Death... needs a bit of tightening up, suggestions?

Inspired by the end of one of Rilke's sonnets:





"But this,


one's death,


the whole reach of death,


to hold it gently and not feel anger


is indescribable"





I've revised this and cut it back a lot, but now I find the form and flow troubling. Thoughts?








How like voices the rain sounds tonight,


like the hard whisper of prophets


The truth of the finite in each breaking drop.





How sobering to feel yourself at the center of this blossoming death.


How strange to be within the rose that grows within you


And the scent in your nostrils is not sweet.





And to sense the whole reach of death,


The slipping of skin, the accumulation of creases, the cracking of bones;


What stranger to oneself would not scream absurd?


Between the things it is our burden to know


And the things we can barely name,


Is a darkness.





What words are there for the mother who must release her child?


Who can stand with steady arms open


to embrace that which leaves a mother’s arms empty?

Death... needs a bit of tightening up, suggestions?
Willow:





Line breaks.





Read the tutorials at alsopreview.com. There is a whole section on line breaks. I found out I know NOTHING.





Each line must lead to the next. Each line must force the reader to ask who, what why, when, etc.





It's not always the rhyme, the meter, the completed sentence, as I thought it was.





Sometimes it's just breaking up the lines so that one word leads to the next. Each last word of each line within each stanza must beg the reader to read the next.





Here's another take (and I am NOT suggesting it's the right take, just a different one.)





How like voices the rain


sounds tonight, like the hard whisper of


prophets. The truth of the finite in each breaking


drop.





How sobering to feel yourself at


the center of


this blossoming death. How strange to be


within the rose that grows


within you


And the scent in your nostrils is not


sweet.





Willow, now I need to go back and look again. I loved some of this little kiss you gave us. Perchance I will add more later.





Margot





P.S. I loved "blossoming death."
Reply:I really believe you are a blossoming poet. Report It

Reply:Generally, I find your first shot is the best. When you start chopping the original about, it always loses something. Talking of Sonnets, here's one in the English style I did a few months ago...





Were l to die; weep not, for me, more... raise a glass, be of good cheer,


no morbid dirge... no unctuous priest who means not... but, a word he speaks,


for, l shall never really die... not whilst my words and thoughts lie here,


and, l would see the Ladies smile; not waste their tears upon their cheeks.





Lady Love has smiled on me as we have danced among the stars,


for, She has let me keep the dream of Love...and how it ought to be,


no trail of Broken hearts; though l have loved, and lost... no hurt to mar


the dream, and that... perhaps, is why... this is my style of poetry.





All l would ask... Six feet of Mother Earth, where l might peaceful, sleep;


no Oaken coffin... pretty casket... just a simple winding caul.


The swifter, to return into her arms... our covenant to keep,


Earth to Earth... indeed: the final Great Adventure of them all.





So, perhaps, a Marker Stone...beneath the name... these words, upon it


He strove to bring a gentle smile... and, He could weave a pretty Sonnet.
Reply:This was incredible. I'm not just saying that. I do like the alterations Margot made to the lines. It added a lot of tension to the poem, and words that I thought to cut instead worked in the new structure. I would consider working through your poem with her comments in mind. I'll only add these points:





What stranger to oneself would not scream absurd?





I like where you're going here with the content, but the line felt awkward.





you child hand, --minor typo.





How like voices the rain sounds tonight,


like the hard whisper of prophets


The truth of the finite in each breaking drop.





That was beautiful writing...just beautiful. I absolutely love your opening.





I look forward to the rewrite.
Reply:This is very good. The unnatural line breaks created by Yahoo don't help it any. I only felt the meter drag once, "The truth of the finite breaking drop." I had to stop at finite.





Overall, I liked it very much. I've read it three times, which should be the artistic goal of a poem.





Excellent!
Reply:I liked your detail of the effect of a bird's death on a young child.





Tighten your images:





The rain tonight,


Hard whisper of prophets


Each breaking drop finite truth.





I lie at the rose's center,


Death blossoming


The scent there is not sweet.





Senses scream at its absurdity


Death's entire reach, slipping of skin


Accumulating creases, cracking bones,


The burden of knowledge, things barely named,


Darkness.





With what words


Can a mother release her child?


Empty, open arms


Longing to embrace


That which left them empty.





Set in this pattern your poem forms a Hokku no renga. It's opening verse a Haiku.
Reply:This is better than anything I could do, but if you want my input . . . .





%26gt;How strange to be within the rose that grows within you %26lt;





Within twice - try a simile, like inside.





%26gt;Between the things it is our burden to know


And the things we can barely name%26lt;





Same deal - "things" is used twice, it should have a simile as well.





%26gt;Is a darkness%26lt; does not quite connect with "Between the things it is . . ."





Same deal with "mother" - "which leaves a woman's arms empty" would say the same, you've already established she's a mother.





Just my two cents. Like I said, I wish I could write as well.

shamrock