[Catherine Chandler]

I Need Men


Cold men who frame themselves in cold windows,
seeing reservoirs as sheets of lead,
who beat their hearts with black winds and bare trees
then bury them in books, or bury them
beneath their feet; who run from love and moan
it flees from me, then settle back in bed
just the same, comforted, grim as stone.
These men, who hide behind the furniture
when a real wind blows in, I need these men

like a horse-kick to the head! They have the gall
to laugh at girls like me who laugh and sing
sweet love-heart things—but now I’ve learned to say:
Move from the window, mate, and cop it sweet,
or freeze your arse off romanticizing sleet.



Comment by Mr. Gwynn:

This has a funny delayed volta across the white space which is very clever; it should be a crowd-pleaser when read aloud. The touch of Wyatt is also funny. Word choice bothers me a little, especially “reservoirs” so early on, a word that brings to mind things other than lakes (and usually not very scenic ones at that): “lakes’ surfaces”? The alliteration in ll. 3-6 is also good, so over the top that it sounds like a curse when read aloud. “comforted” and “grim as stone” seem a little off to me when set side by side. I don’t know that the repetition of “laugh” is good. Since the poem rhymes off and on, the closure of the couplet is necessary, but I wonder about the extra syllable in the last line. Maybe the “off” could go for the sake of metrical regularity as tight as the rhymes are here.

[Catherine Chandler]

This sonnet is a hilarious and incisive take on Heathcliff wannabees, and those dark, byronic, Jimmy Dean poseurs who never tire of taking pictures of themselves, or looking at themselves in the mirror, or posting new profile pictures on Facebook every day or so.

N leads us merrily along for six lines, giving us a hint at what’s coming next in lines 8 & 9, and then hits us with the walloping volta in its classic place, line 9.

I have no nits whatsoever with this sonnet and I’ve even learned a new phrase, “cop it sweet”. I still chuckle as I type this critique.

[Philip Quinlan]

Yup

I know exactly whose this is, too.

Even if the first 12 lines were no good, the closing couplet would redeem it.

Very accomplished, and takes liberties with what can be a safe form.

My fave so far.

I hope we are going to see some more liberty taking in the sonnets to come...

Philip

[Tracey Gratch]

I remember this one, and the poet. Loved it then, and now.

The colloquial language works well - I would love to hear this read aloud by its author.

Very funny. An early favorite!

Tracey

Catherine - I like the way you have paired the sonnets thus far.

[Gail White]

Hoo ha, I love this. Unlike everyone else, I don't know the author, but it must be a woman and I wish it had been me.

[Jean L. Kreiling]

I remember this one fondly.

I do wish there weren't an extra syllable in the last line, and I'm not sure about the white space before L10--it creates a bit of a sledge-hammer effect, when the words alone make their point with brilliant force.

I just love these keen observations: the way men run from love and then mourn its fleeing, the fact that some men find "comfort" in being "stone," and that picture of them hiding behind furniture when a real wind blows in.

Well-crafted and fun!

Best,
Jean

[R. Nemo Hill]

My favorite thus far. And both the stanza enjambment before that horse-kick to the head, and the extra syllable in the final line seem vital to the heart-felt vaudeville here.

I also love the difference between sing and say in the second stanza: even the sweetest singer of love-heart things know when to say, when to call a spade a spade!

Nemo

[Jim Burrows]

The final line is a bit awkward, esp. "arse off romanticizing sleet". Its awkwardness seems intended though, and may contribute to the humor. I'm not exactly sure what type of man this is, and the poem seems to want to work through recognition. It may be "gendered", for lack of a better term. It definitely has the most spirit and wit, though, of any so far.

[Lance Levens]

The last line is so crucial to a sonnet--I'd drop the "off", but British idiom(it's obvious it's not an American) may not permit it. An American may say "freeze your ass" although "off" is often added. The exquisite pause at the caesura--without the "off"--would make what follows sweeter.

[Susan McLean]

Works for me, though I did find the rhythm of the last line a bit dodgy just when I want it to pack a punch. I like the stanza break where it is. This is a voice of experience. I particularly like the allusion to Wyatt, because these insights into a certain kind of male character are timeless.

Susan