when you use a lot, many of them medical terms/diseases, and push them all together, it gets a little scrambled and confusing. When this is topped with a roundabout story line and two voices, the whole thing's a bit hard to digest.

This poem isn't bad, but it could use some work. Keep at it!

-Dreamy

Hey Kylan,

I understand why you felt slightly reserved about this, because it's probably not the best thing you've ever written. Then again, you have ridiculously high standards, so that's not necessarily a bad thing. I didn't really get the bacteria/petri dish thing going on in the first stanza. it's fairly unconnected to the rest of the body of the poem. It seemed like you used it simply because it kinda rhymes with nostalgia, and bacteria can be a bad thing. Streptococcus is far too obscure and scientific to ever be of any use in a poem.

You have brilliant metaphors but this seemed a bit all over the place. S3 was probably the best just because it didn't venture into strange territories to make imagery. I got a bit tired by the enjambement, every line seemed to hang onto the next one and I don't think this made the flow as good as it could be. If you overuse hanging lines then it can be pretty annoying.

I also didn't particularly like the second-person voice. It find me hard to connect with the character(s) because it will nigh impossible to discern who was narrating/accusing and who was being addressed. Perhaps a little more consideration of that might strengthen this.

Not great, man, but still solid. You've got the language skills but I'm not sure you always know what subject matter is the best to use.

Good luck.

I really liked it. I liked the imagery, though the rythmn was a bit mixed up and hard to centralize in my thoughts. Overall: GOOD!!!!
That's a like for YWS from me and one from Facebook too.

Hiya Kylan. Yes, this is good Sunday reviewing material. I just knew Protokype would comment on this. Anyway, I found some spots in need of work.

Kylan wrote:#FF0000 ">You pronounce the word nostalgia
as if it were a strain of bacteria –
the streptococcus chains unfolding,
like pictures of family in a wallet,
on the yet-uncolonized petri dish of
light sluicing over doomed cheekbones that makes you
look young again, because you heard somewhere
that nostalgia is just another state of rage.

#FF0000 ">Because it grows, multiplies, consumes
as you sit in the back of your old chapel,
the children in the front pew faithful
as candles, as you see a bicycle
in a front yard, tipped over, as you watch
the old television shows under a quilt,
or hear the whalesong of freight train whistles.

#FF0000 ">You cannot even look at new mothers anymore,
their voices slow and formed by the
#FF0000 ">Gothic city architecture of motherhood,
like #FF0000 ">under bridge canals in #FF0000 ">Venice. you cannot
look in their infant's #FF0000 ">barn owl faces, you cannot watch
them breastfeed under a blanket on the city bus.
you cannot even stand the sound.

#FF0000 ">But what about the way you can open
a music box, ribs and tines plucking like
the legs of insects overturned, and smell again
kitchens, cardigans, sewing boxes? or the old
color photographs turned reddish, like
lipstick kissed off, or the way the turning of
an apple, like the secret of a card trick glimpsed
makes you think of late summers
in #FF0000 ">Ohio and canning applesauce?

#FF0000 ">You cough.
there is something in your lungs.
it is pneumonia season.

--

I know this isn't all that great. Just wanted to give people some Reviewing Sunday material.

Why, yes, I will click the Like button.