[Cally Conan-Davies]

John,

The poem compels. For me, this is what the best poems do.

[A note on the metrical matters taking up most of the thread. Recently I taught Ted Hughes, and to prepare I read his interview in The Paris Review. The interview ends on the question "What are your thoughts on free as opposed to formal verse?", and what follows is the best thing I have ever read on the subject. He resolves the argument by seeing through it. It's brilliant. If anyone would like to read it, but can't access the Paris Review, I have a word doc I'd be happy to email you.]

Cally

[Carl Copeland]

John, since I know this poem almost by heart, I thought I should say something about it in its new habitat. I think it does hold together rhythmically, as others have said, and Mary identified a striking rhythmic feature: the clusters of two and three stressed syllables. They tend to come at or near the end of the line and give weight to key words: “chains rattling,” “wild wind,” “fast hours,” “stop, stand tall,” “toward two ravens,” “wrong book.” That’s effective, I think. A few more thoughts:

Living Will

The N seems to be introducing a living will instructing caregivers (“you”) what to do when:

you first hear the clink of chains rattling,

The N is chained to his bed by illness (or perhaps an illness is unchained)

or the release and squeeze of wild wind collapsing,

Has trouble breathing

or the words you speak become fast hours,

Something to do with the perceived acceleration or deceleration of time (the double stress “fast hours” slows the line down), but “you” seems more like the patient now than a caregiver.

or the night says to stop, stand tall, and flare,

This is the only line that sounds triumphant and should probably be reinterpreted somehow in the bleak context.

or a crow turns, flies toward two ravens,

An ominous sign from folklore or mythology? In terms of rhythm, this is the heaviest, slowest line (lots of clustered stresses).

or you are left empty of what was creation,

From here on, “you” is clearly the patient. A living will addressed to oneself? I won’t get into the implications of that.

or you take what you need from the wrong book,

Sounds like serendipity, but in context I’m inclined to put the weight on “wrong book” (another prominent double stress) and interpret it in a negative light.

or you are seized by the nose, a fish on a hook.

Jim has a great point about the noses fish don’t have. This is the lightest, quickest line—no stress clusters and lots of unstressed syllables—an interesting counterpoint to the deadly finality of the words. It’s also one of several lines that seem about to burst into regular meter! UPDATE: On second thought, I have to admit there’s also something a little comical about a person being hooked by the nose!

I know you favor an impressionistic approach to poetry, so this will all seem overthought to you, and I wouldn’t argue the point. Maybe you’ll find something useful in it.

[Carl Copeland]

Originally Posted by Cally Conan-Davies

Recently I taught Ted Hughes ...

Was he a good student?

Originally Posted by Cally Conan-Davies

I read his interview in The Paris Review. ... If anyone would like to read it, but can't access the Paris Review, I have a word doc I'd be happy to email you.

I’ll take you up on that offer just as soon as you clean out your inbox.

[Cally Conan-Davies]

He was admirably attentive. He learnt a lot from me!! ha!

AND, housekeeping DONE.


Cally

[John Riley]

Thanks to each of you for reading and commenting. I'm pleased that most like it. I recently had surgery and must have been asked five times if I had a living will. Hence, the poem.

I need to think about the last line. Of course, a fish doesn't have a nose. I don't see that as confusing but the line has been mentioned enough for me to return to it.

Thanks again

[Cally Conan-Davies]

The nose doesn't bother me, John. Fish do have 'noses', but not like ours. They have nostrils. I've always thought of them as noses, and have always heard people refer to shark's noses. When you're up close to one, it's like a nose. They smell with them. Actually, you've got the option of either "fish on a hook" or "shark on a hook". Either way, it's a memorable last line.

Cally

[David Callin]

I think this is a great snapshot, or perhaps a report, from someone in a state of extremis. I fins myself thinking - perhaps not wrongly, but a bit obliquely - of Lear out on the heath.

Powerful.

Cheers

David

[John Riley]

Thanks, Cally. I’ll keep it.

Thanks, David. I’ll take Lear.

Carl, coming back to say this poem is as far away as being overthought as anything I’ve ever written. Do you remember being surprised when I said I often start writing with a word or at best a line and then let my fingers do the rest? Apparently, it shocked a few people when I said it. That is exactly how this one happened. The first line with chains rattling started it. (I’m surprised, pleasantly, that no one said the first line was cliche with the chains. I don’t think so but it seemed like obvious bait.)

The point is you and the others have put more direct thinking into this than I have. I’m sure there are mistakes but overthinking isn’t one of them.

Thanks

[Deborah J. Shore]

Hi John,

I didn't properly read the comments that came before but gather that you initially posted this in the metrical part of the forum? That's interesting because my instinct right off the cuff is to want to place this into a loose tetrameter. It feels like it's perhaps yearning for that with its slant rhymes and lilt. But also I found the first line wordy (even though "clink" is perhaps more evocative than the words I kept), so when reconsidering that line, I was automatically inclined to move toward meter. E.g.,


This is for when you hear the chains rattling,
the release and squeeze of wild wind collapsing

But, of course, you may have a different aim in mind!

I like the crow and ravens, fwiw.

Good luck with this!
Deborah

[John Riley]

Thanks, Deborah. I'll look at the first line in revision.