[Hilary Biehl]

Revised format:


Distancing

The trail we always walked in the pandemic
does not exist. The trees you named are gone,
but there were three of them, short pines with gnomic

monikers. The cactus bristles shone
just like a hermit’s halo, gave the rippling
scenery a radiance which now

and then flared into petals. Lightly keeping
your hand in mine, I pointed out that glow
as something to be treasured but avoided,

like other people then. But that’s all done,
and now I don’t remember if you nodded
or merely ran ahead into the sun.




Original format:


Distancing

The trail we always walked in the pandemic
does not exist. The trees you named are gone,
but there were three of them, short pines with gnomic
monikers. The cactus bristles shone

just like a hermit’s halo, gave the rippling
scenery a radiance which now
and then flared into petals. Lightly keeping
your hand in mine, I pointed out that glow

as something to be treasured but avoided,
like other people then. But that’s all done,
and now I don’t remember if you nodded
or merely ran ahead into the sun.



Changes:

S1L1 was "The trail we frequented through the pandemic"

changed from three four-line stanzas to four three-line stanzas

[Jim Ramsey]

Hi Hilary,

I like this and think it's skillfully done according to modern conventions of formalism, something that I don't often try, perhaps partly explaining why I don't get published and you probably do. The quality here though goes beyond conventions (ones like near rhymes being regarded as better than perfect rhymes, and enjambments superior to end-stops) in being good. To me all your images tie to the narrative. I see too many poems with images that seem to have survived a classroom exercise of picking them from lists) The only one that doesn't fit well into the narrative for me is "gnomic" yet it is such a good description of a shrubby gnarled tree that it works well for me. I highlight a few other things I like below...

All the best,
Jim

Originally Posted by Hilary Biehl

Distancing

The trail we frequented through the pandemic
does not exist. The trees you named are gone,
but there were three of them, short pines with gnomic
monikers. The cactus bristles shone

[Symbolically showing the divide between the two time periods, the pandemic and now, with changes to the desert scenery, and even though at first I asked myself, would a desert really change much in that time period, it works well symbolically and few readers will wonder about it like I did. Because the pine trees are short and in the desert, I picture Bristlecone pines, which are the longest living tree in the world. You begin to interweave the culture's general story and the n's personal one.]

just like a hermit’s halo, gave the rippling
scenery a radiance which now
and then flared into petals. Lightly keeping
your hand in mine, I pointed out that glow

[We all became hermits, didn't we? All the familiar things were there still cherished in memory or from a distance, but untouchable, as the segue into the next stanza illustrates so well. I hear a hint, though of fragility in the personal relationship in the lightly held hand and the only "now and then" flowering of desert blooms. With gnome and angel images, I get a sense of an alternate world, perhaps the one of the strange new reality of the pandemic. I also get a hint from these images of hope for the pandemic's eventual end, but the rebirth may not be complete when it comes. The word hermit cannot help but prompt reflections on aloneness and loneliness. The "something to be treasured but avoided like other people then" referring to the cactus's halo glow is my favorite part.]

as something to be treasured but avoided,
like other people then. But that’s all done,
and now I don’t remember if you nodded
or merely ran ahead into the sun.

[It's an understated ending, but with lots to ponder. It's ambiguous here, whether, the relationship, like the pandemic, ends, but because of the title, I read that it either does or the two people grow apart. It's ambiguous as to who ended the relationship, or placed distance in it, if that's what happened. The N was the one lightly holding the other's hand. The other was the one running off into the sun. Was the one holding on doing so too lightly, or just willing to let go. Did the other going into the sun leave the N in a place of darkness. Did the N "merely" see a closeness brought on by the pandemic coming to an inevitable end?]

[Matt Q]

Hi Hilary,

I really like this. It's subtle and suggestive (at least as I'm reading it), and doesn't pin its meaning down too much. Here's my take: The N and this other beloved other used to walk the trail. I could see the other are a romantic other, or a child. Naming trees could easily be a child thing, ditto running off.

The trail's now gone. This could be literally gone: erased somehow, built over, fenced off, the trees felled, perhaps. But I think that what's most gone is the experience: the shine and radiance that at times flared into even more. Now "that's all done". And with it, I think, has maybe gone the relationship -- or at least the closeness, the magic of that time.

I really like the way the closing two lines also seem to hint that perhaps back then that magic was only (or mostly) experienced by the N anyway, the beloved perhaps merely nodding when she shares this, perhaps even running on ahead. And this "running ahead into sun" could be read as a foreshadowing, perhaps, of what's to come in the relationship.

I first read the poem without the title, which is a bad habit of mine. Still, I got to where I got to without it. I do see the title's wordplay on past (pandemic-related) and present distancing, but I wonder if the title does too much to pin the meaning down, focus the reading too much? It kind of says, "this is about distance". And I wonder if it's better to leave the reader to work that out as they read the poem. That's my preference anyway. So maybe there's a title that allows for this?

Other than the title, my notes/nits are pretty much all on S1.

L1, seems to be tetrameter.

The TRAIL we freQUENTed THROUGH the panDEMic

Do you want "trail" to be two syllables? Conventionally it's one. In my experience the dipthong-as-two-syllables thing (e.g. "fire") works for some people and not for others, depending on things like accent and tolerance. But I've yet to see the reverse: someone who can only hear a dipthong as two syllables. I'd say this is best avoided.

Maybe there's a more specific/imagistic alternative that "frequented" that also avoids having the diphtong count as two syllables? "the trail we liked to hike in the pandemic", or "often walked", "always walked" something like that?

L3, "but" wrongfooted me initially. I started thinking that "but there were three of them", I was waiting for a "that" and a verb. It worked fine on rereading though, so that could just be me. I did strike me that would could say that "the trees you named are gone / all three of them", and that would give you another foot to play with. I like "gnomic", and way it seems to suggests the tree's appearance as "gnome-like" -- as well as "short and pithy" and enigmatic.

L4, the trees have cactus bristles? I think what wrongfoots me here is the tense shift: we've moved from present to past, from what there was to what there is, with nothing to flag the change. And given a trail with pine trees, cacti were far from my mind. I didn't realise the co-existed. (Or do you mean the pine needles are like catcus bristles?) Something like "There, cactus bristles shone" would maybe anchor things better, flag the shift of topic and tense.

best,

Matt

[Hilary Biehl]

Jim and Matt,

Thank you both for your detailed notes. It is helpful to know how the poem reads to others.

Matt, regarding the first line, this is how I read it:

The TRAIL we FREquentED THROUGH the panDEMic

I scan it with 5 stresses and a trochaic substitution in the fourth foot. However, I can see that one might not put the stress on "ed" as it's definitely a lighter stress and then a stressed syllable comes after. I will think about possible alternatives.

Pine trees and cacti do coexist here, it's very common to see both interspersed. But I can see how if you were picturing a full-fledged pine forest, the cacti might come as a shock.

[Richard G]

Hi Hilary,
you had me a 'gnomic' - terrific stuff.
My only issue is with 'scenery' - it feels very flat. I wouldn't mind something that could help me picture the scene more clearly.

RG.

[Pedro Poitevin]

Hi Hilary,

I'm less keen on 'gnomic' than others are. Its meaning is apt, I think, but perhaps because of the rhyme and its position, it calls too much attention to itself, in my view. I wonder if something like "You gave a few of them mock-academic" could do similar work? It also hints at complicity, I think, but it may be totally wrong for what you want to signal. I would also consider Richard G's objection to 'scenery', which is easily replaceable with 'wilderness'.

Pedro

[James Brancheau]

Hey Hilary—I thought the first poem that you posted was terrific and I might like this one even more. And, so far at least, I feel that I really connect with your work. You seem to weave your ideas and images very tightly together—one connecting with another and all connecting with and essential to the whole. Sure, this is not uncommon in poetry, but certainly not always to this extent. Anyway, I find this poem an irresistible web and I’m happy to have been caught in it.

I love that you end with a true rhyme—makes the poem slam the door even harder at the close. I did pause at first on “I pointed out that glow” because does it really need to be pointed out that a cactus’s bristles should be avoided? Not that the moment can’t be included, but I might characterize that as more of a quip. Something you might say during the pandemic…

However, I do admire, again, the attention to the whole as I also found it clever, the pointing out, and combining that with glow in the same line. Also, avoiding other people I assume is taking on some double duty there, referring of course to the pandemic and possibly wanting to make the relationship exclusive (or making that comment after finding out that he or she has been with someone else). I hope I didn’t butcher your intentions too terribly much. I’ve been known to do that. In any case, I do quite enjoy thinking of the poem that way.

That’s all I got. Another very strong poem, Hilary.

[Hilary Biehl]

Richard, Pedro, and James,

Thanks to each of you.

I will explore alternatives to "scenery." As far as "gnomic," I did wonder if it called too much attention to itself, but it says what I want to say so it's probably staying.

I am trying out a different first line but am not sure about it.

[Rick Mullin]

I like this one a lot, Hilary. It reminds me of an Antonioni film, especially La E'clisse, with its vivid imagery and the dissolution of the past. I'm really struck by the mention of avoiding people then given the overall feeling of alienation and the impossibility of connection in the world as it is. I also like the affect of looking back on nature and relationship during a pandemic with such vivid memories expressed as images that are inexcorably erased. This is a rather subjective take, I suppose, but this poem invites it. IE it is the real thing!

Rick

[Matt Q]

Hi Hilary,

Ah, OK it looks like there's a difference in how you and I pronounce "frequented", maybe it's a UK/US thing?

Here, the primary stress is on the second syllable, not the first. The online dictionaries I can find that give US pronunciation of "frequented" also show the stress on the second syllable, but there are enough people and accents in both countries for there to be variations, and listening on Americans say "frequented" on Youglish, I seem to be hearing both versions.

Nothing more annoying for the writer of metrical verse than a word that different readers will stress differently!

Matt