Eratosphere - Post-Op

Eratosphere (https://www.ablemuse.com/erato/index.php)

- Non-Metrical Poetry (https://www.ablemuse.com/erato/forumdisplay.php?f=14)

- - Post-Op (https://www.ablemuse.com/erato/showthread.php?t=36106)

I'm sorry for your losses, John. My much-loved aunt recently died of breast cancer after fighting it for decades. It was devastating.

I didn't think the struggle was just flowers/no flowers or that it was superficial and obvious. I do think there might be ways you can bring it out more and get closer to your intentions though. There are probably better words than "bright," "sunny and fair" etc. But what you have here struck a chord with me in spite of that.

I don't feel like I'm adequately articulating my thoughts in this thread, and I'm trying to avoid getting overly personal but not sure how to convey my response to this poem without getting personal. Sorry.

Thanks, Hilary. If you want to feel free to talk about how the poem touches you personally.

I'm posting a slight revision. I changed the sunny line and altered the last word of L6. It is probably not enough. As I said when I posted this one is still in the process of becoming--or crashing.

Thanks

Hi John,
wonderful opening though might it not make a more impactful ending than the current one; that's the weakest part, for me? Beginning at S2 wouldn't weaken the piece in any way, I think.
The title gives one pause, I wonder if 'Recovery' might not serve?
I'm struggling with 'if she open the window ... ' and the change to 'strong' hasn't made that any clearer (the implication that if she didn't they'd be something else keeps sidetracking me.)

Regards,
RG.

All right ... I have not had cancer, thankfully. But I had a traumatic c-section, which resulted in me bringing home a very medically complicated infant while still recovering from major surgery. I basically couldn't go anywhere and had severe postpartum depression. I remember that the outer incision was numb for a long time, and as it healed the scar tissue was white and cool (which is what the snow makes me think of). The isolation and terror of that time, the complete disconnect from the life that was going on outside, and the sense of violation, however necessary (in my case, having my abdomen and uterus cut open rather than breasts removed) is where this poem takes me.

I have no idea if any of that is helpful and I feel a bit badly for going on about myself ...

I think Richard's idea of moving the first couplet to the end is interesting. Not sure though as that beginning really pulled me in.

John –
I think you’ve done a good job of capturing the sense of loss that comes with the realization that a part of you is no longer a part of you.

The physical loss is mirrored by the change in everything that remains – the beauty of the world becomes out of reach, the sense of what you are now smothers the sense of who you were, your world is interrupted, the equilibrium you carried with you is now unbalanced.

There are some good lines here - biting the tongue, the dark soil. The heaviness of now is tangible.

You can fiddle around with the words if you choose, but I feel this is solid in all the ways that matter.

JB

Quote:

Originally Posted by John Riley (Post 501818)

Revision

Post-Op

Beneath where her breasts once were she feels snow.
She bites her tongue before the whispers fall out.

There are mornings when the day drops down on her.
A morning when peace is beyond her hand.

If she opened the window the wild daisies, wisteria,
The rhododendrons she planted would be strong,

The rich soil under the roots, dark as a night's peace.
Nothing can stay buried in that paradise.

She falls back on the bed, the tangled blanket.
Her hand rests on the valley across her chest.

Post-Op

Beneath where her breasts once were she feels snow.
She bites her tongue before the whispers fall out.

There are mornings when the day drops down on her.
A morning when peace is beyond her hand.

If she opened the window the wild daisies, wisteria,
The rhododendrons she planted would be bright.

The rich soil under the roots, dark as a night's peace.
All is sunny and fair through her closed window.

She falls back on the bed, the tangled blanket.
Her hand rests on the valley across her chest.

***I have no idea if this works. I'm posting it so I will stop toying with it. I hope it is good, of course, but I genuinely have no idea.

John, reading through this the below is how I might edit it. A few minor removals, one addition, and I think the rhythm is a little cleaner

I debated changing 'valley across her chest' to 'valley of her chest', but I could go either way on this.

Post-Op

Where her breasts once were she feels snow.
She bites her tongue before the whispers fall out.

There are mornings when the day drops down on her.
A morning when peace is beyond her hand.

If she opened the window the wild daisies, the wisteria,
The rhododendrons she planted would be strong,

The rich soil under the roots, dark as night's peace.
Nothing can stay buried in that paradise.

She falls back on the bed, the tangled blanket.
Her hand rests on the valley across her chest.

Richard, thanks for reading the notes. I think "Recovery" would suggest rehab. I may change the title, though.

Hilary, your experience indicates you can feel the poem. If the poem did allow you to feel your experience I consider that a great compliment. I'm sorry you went through that experience. I deal with treatment-resistant depression so I know that terror and isolation, although it isn't sourced in an experience as traumatic as yours.

John, thanks for reading the comment. I am going to leave it alone for now. I'll read it again later and see what I think.

Nick, thanks for reading and commenting. The only change I see is the definite article before "wisteria?"

Thanks again to each of you for your help.