Monday, September 21, 2009

First draft of the first poem I've written in what feels like forever:


Bramble Street

They ripen to mosaics,

(post removed)

19 comments:

shug said...

First five lines are spectacular. Beautiful imagery.

Trouble is to my eyes there's not much substance to the piece. If the brambles or their fate or their appearance were symbolic of something else I think it might have more punch. great language, though.

Sorlil said...

thanks shug :) I know what you mean, I was trying to link them to something else but struggling with that!

Rachel Fox said...

Have you been overdosing on the Sylvia my dear?

And why is it that pregnancy feels like YEARS?

x

Rachel Fox said...

With Shug's comment on mind...I wonder if the poem might not just be those first five lines...
x

Sorlil said...

oh no, not even been reading her recently!
you're not kidding, esp this last week!
Interesting thought, thanks! :)

Frances said...

Haven't lost your touch at all I see.

Sorlil said...

thanks frances :) you know what it's like when you don't write for ages you wonder if you'll write another poem again!

James Owens said...

I love the sound of this. It is as good in the mouth as the berries themselves! I don't think you need to worry about substance (Pound: "The natural object is always the adequate symbol"), though I do think there may some lines that you don't need. I like the last three lines on their own -- but I wonder if you are really adding anything to the poem after "grief." How would you like the poem if it ended there?

Dominic Rivron said...

Shug probably hit the nail on the head. There's definitely a good poem in there...

It put me in mind of Pablo Neruda's Ode to a Tomatoes - one could write a whole series of fruity poems!

Titus said...

I think I'm more with James than Shug here: the poem resonates for me as it is. I can make a leap to signified.
A very beautiful piece of work.

Sorlil said...

thankyou james, I've always tended towards Pound's view about this. I think you're right I do need to chop off some lines and perhaps that would resolve the lack of substance that I feel about it also.

hi dominic, thankyou! a series of fruity poems sounds like a plan :)

hi titus, thankyou very much, I'm glad you like it! it's good to know how it works for you.

shug said...

I didn't realise it was a competition. I always find advice to be more useful than unqualified praise.

"I don't think you need to worry about substance" is a strange recommendation, whether you're writing poetry or eating berries.

Sorlil said...

lol, causing me a dilemma!!
I very much appreciate the advice, it's always a great help - it's why I post my drafts here.

James Owens said...

Of course, it isn't a contest :-) I should clarify maybe --- I don't think you have to worry about substance in this poem. where it seems to come through pretty well (for me, at least). Not to quibble, but suggesting that you cut the last six lines of a fairly short poem is hardly unqualified praise.

Sorlil said...

"but suggesting that you cut the last six lines of a fairly short poem is hardly unqualified praise" - aye, you're not kidding! ;)

Desmond Swords said...

The only line that struck me as a clunker (and bear in mind this is a wholly subjective observation) was 'like a family of suicides'

I thought it was out of place and unneeded.

Sorlil said...

hi desmond, thanks for reading and for your thoughts! :)

Desmond Swords said...

Cheers. You are one of the few people to thank me for my thoughts.

I remember reading your poems in the last edition of Horizon, and not connecting you with the author of this blog, and stating on Niall O'Sullivan's forum UK Poetry, that:

Marion McCready is well placed to ride along on the Jen Hadfield factor, of being a voice influenced by the magic of rural Scotland, and though the theme of her poem was safely tucked into a recognisably well-made school, there is a clear talent on display for the light-handling of sound and sonics, broadcasting what is either an instinctive ability for patterning assonantal components into smooth verse, or the sign of a grafter - as in the awn/uch/uscs combo below.

At her call the heart-shape shells
rise from sands.
Their rib mouths yawn,

part under her touch.
Her home is a haven for molluscs.

~

I was pretending to be a Critic, practising on the content there, and it was only afterwards I discovered you and Sorlil are one and the same.

I think Heaney gets it right with the statement that poets exist not on the say so of others or how many facebook fwends we have, but 'in your own esteem'.

I never send my stuff out: after getting in a few mags, I just lost interest, as I saw it all as a bit of a game, and the process one of writing your way to a Faith that the string of verbals we make are poetry, regardless if such an ed would choose us or nay.

And now i have upset a lot of eds that they wouldn't publish me on principle, which is great as being the bad OAP of intellectually challenged poetry, suits me fine, Marion me arl mucker.

Sorlil said...

thankyou desmond, you must be my first critic :) very glad you liked the poem, I can only wish to ride along on the Jen Hadfield factor!