Anonymous Crit:
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This piece worked well overall--my only complaints stem from a few
awkwardly-worded lines and a couple of unnecessary statements. The
ending worked very well, if a bit on the predictable side.
No Movies of Me
Think of the movie stars that were --
their heydays brimming with hormones,
> Opening works fine, though that first line could be a bit more
engaging.
then their relentless public ageing:
a bloated Brando, a withered Bacall,
> Not sure there's enough contrast between the heydays and the
aging...seems a bit out of kilter. Four lines of "aging" images and
just one line glossing over their early performances? Might want to
consider giving the readers a bit more meat for the comparison.
a Groucho shifting his dentures in a shriveled mouth,
a crumbling, leathered Moore,
a doddery Hope, no hope left,
gazing into the distance, or the past.
> The last line is too much for me. Borders on overwritten. Liked
"doddery".
How lucky there are no movies of me
on my Road to Anywhere, only stills:
no home Super-8 replay of someone past,
> Reusing the word "past" stuck out for me. "Only stills" doesn't seem
necessary unless you want to talk about them. They kind of interrupt
the narrative flow, anyhow.
fresh-featured, lithe and limber, playing the fool
forever in a ski-sweater of Norwegian style,
> Really liked the way these lines felt, though the wording of the
second line is a tad awkward.
splashing water at the camera lens,
or taking a loving glance for granted.
Or maybe just one. Somewhere in a tin trunk
stashed in the lumber-room of a childhood friend
now gray or gone, there may survive a short trick sequence:
thirty grainy seconds of me at ten or eleven
climbing out of the same cardboard box
again and again, before fading out.
> Nice ending.
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