#1
i've mainly considered cutting the second to last stanza. its much longer than anything i've written lately.

my mother's suffering
she peeks across at me from the other table
i meet her gaze, she blinks
a few times as she looks away--
my friends know her, i'll ask
later, stand up with the moment
of eye contact still on my face, deep blue
in grey as i go out for a smoke

from Katie's sixth floor balcony, the trains
pass every once in a while, through
trees and sky and concrete, roaring
past our building, it is dusk
the city moving from blue to red, to black
red beacons scattered across the sky
an occasional lightening bolt, silent, far
into the horizon, the only light
from the kitchen behind us, as my mother
flies into Delhi

he died of a heartattack on Sunday
my mother's elder brother, my mamaji,
i met him last year, my first time in India
aged 50-something with two children
one strong and intelligent, one slow--
"he took care of me when i was young"
she said, i have seen her working
from 6am to doing billing on the dining room table
until 4am, memory failing, alone
without her children, growing old,
i have seen her sorrow
for her other brother when his wife passed
for her father going senile in India,
deaf and half-blind, in solitude, as i hail a taxi
and go back to my apartment to call her

it has been two hours since my last cigarette
her name is Tamara, from Barcelona--
i like the way she talks about her city
with passion but restraint, overtaking
our corner of the table, mists of laughter
never funny, always forced, her accent
is soothing, "Barthelona", and she leaves first
this time and i go out for a smoke

Berlin is dark and cold, in grey
a train passes through the trees and sky
and concrete, roaring past me
catches the eye, then quiet--
the only light from the kitchen behind me,
my heart beating fast now, i know it,
and i can't feel my chest and the tobacco
hurts my throat all of a sudden
Last edited by punchupatatigge at Aug 10, 2009,
#2
Beautiful. I don't know how to respond to it, as I am just a beginner lyricist, but that moved me.
Do NOT look behind you.
#3
Quote by punchupatatigge
i've mainly considered cutting the second to last stanza. its much longer than anything i've written lately.

my mother's suffering
she peeks across at me from the other table
i meet her gaze, she blinks
a few times as she looks away--
my friends know her, i'll ask
later, stand up with the moment
of eye contact still on my face, deep blue
in grey as i go out for a smoke

I love the way you set the scene here, the vagueness in it as the reader is wondering what are the intentions behind the actions. It's exactly as it would feel like to enter a restaurant and look at the strangers and wonder what are their motives and thoughts underneath each of their individual worlds that may or may not be intertwined.


from Katie's sixth floor balcony, the trains
pass every once in a while, through
trees and sky and concrete, roaring
past our building, it is dusk
the city moving from blue to red, to black
red beacons scattered across the sky
an occasional lightening bolt, silent, far
into the horizon, the only light
from the kitchen behind us, as my mother
flies into Delhi

this was really beautiful, it flowed really well. You built such a sweet scene that rested softly on "Delhi".

he died of a heartattack on Sunday
my mother's elder brother, my mamaji,
aged 50-something with two children
one slow, one strong and intelligent, <--this confused be at first, I read it as "one slow, one strong, and one intelligent". I feel that the asymmetrical-ness of the description is not right, that you should add another adjective to describe the 'slow one' so that the two children will have two adjectives describing them each.
i've met him once, last year, my first time in India <--a bit awkward, they'res something awkward about "once", "last year" and "first time" all i n the same sentence. Maybe I am just not used to thinking of time in that way though. It feels as if the words are forcing my mind to think of a time and then jump back and then adjust forward to get what it is you're saying here. Maybe you can try "back then, it was my first time," or something.
"he took care of me when i was young" <--this part in quotations breaks the flow, it's as if I was reading this newspaper throughly immersed in it and someone shoved a flyer in front of me.
she said, i have seen her working
from 6am to doing billing on the dining room it feels odd to break the line after 'room'
table until 4am, memory failing, alone
without her children, growing old--<--this feels exactly as the dash mark does, cut short.
i have seen her sorrow
for her other brother when his wife passed
for her father going senile in India,
deaf and half-blind, in solitude, as i hail a taxi
and go back to my apartment to call her

it has been two hours since my last cigarette
her name is Tamara, from Barcelona--
i like the way she talks about her city
with passion but restraint, overtaking
our corner of the table, mists of laughter
never funny, always forced, her accent
is soothing, "Barthelona", and she leaves first
this time and i go out for a smoke

It makes me wonder who is this Tamara, and what is her relation with the other characters. Maybe it's purposely like this though. same with Katie.

Berlin is dark and cold, in grey
a train passes through the trees and sky
and concrete, roaring past me
catches the eye, then quiet--
the only light from the kitchen behind me,
my heart beating fast now, i know it,
and i can't feel my chest and the tobacco
hurts my throat all of a sudden

wow

the last stanza gives such a pining feeling. it's amazing.




I don't think you should cut the 2nd to the last stanza. It adds some breathing air between the body of the poem and the ending, as well as referencing the intro, which, as a whole, ties and adds to the whole thing.

a few days ago we had a family comp contest here, it's much too late to join but I think this could win it.


you can crit the piece under "toes" in my sig.
Quote by icaneatcatfood
On second thought, **** tuning forks. You best be carrying around a grand piano that was tuned by an Italian
#4
I would suggest further emphasizing the stanzaic breaks by some sort of greater physical seperation, ie sections or an extra space. I wasnt able to breathe in this piece, which is a shame because the imagery is so potent and striking. I think that this congestion is what is making you feel like you should get rid of the second stanza. And I agree that it is a little obtuse so I would maybe cut into that stanza a bit but I would definitely not cut it entirely.

Really was a beautiful piece. You've grown a lot as a writer and a storyteller. hope you stick around.
#5
'one strong and intelligent,
i've met him once, last year, my first time in India'
needs clearing. Don't know if you mean the 'strong and intelligent' or the dead.

There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
#6
thanks-- i'm working on the lines that don't feel right. the slow, the strong and intelligent-- these are included. i will update it tomorrow. thanks for all your comments and help.
#7
The second stanza, as mentioned, felt overboard with the over-crowding of words and grammar. Apart from that, and that is only a minor quibble, this was exquisite. Nearly perfect pace.
#8
i never thought i should cut the second stanza. i thought i should think about cutting the second to last stanza. thanks for the kind words though.

i've edited it, i am hoping it is better now
#9
This tells an excellent story. It's easy to get involved with the characters. And the pacing/flow of the piece is delightful to read.

However, I felt like this read like a run-on sentence. There isn't much of a break - it just sort of plows on.

But it's still an awesome piece.

I've got Dew Drops in my sig, if you've got some free time.
Last edited by punkforlife93 at Aug 10, 2009,
#11
Quote by #1 synth
i think this should have been WOTW and am upset that it wasnt.

WOTW must be...Wrath of the Wanker?(Yes that is a stupid comment,I wonder if the punk-fan-hater dude will report me again O_o)

I like the story


#13
i think you two should really delete your posts, it's a bit disrespectful as it is now.

thanks synth, but it's definitely one of my favorite pieces i've written, so i think it's enough for me.
#14
Quote by punchupatatigge


my mother's suffering
she peeks across at me from the other table
i meet her gaze, she blinks
a few times as she looks away--
my friends know her, i'll ask
later, stand up with the moment
of eye contact still on my face, deep blue
in grey as i go out for a smoke


I really hated the break after "blinks" the pause there reads like a hard stop. I'd move 'a' up or 'blinks' down, simply so it isn't so jarring to read. Also hated the punctuation from 'my friends' to 'smoke.' The way you are asking me to read it feels so unnatural. I dunno... I guess if it were me, I'd have gone with a period after later. Personal taste, but I can't help but feel the stutter this read with made it hard to enjoy what should have been a fluent and smooth first stanza.

from Katie's sixth floor balcony, the trains
pass every once in a while, through
trees and sky and concrete, roaring
past our building, it is dusk
the city moving from blue to red, to black
red beacons scattered across the sky
an occasional lightening bolt, silent, far
into the horizon, the only light
from the kitchen behind us, as my mother
flies into Delhi

This was a stumbling block of colours in the middle. I felt the middle just tripped all over itself. I loved the double and; one of my favorite devices for creating a tone. It's lovely.

he died of a heartattack on Sunday
my mother's elder brother, my mamaji,
i met him last year, my first time in India
aged 50-something with two children
one strong and intelligent, one slow--
"he took care of me when i was young"
she said, i have seen her working
from 6am to doing billing on the dining room table
until 4am, memory failing, alone
without her children, growing old,
i have seen her sorrow
for her other brother when his wife passed
for her father going senile in India,
deaf and half-blind, in solitude, as i hail a taxi
and go back to my apartment to call her

it has been two hours since my last cigarette
her name is Tamara, from Barcelona--
i like the way she talks about her city
with passion but restraint, overtaking
our corner of the table, mists of laughter
never funny, always forced, her accent
is soothing, "Barthelona", and she leaves first
this time and i go out for a smoke

Berlin is dark and cold, in grey
a train passes through the trees and sky
and concrete, roaring past me
catches the eye, then quiet--
the only light from the kitchen behind me,
my heart beating fast now, i know it,
and i can't feel my chest and the tobacco
hurts my throat all of a sudden


Meh. To be frank; this didn't catch me. I was going to go through the rest, but nothing is "wrong with it." I could throw in my personal opinions on how I would have done it... but that's no use to someone as advanced as you, sir.

I'll just say this, I felt the style of "jumping" around made me never get invested in this piece. I just kept waiting for a tie-together that made it all sink in and be personal to me... somewhere I could define myself, and I never found it. It was technically sound, but it lacked an urgency or emotion to me. I just couldn't find your tone or heart in it because every time I latched on to one of your ideas, it jumped away to something else. It has a sort of charm in that sense... but it still made it hard for me to really love it.

Thanks for getting to mine. Sorry I have nothing more to offer than my personal response to this... but really, that's what you are here for me thinks. If you wanted actual grammatical correction, you'd have gone somewhere else.