[Alexandra Baez]

Jim, thanks, and I’m so delighted that you’re responding to so many of the things I was trying to do. Yeah, “weeping window”—Carl is right that “weeping willow” had something to do with the inspiration for that.

I’m surprised, though, that you think “The poem gives every indication it is heading toward a somber end.” That’s actually not what I’d had in mind at any point! In fact, the first version of the ending went,

of spring. Each dawn, I drink in everything
you bring, oh kitchen window! More, I claim
the whole dear life beyond your tiny frame.

But I guess I can see why you anticipated gloom, since I’d headed from “lilts of sun” to “subtle lisps of coldness hesitating on the cusp of spring.” As to the “dilapidated frame,” that was just factual reportage, but I’ve since reflected that in terms of symbolism, it could suggest that all our experiences of life are relative and hence potentially misleading in part because the apparatus through which we view them is itself subject to the weaknesses of relativity.

Julie, I’m glad you like the conceit pretty well, and you got me thinking on the other stuff. I’d been okay with the rambling rhymes—it’s a device I’m quite fond of and have been emboldened even more to pursue since becoming acquainted with the work of Frederick Goddard Tuckerman (a pioneer and a master of that approach). However, I never was too content with that one four-line stanza in the midst of three-line ones—I like a look of order on the page. So Carl’s take on your suggestion struck me as an opportunity to seek a workaround for that, if not for the rhymes themselves. In the process, I did try regularizing the rhyme scheme and I now feel that it works well; in the repetition of rhyme sounds in Ss 1 and 3, the desired feeling of unpredictability is still conveyed, which I had not anticipated.

Why is it that so many poets seem to feel there’s something inherently magical or even compulsory (given close alternatives) about 14 lines? Yes, they characterize the sonnet, but does that by definition make the use of 13 or 15 lines in other types of poems less effective than 14? At no point was I conscious of choosing or not choosing to make this poem 14 lines. I was simply trying to convey what I wanted to in whatever amount of space that could be most effectively done. That being said, in trying a rework based on your and Carl’s ideas, I was able to trim some fat out of S2 and am now left with 12 lines. I'm hoping that the new all-tercet form preempts any readers' questions about why there are not 14 lines instead.

Yeah, I’d thought that about “yellow air” as well, but I have been so struck by the diaphanous light yellow color of the morning light outside my window that I hated to lose that reference. However, another potential conflict with “yellow” that I'd become aware of is that I was using it to help describe a scene that I’ve just called “clear.” “Golden” would conjure a much richer tone than I had in mind, so I’ve gone with “shining,” at least for now. Thanks for goading that (I think) dual improvement!

Yes, your thoughts have been instrumental in my working toward what I believe is a ground-level improvement in this whole poem, so thank you very much.

Carl, thanks! I had started out with “o” but just became self-conscious about its archaic feel and so I changed it just because I felt that I had to. But I think I’m going to change back now—after all, if it’s okay with you, how bad can it be? And yes, “weeping willow” was on my mind, too, but the window was indeed dripping, so it was not much of a stretch to call it so.

Okay on the comma—dropped.

In the way I had things laid out, it seemed there was no way around saying both “clasp” and “grip,” but you’re right, it felt a bit ponderous. A rework of this phrasing came naturally with the overall revision. I had zero intent of sexual innuendo with “cocksure” or “bosomed.” How could sexual innuendo find a legitimate place in this poem? "Cocksure" derives from the word for rooster, and both words simply conveyed, I hoped, something else that I wanted to. However, in my recent revision, “cocksure” has disappeared for other reasons.

Thanks a lot for your brainstorm on a different layout for this. As you’ve seen, I’ve experimented with it and have liked the results well enough to continue tinkering. Sorry I’ve been doing this in real time here without documenting each change; before I even saw your last comment, much of the “quiddity that lilts sun and smudges lisps” had already gone. I've commented more on the rework to Julie, above.

I’m glad you like the ending, too.

About the dash in the last line—did you notice that in the revision, I added a colon at the end of the first line of that stanza? I realized that without it, this stanza wasn’t very precisely saying what it was trying to: I didn’t mean “round” to refer to the circumstances surrounding the whims of weather, but only to the location of the frame around these scenes. I’d thought that with that colon, the dash was no longer appropriate—no? To me, an ellipsis can be used to suggest a dramatic pause leading up to a ringing conclusion, which what I was trying for here in lieu of a comma (although I actually preferred the feel of the dash in V1).

Roger, thanks, I’m very pleased. I know that I’ve used “lisps” oddly here, and yet to me I hoped that it seemed oddly right, and more striking than “wisps.” I also like its alliteration with “lilting.”

Glen, welcome! I’m glad you got into the poem. I can understand your reaction to the “weeping”; I hadn’t had anything in mind with that word besides conveying 1) dripping and 2) the gloom of late winter/early spring. I’m not sure I can flesh the latter out any more, but it’s worth thinking about.

Rick, I’m glad you like it, especially the repetition of rhyme sounds in Ss 1 and 3. I agree, I think it helps create a sense of the back and forth that I'm talking about. Even though most of these words are one of two pronunciations of “a,” I didn’t feel a vowel sound affinity between Ss 2 and 4, but I’m glad that you see a connection.

I’m pleased that the ending works for you, as well. Endings, along with titles, used to be the parts of any poem I wrote that I struggled with the most. I’m looking forward to commenting on your and Julie’s great new posts.