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Possessive “its” is an exception in Modern English, like “hers,” “ours,” “yours,” “theirs.” Otherwise, all singular possessives are formed like “summer’s” (as in your S5). “Summer’s” can also be a contraction of “summer is” or “summer has” (as in your S3 and like “it’s”). “Summers” without an apostrophe is plural, and the plural possessive is “summers’.” Proper nouns ending in “s” can also be an exception, but that’s more frequent with Biblical/classical names: “Moses’ wife” or “Moses’s wife,” as you like. I even found a reputable-looking site that recommends “Arkansas’ capital,” which strikes me as ridiculous: without the apostrophe, you don’t pronounce the final “s,” so why should an apostrophe add an extra sound? Same thing with stuff like “François’ hometown.” I don’t think so. Luckily, your editor will clean up anything you miss, so it’s no big deal. |
I'm not sure what the etiquette is on bumping a revision, but I managed to make a few minor changes this morning for anyone interested in taking a look. I'm hoping to spend some more time with it later on, but it could be a few days (or more).
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Good tweaks to a poem that was already very good. What I love about it—and I’m repeating myself—is the music. I think if I read it without being analytical and came back later for a second reading, I wouldn’t find it. Because I’d be looking in Met. It’s that musical.
Do you know Henry Taylor’s “At the Swings”? No one would mistake it for metrical, but your poem reminded me of it somehow. https://www.ablemuse.com/erato/showt...t=henry+taylor |
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And I have learned something new here, which is that I can (and should) level up syntax and recognize when I'm using lazy word choices and phrases. I didn't see these ones until Paula pointed them out. |
I like it, Nick. As Carl says, it has a haunting, yearning quality that deepens through the repetitions. I don’t really like “nigh” at all, and don’t see much reason for the archaism. What about “I feel the summer’s end” as a refrain?
I feel the summer’s end, the weeping grasses, the dried willows, the ponds of August, conversation echoing from gardens, through the dust of fireworks, through dry, frigid air. I feel the summer’s end, when you will leave me. When wind turns to a crimson sky, when rain courses through November. You will leave me, morning's laughter echoing through our past. etc |
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I'm going to throw up another revision for comparison. |
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