[Joe Crocker]

Originally Posted by David Callin

Actually, would stopping at "beautifully blank" not have the same disorienting effect, without being so blatant about it? Maybe not.

Good point David. I do have a tendency to over-explain. I have dropped the final stanza, and am also trying out Matt's Chicken Licken.

Joe

[Trevor Conway]

Hi Joe,

It's very simple, and doesn't have anything profound to say, but that's just fine. Even well-worn subjects are worth revisiting when we can get our own personal experience across. I think you've done that relatively well here.

It's a fairly long poem, but not necessarily too long. It's the kind of poem that feels like it should be around 40-50 lines anyway. I have suggested some lines for deletion but not necessarily because of the length of the poem, more because the lines/ideas didn't serve the poem well, in my opinion.

I've added some comments below. Feel free to get back with any questions.

All the best,

Trevor


Skyfall [decent title, though a better one might present itself sometime in the future]

There was always, of course, the cold. [I like this first line, especially the syntax and rhythm]
Its freezing[comma] pretty fingerprints on our side of the pane.
While we lay loved beneath the loaded blankets, [maybe something more arresting then "lay loved", such as "baked"?]
the new day sparkled through that filigree [nice image, though I want a bit more: "filigree of ice"?]
and mum stretched vests before the 2 bar Belling fire. [Remove "Belling" for rhythm reasons?]
[Remove stanza break]
Her kitchen kept a thick volcano [of...chicken soup?]
blurting in the pan.
Golden Syrup lingered on our spoons. [bold = delete]

In mitts and knitted balaclavas,
in Cherry Blossomed shoes,
we scuffed our way to school, [place this line first in the stanza?]
cracking open puddles [with] vandal glee
to make them creak and splinter.
And on playtime's frosted tarmac[, we discovered,]
smoothed the longest slide there ever was. [or glazed the world to one long slide?]

All afternoon, the brooding, building cloud
hung [its] hammock ever lower overhead,
until it split and spilled
Chicken Licken’s awful prophecy.


We watched and wondered
what it meant.
Who brought about this accident?
What altar boy had tripped
and tipped communion wafers?
Which flower girl had thrown up
way too much confetti?
Someone had to be in trouble. [I just found the imagery too contrived and unnecessary here]
[remove stanza break if you choose to place the below after the hammock line, as I've suggested]
We watched,
and were allowed to watch,
first pressed against the glass,
then rushing openhanded
through the door, [could you add an adjective before door?]
stretching out our tongues
to taste the gentle icy [how about one line: "to taste the icy brightness dropping"?]
brightnesses, dropping
as they wanted
to the floor.

It snowed and snowed until we went to bed. [Snowed and snowed feels lazy to me. Even something like snowed like confetti would be better, I think, though there might well be something better than that]
The street was amber underneath the lamps.
When morning woke, the light had never been
so full of empty promise, [I would place this line at the end of the previous line. Apart from just feeling more natural that way, it would accentuate the and simplicity of the last line]
so magnificently blank.

[I think your ending is very good, but you could have an extra payoff with the blankness if you mention early in the poem that their lives are complicated in some way, maybe the social complications of growing up?]

[Joe Crocker]

Welcome to the ’sphere Trevor. I can see you have been putting in a heavy shift of critiques, so thank you for picking up my poem.

I have been working on it since my last revision here, and have sent versions of it to a couple of places. So I won’t engage in a detailed discussion with you just now. Just to say you have made some valuable points that I will take into account when the rejections come back.

You are right that the poem goes over some well worn themes, and childhood memories of snow are bound to be difficult to make fresh. But it was my childhood and the incidents and brand names anchor it for me. Your suggestion of tying the volta-ish ending with something that primes it earlier is making me think.

Thanks

Joe

[John Riley]

Joe, I wasn’t able to comment on this when it was first posted and am pleased it was bounced up. It is long, a leisurely long and that isn’t a negative in itself. I think a longer poem is harder to write than a shorter one. Not because you have to come up with more to say, but because it puts a heavier burden on each word to justify its presence. So while I do think the last revision could still be trimmed to its advantage, I don’t think the overall pace is wrong. The theme needs time to breathe.

One thing to look at are modifiers. In S1, for example, you don’t need “pretty” or “loaded.” It is already pretty and it’s not necessary to say so and to me “loaded” is a little too indefinite. A “load of blankets” or “stack of blankets,” or something similar would tighten it some. It works better with the amount of blankets made nominative. (Maybe it still isn’t nominative? There is another grammatical term? But hopefully what I’m saying is clear.)

More controversial, I don’t think you need S2. That it is carrying its weight. Is the syrup cooking in the pan? What’s the volcano? The syrup bubbling I assume. Maybe it seems I’m being willfully obtuse but I promise I’m not. If it’s syrup say so and then have gold on the forks, I’m genuinely unsure and it doesn’t seem to me anything of much value would be added if I knew more. Also, it seems attached to the night scene in S1 but I suspect it is more an intro to S2, but again I’m unsure. Overall, S2 adds little, if anything.

In S3 you crack open puddles “to make them creak and splinter.” What if a reflection on the ice cracks and splinters? That helps to alleviate the sense of repetition.

I assume S5 is a parody of Catholic guilt? It’s a good idea that could use a little more.

I’m not sure “empty promise” in the final stanza is supported by the previous evidence. It’s a dour, noticeable thing to say and I don’t sense much build-up for it.

For me, the longer, more leisurely poems by Elizabeth Bishop are her most remarkable work. She obviously did a fine villanelle and sonnets, etc., but they seem to me to be instrumental in her learning to write “At the Fishhouses” and her later Crusoe poem and others. She mastered the longer poem and reading them again could be helpful.

I hope my comments here don’t seem overly negative. I think you’re just a revision away from having a poem more in line with the Dylan Thomas poem. I hope this helps you a little in getting there.

[Joe Crocker]

Thanks John. I much appreciate your thoughts on this

Its always tricky knowing how much to say and how much to leave out. (That’s probably an axiom of writing poetry). We’ve all led different lives and have different referents. But I’ll fill in some more detail to explain, knowing that explanation is just as much a sign of failure in poetry as it is in telling a joke – the funny muscles are usually engaged before the brain has fully caught on.

Modifiers. Yes always good to look again.
“Pretty” fingerprints . It may be superfluous. It’s just that fingerprints were usually dirty and something to be wiped clean so I felt the need to distinguish those of Jack Frost.

“Loaded” blankets. In the late 50s, before synthetic duvets, I remember how many and how heavy they were. “Loaded” felt economic and has connotations that the blankets are carrying something more than their weight – some parental care, love.

Originally Posted by John Riley

More controversial, I don’t think you need S2. That it is carrying its weight. Is the syrup cooking in the pan? What’s the volcano? The syrup bubbling I assume. Maybe it seems I’m being willfully obtuse but I promise I’m not.

On cold winter mornings mum would cook porridge for breakfast. This may just be a UK 50’s 60s thing. If you watch porridge cooking in a saucepan there comes a critical point where the oats absorb the milk, turn thick and creamy and the heat creates exploding craters in the hot lava. Mum would often add sugar to the pan before serving, but sometimes, as a treat, we had a tin of Lyles Golden syrup on the table and would watch it sweetly dribble from our spoons. All of which are memories that may just be particular to me. MattQ , I think, got the reference, but I may need to say more (or less!)

In S3 you crack open puddles “to make them creak and splinter.” What if a reflection on the ice cracks and splinters? That helps to alleviate the sense of repetition.

That is helpful . I had already tweaked that phrase in the newer version. But it may still benefit from your suggestion

I assume S5 is a parody of Catholic guilt? It’s a good idea that could use a little more.

The scene is a Church of England Primary School. So not Catholic but the Church was next door and the vicar familiar and respected. We did get shouted at and smacked by teachers in those days and I remember a sense among children that when things went awry, someone might be to blame and get into trouble for it. So when the skies open and snow falls for the first time, there is wonder, but also worry

I’m not sure “empty promise” in the final stanza is supported by the previous evidence. It’s a dour, noticeable thing to say and I don’t sense much build-up for it.

The usual sense of that phrase “empty promises” is one of disappointment, particular pledges not honoured. But by using the singular, abstract, unspecified “promise” rather than ”promises” and using it to describe fallen snow, the feeling I’m trying to inspire, is the excitement of the fresh page, freed of history, its pluripotency. Promise with a capital P as that beautiful white field begging to be written on. So “empty” as in unsullied. But I may still be failing to convince anyone that I'm putting my own spin on orthodox understanding. My latest version has “bright with empty promise” rather than “full of empty promise” which I hope may point the reader more toward my meaning.

I have now posted the latest revision that I had reached a little before Trevor and John’s comments. I didn’t post earlier because I thought it had used its 15min of fame and I didn’t want to bump it up the list. But since it is in pubic eye again I’ll risk it. I’m already doubting whether some of the changes are in fact improvements.

And again, in my responses above, I mean less to defend what I said, and more to explain it. Suggestions are always worth thinking about and I am thinking.

I hope my comments here don’t seem overly negative. I think you’re just a revision away from having a poem more in line with the Dylan Thomas poem. I hope this helps you a little in getting there.

I genuinely welcome your comments John.

Thanks

Joe