[Quincy Lehr]

The name of the game is this--a famous poem by a famous poet is below. Pretend that it was posted to Eratosphere for critique.

AS I WALKED OUT ONE EVENING

by Wystan Auden

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
"Love has no ending.

"I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Afica meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street.

"I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

"The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world."

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
"O let not Time deceive you
You cannot conquer Time.

"In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

"In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

"Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

"O plunge your hands in water
Plunge them up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed."

"The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

"Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer
And Jill goes down on her back."

"O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress;
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless."

"O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbor
With your crooked heart."

It was late, late in the evening
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.

[Jim Hayes]

Quincy, I prefer to pretend I wrote it.

Jim

[Quincy Lehr]

Jim--

Wouldn't we all, but I think pretending to write it is illegal in most places.

Quincy

[Jim Hayes]

Not deep down inside myself Quincy, where I live.

But I applaud the idea, it just that I couldn't see this critiqued. Love it.

Jim

[Roger Slater]

Just have time for a quick crit, but I wanted to stop by the say that this is my favorite of the poems of yours I have seen. I'll be back later if I have time to offer some nits, though I'm not sure I see any just yet. Nice work.

[Jim Hayes]

Thanks Roger

[Simon Hunt]

Wystan (Do you mind if I call you Wizzy?):

This is cute but, frankly it's not the standard of work we expect here. "Upon the pavement?" Come on! We walk on pavement, not upon it. Besides which, you've misspelled Africa, which suggests ignorance, laziness, racism, and the total lack of poetic potential. I'd counsel you to read some--check that, ALL of the great poetry of the twentieth century and try again then.

Take care now. --Simon

[Quincy Lehr]

(Just for the record, this is one of my favorite poems, too.)

[Terese Coe]

Wystan,

Perfection! Except, that is, for your metrically forced:

The lovers they were gone

Please! (No ideas for it at present, sorry.)

Terese

[David Anthony]

Here's something along similar lines:

http://www.alsopreview.com/gaz/noted/donotgo.html