[Mark McDonnell]

Hi John,

I'm glad you worked on the metre here, it flows beautifully now. I'm no stickler for metre but this one started out so regular that the deviations, particularly L4 that originally ended with "spring" did feel jarring rather than just forgiveably loose. It's interesting to me, and comes with no judgement, that such an excellent poet has a slight blind (deaf?) spot when it comes to metre. It must be something of how the brain is wired, how it hears the rhythm of words. Of course, some poets can tum-ti-tum quite easily but will absolutely struggle to write free-verse, though that would be less quantifiable.

There's a riot of personification in the first five stanzas, which I confess felt a bit overwhelming at first. And the language is quite old-fashioned-poetic, with spring blowing a "muted horn" and flowers singing "fresh lyrics". I do sometimes notice that when you write in metre you seem to reach more for classically poetic imagery and phrasing. But the effect of it works for me here because they are such delicate images that they don't feel forced or pastiche. They have a genuine simplicity. And it all comes together in the final three stanzes where the speaker reappears, and the mood darkens. The nature personification stops and we get powerful lines that feel so lived-in: "gathers /the courage to concede defeat" and "borrowed feet touching borrowed earth". My ear kept naturally reading "myth" as "mist". I like "lightest myth" though. The whole thing seems to be about transience.

I'll echo what Glenn said here

In S3L1, because of the change Yves proposed in the previous line, change
“has blown its oldest muted horn”
to
“blowing its oldest muted horn.”

but maybe suggest changing S2L2 instead. And also bring the sentence to a close after “horn”.

So this...

until the walls begin to tell me
to step outside where fresh spring calls

has blown its oldest muted horn,
new life moves shyly in morning light.

Flowers naturally sing fresh lyrics
of life so short, beauty fading,


becomes


until the walls begin to tell me
to step outside where fresh spring’s call

has blown its oldest muted horn.
New life moves shyly in morning light,

flowers naturally sing fresh lyrics
of life so short, beauty fading,

[Paula Fernandez]

Hi John--

It seems there's a fair amount of engagement on the meter and word choices, much of which I agree with. I thought I'd give some feedback on how I read it and where I had trouble parsing meaning.

Overall, the poem started to create for me an atmosphere of hopeful renewal--we are awakening, fresh spring is calling, and new life is moving. By the fourth and fifth stanzas, however, this atmosphere is getting foggy--now beauty is fading, words ignored, and trees contained. Finally, in the last three stanzas, the atmosphere is harsh indeed--sad songs, scraping wind, concedes defeat.

So, I've walked with you through this progression of attitudes, but I don't feel like I know why. The poem doesn't seem to be remarking on anything that's changing in the external world. If the change in attitude is entirely interior, I don't know what caused it. I just feel like the speaker got up feeling pretty good, walked outside, and now feels quite defeated.

I'm sorry if I just didn't read deeply enough, but that's how the poem worked for me, and so I didn't get that satisfying "aaahhh" of discovery that makes me love a poem.

Hope that's helpful.

[Carl Copeland]

John, there are some I’ve learned not to bother with metrical quibbles, and you’re one of them, so I’m surprised by the sudden interest. But I also should have learned by now not to think I’ve got you pegged. The new version is much easier on us meter readers (or meterbators, as some prefer), while still having plenty of variation. I’ll just point out, though, that you’ve taken only half of Mark’s suggestion, and the result no longer makes grammatical sense: “fresh spring calls / has blown its oldest muted horn.” Mark suggested “fresh spring’s call,” but I’m not sure a call can blow, so two other ideas would be:

fresh spring calls / and blows its oldest muted horn.
[budding] spring / has blown its oldest muted horn.

Not that I insist on “budding,” just some word that fits the slot.

[Mark McDonnell]

I’ll just point out, though, that you’ve taken only half of Mark’s suggestion

Ah, I don't think John has edited yet, since my suggestion, Carl.

Mark suggested “fresh spring’s call,” but I’m not sure a call can blow

Hmm. Yes, I did notice that after I'd suggested it.

[John Riley]

I used what I think I missed in Mark's suggestions. I missed it before.

Thanks for the help. I'll be back to address them more directly later.