Youth
 

Youth

See the young, they kiss all day,
they kiss all night
kiss and kiss
and dream of flying
to where their kisses
need never end.

There they fly!
Wingless, lips sealing
their plan for the sky
where a kiss can blind one
to what passes by.

A kiss in the sky
is not like
a kiss in a bar
a kiss on the sidewalk,
a kiss followed by a pause
that needs only a slight breath
to kiss one more time.

In the sky it's important
to know where to moor.
To know blood spit
from torn lips hangs close by
as the kissers continue to kiss.

Space complicates kisses.
The eternity no one can see,
the endlessness impossible to grasp
so we should not be surprised
when we hear of the kiss,
the longest kiss alive,
that they kissed and kissed
until it pushed them away
turned its back
and left them behind.

after Nichita Stănescu

John -

This reminded me of the stuff I wrote when I was in middle school. The only thing I've taken away from it is a feeling that I shouldn't spend any money on work by Nichita Stănescu.

This is far below the usual quality of your work. I don't think there's anything here worth saving. It has repetition without purpose, a narrator who remains removed from the narrative, and images that fail to illuminate.

JB

Thanks, John. I write most days so it’s inevitable a stinker will pop up. I saw this as a little song about the consequence of youthful romantic love, a little bit of light darkness. That is more calculated than my usual writing instinct. That might be the lesson.

I appreciate the help. I learned that if I’m afraid to write a bad poem I’ll never write a good poem so you pointing it how is helpful.

I've always found that quantity gets in the way of quality. If you're always writing new poems and never spend more time with old ones they don't get a chance to evolve. I've got a few that have taken about three or four entirely different forms. Whether the final one is any good is worth asking, but it's always better than, and indiscernable from, the first one.

FWIW, I didn't mind reading through this but I agree that it could put more focus on the theme and use more illuminating language.

I write, I edit, I revise, I read, I write and on and on. There isn’t much to discuss. Everyone is different. Quantity getting in the way of quality sounds like an excuse to not write. Maybe it’s because I wrote and edited for a living so many years.

I think S1 and S3 could stand alone, without the other stanzas. The resulting poem would be fragmentary, I suppose, but perhaps enough. (In S1, I'd maybe get rid of "need" in the last line).

Yea, to each their own for sure.

When I first started writing poetry the novelty of it kept me moving on to new poems. But over time I drifted to editing and staying with the same poem, and taking pleasure in that process.

Definitely a personal thing, but I have found that taking the time to think and edit over a number of days or weeks can really transform a poem in unexpected ways.

.
This one surprised me. I see where others are coming from, but wonder if the title is the key to being able to get on the wavelength of it — I think it might very well be. Kissing is a fantastic but difficult thing to explore. Some people may disagree, but I think kissing is the most intimate of interactions. Not the quick kisses we give every day, but the longer, deeper bouquets of kisses we once would create between each other. Those are the kisses of youth.

I'm on my way out the door, so will come back if my comments above have sparked any interest.

.

Roger, thanks for the suggestion. I'll keep it for revision.

Jim, your inclination in reading is what I intended but I can accept if it fails at doing it. I've wondered far too many times why someone would become defensive when it's pointed out that a poem fails. I don't have to accept it either immediately but I learn more by failure than by praise. This one is a little out of my usual and I think I may not be very good with poems that have a wry message. But I'll continue to think about it. Thanks.

I actually like this, John, all those capriciously obsessive ss's in all those the kisses creating a kind of visceral whirlpool to draw the reader in, to kiss him as it were.
Its fleeting yet deep focus captures youth perfectly.

Nemo