Poetry / Dying in November

 

The other day

 

driving down the road

with my daughter in the backseat

she sings something

a song she heard on the radio

something about someone

dying in November

and I want to turn to her

and tell her

“My darling daughter

you don’t yet understand that we are all

dying in November

and that the only question is

will we be like our mothers and grandmothers

closing our windows and locking our doors

to the coming winter

forgetting that the heat in out bones and our beds

will not let the cold in?

will we forget the Good Life?

the Good Life that we fought for, saved for?

The good life

of love,

sex, food,

books

and music?”

But before I could say any of this to her

I think of you

and I realize

it’s been…

Years

since I’ve been to visit

your ashes

on the banks of the black river

where we spread them

I’d always meant to visit

but days turned into weeks into moths into years

with frightening ease…

You had abandoned me

in the middle of nowhere

with much too far to go

before I could even begin to think of sleep…

but

walking wounded

I made my way back

gingerly, carefully (Lest I break again),

I made my way

through empty apartments

that had white squares on the walls

where pictures used to hang and

hairpins in the corner

of abandoned bedrooms…

I drove through downtown Phoenix

hoping all the people

I used to know weren’t all gone

(Where does everyone go at 3 AM?)…

I wrote watery, treacly poems

that embarrass me now

when I go back and read them…

only now

can I think of you

and the things we made fun of

and only now can I laugh

at how young we were…

so now…

I don’t think I’ll visit…

instead of dragging you up

from the bottom of the river

I’ll let you sift further

into the deep

searching like semen,

searching sadly

for some kind of life…

because I see my daughter’s face

and I know

that this is enough…

it has to be.

 

 

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Avastyl avatar General Stranger

November 04, 2009

Avastyl

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Avastyl reviewed Version 4 - Read 100% of the Item

It was a pretty good poem, but it wasn’t as enjoyable to read as other poems. Could just be a personal preferance. To make it a bit more clear that it’s her husband that died, you could include a pronoun. “The good life of love, sex, food, books and music?” The word sex interrupts the flow for me, if you could find another word like ‘joy’ or something, that would really help. You had pretty good flow until that. Keep writing because you have something to write about!

asmevadan avatar General Stranger

November 02, 2009

asmevadan

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asmevadan reviewed Version 4 - Read 100% of the Item

This poem shows a great deal of talent but could use some technical help.

The poet has a fine voice; her sadness comes through clearly. Also, I like the oblique reference to the poem’s emotional center—the father’s death.

The premise is affecting—a woman looks at her daughter and remembers the father. The poem carries her meditation on the loss through successfully to the end, holding the reader’s attention with some great writing: “the heat in our bones and beds,” and “sift further/into the deep/searching like semen”.

Perhaps most important, the poet is writing from experience; the opening reads like a straightforward memory (always a good place to start).

What the poem lacks is tension. One senses that there is a disaster waiting to be revealed, but when it comes, we don’t have quite enough information to make out the backstory: how did the man die? Suicide, an accident, or (perhaps worst of all) something that looks like an accident but feels like a suicide? Did he jump or was a car involved? Above all, what was the problem underlying the death? Just a couple of extra words at the end would clear up these questions while leaving the indirect voice intact.

The other problem here is prolixity leading to a lack of focus. First off, get rid of the reference to our mothers and grandmothers: this poem is far too specific to include a general feminist theme. The father is dead because of some purely personal problem he failed to solve. On the same note, I’d get rid of the description of the good life—this has to be one of the most subjective realities. From a publications standpoint, I’d cut the number of lines by 10 or more. Two-word lines are going to make magazines screech.

Finally, the ending didn’t satisfy me. A long poem is like a short story: the main character has to change in some fundamental way as a result of what happens in the poem. But at the end, I feel that the narrator is still blocked and frustrated. The reader needs to find out more about the man’s death, and the narrator has to learn something new from the experience. Either her grief needs to lessen or her insight into what happened must be deepened. Dreams (and poetry) are for healing.

The poet is working with some powerful material here. Good luck with the rewrite!

thezenix avatar General Stranger

October 28, 2009

thezenix

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thezenix reviewed Version 4 - Read 100% of the Item

I think maybe the title throws me off a lil about this poem.  I truly understand the message, however, I feel it is more of a letter to someone.  To me this particular poem was not the peak of your talent, but you do have some great talent and should continue writing.  I suggest the way the poem is broken up maybe could be changed.  I think the format and the title may take some points away from the beauty of the poem.

flamebringer15 avatar General Stranger

October 27, 2009

flamebringer15

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flamebringer15 reviewed Version 4 - Read 100% of the Item

The reader can feel the pain and the mood is set well. The wording is very well done but the piece isn’t very clear. But all in all, it is very good. It makes the reader think and explore thier own thoughts. I love the line, ’...we are all dying in November…’ because everything starts to shut off and die in November for autumn and winter. It is very well drawn out. Keep up the great writing!
Flamebringer15

avkoshy avatar General Stranger

October 24, 2009

avkoshy

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avkoshy reviewed Version 4 - Read 100% of the Item

i think the issue here is about whether you’re writing poetry or just meandering
it starts off as just a prose reminiscence and then moves on to something solid so you need to tighten it

this bit is really poetry however;
I made my way
through empty apartments
that had white squares on the walls
where pictures used to hang and
(with)hairpins in the corner
of abandoned bedrooms…

GeorgiaPoetry avatar General Stranger

October 22, 2009

GeorgiaPoetry

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GeorgiaPoetry reviewed Version 4 - Read 100% of the Item

Whoa!  What a sad piece but so emotional. I love how you described the searching like semen.  That’s awesome.

I did notice a spelling error in this sentence.

“forgetting that the heat in out bones and our beds”

I truly enjoyed reading this piece and how well the thoughts just flowed together.

Sweet_blood13 avatar General Stranger

October 21, 2009

Sweet_blood13

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Sweet_blood13 reviewed Version 4 - Read 50% of the Item

Ok…needs a little discription of who she or he is and who died…plese:)

music1358 avatar General Friend

October 18, 2009

music1358

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music1358 reviewed Version 4 - Read 100% of the Item

I don’t think the “searching” section really fits the way it is. You could get rid of “only” in the “only now” The rest is really good. Simple, poignant. I enjoyed this.

lovelee1313 avatar General Friend

October 18, 2009

lovelee1313

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lovelee1313 reviewed Version 4 - Read 100% of the Item

I really like it as a short story more than a poem. It doesn’t feel finished. The transitions from one idea to the next could be smoother and clearer.

I love the line, “with frightening ease…
You had abandoned me”
I assume it a lover that’s refered to, and that their dead. Did they take their life? It’s unclear.

KidTruth avatar General Stranger

October 14, 2009

KidTruth

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KidTruth reviewed Version 4 - Read 100% of the Item

This is good.  I can already tell who the author is without checking thanks to your style of breaking up your lines – which I am still not really feeling.  I just can’t hear it spoken in my head without getting this goofy coffee shop vibe of
“And then the wind… pause for five seconds BLEW THROUGH THE TREES. beats drum and pauses for another five seconds and it was chilly… takes drag of cigarette I GOT A JACKET!...

You get the idea.  All these ellipses and short lines just don’t flow to me.  But then again, the actual content is good and heartfelt and emotional and all that, so formatting is probably the best problem to have if you had to pick one.  

Also, the line “searching like semen”.  Seemed a little out of place and kinda make me snork.

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loveandrockets28 avatar

loveandrockets28

Age: 30
Loc: Phoenix, AZ
Gen: M
Last Login: November 08
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