[Paula Fernandez]

Might I Yet Billow? (Revision 2)

Midlife, I find my seat has been assigned;
I pull, then glide, snared in this rhythmic ride;
the coxswain’s commands not to be denied;
river, boat, oarsmen and I all aligned.
When did I choose to enter in this race--
a race ill-suited for the slow or kind?
What pensive paths, once loved, got swept behind
to seek more tangible rewards? That hurried pace
consumed my all in all. But if the east wind
blows in and rustles these sturdy sails of hope,
might I yet billow—full-souled—canvas & rope—
stand proud upon the prow before trip’s end?

Unclenching my fingers from that oar,
I gather this strong cloth off the floor.

***

Might I Yet Billow? (Revision 1)

Midlife, I find my seat has been assigned;
I pull, then glide, snared in this rhythmic ride;
the coxswain’s command not to be denied;
river, boat, oarsmen and I all aligned.
Truth told, I chose to enter in this race,
a race that doesn’t pause for the slow or kind,
and joyful things, once loved, got left behind
to sink beneath the waves without a trace.

But today! My muse whispered on the wind
and rustled long forgotten sails of hope.
Might I yet billow—full-souled—canvas & rope—
sing proud upon the prow before trip’s end?
Gathering this strong cloth off the floor—
Today! Unclench my fingers from that oar.
***

Might I Yet Billow?

Midlife I find my seat has been assigned;
I pull, then glide, snared in this rhythmic ride;
The coxswain’s dictate not to be denied;
River, boat, oarsmen, and I aligned.

Truth told, I chose to undertake this race
And with stout friends have persevered for long
Years, silent, without thought that aught was wrong,
Yet sensing muted grief constraining grace.

But courage whispers from within the wind
And rustles long forsaken sails of hope.
Might I yet billow—full-souled—canvas & rope—
Stand proud upon the prow before trip’s end?

Willing some wilder way to wend the shore—
Unclench my fingers from that oar.

[Yves S L]

Hello Paula,

So, the phrasing is not natural for me. Yeah, there are certain special phrasing effects that one can do within iambic pentameter, but in this poem it sounds like you are fighting with iambic pentameter, and then rhymes on top of that makes everything sound so ... exhausting.

It might be useful to rewrite this in blank verse.

Yeah!

[Carl Copeland]

Hi, Paula. I can tell I’m going to enjoy reading your work. Here are my first thoughts:

I tend to ignore titles, but this one grabbed me before I could get past it, and the image of you billowing on the prow of a ship will stay with me. I’m no sailor, but I looked it up and decided you’re on a pinnace, a small vessel with sails and oars that might have a coxswain.

S1L4 and S3L3 are quite daring metrically. You could smooth the former by adding an “and” between “river” and “boat,” but I’m not sure it’s necessary. Both lines work, I think, if read properly. I’m being slowly weened away from the mesmerizing regularity I’ve always loved, and here you come with all the variations and substitutions up and running in your first poem!

The “long / years” enjambment in S2 is a turn I can’t navigate—partly because the sentence could so easily end on “long” and partly because you want me to stress “long” before an unstressed “years.”

The language has a deliberately archaic flavor to it. I have a higher tolerance for that sort of thing than most here, but even I thought it might do with updating in places. Not sure why, but “stout” in particular struck me as a word I’d never use today to describe a friend (unless I wanted to insult them!).

I love your use of alliteration, but, while “courage whispers from within the wind” is gorgeous, “Willing some wilder way to wend the shore” went overboard for me. And can you wend a shore? The verb is hardly ever used except in the idiom “wend one’s way,” so I can’t decide.

I’m afraid the final couplet lost me a little. Now, instead of billowing, you want to walk the shore in some “wilder way.” Wild in the sense of wilderness? The final line is another daring one metrically, dropping a whole foot. I can’t decide whether that bothers me or not. Does it have some significance?

Congratulations on your first poem posting, Paula! It reminded me of Pushkin’s famous lyric “Arion,” except that his sailor-poet doesn’t billow. That’s all yours!

[Glenn Wright]

Congratulations on your maiden voyage, Paula. Your sonnet is resonant and full of heart. You take a well-worn conceit—the voyage on the sea of life—and explore its corners and crannies in a fresh and interesting way. Having been an oarsman on life’s boat for most of my life, enjoying the fellowship and resenting the limitation, I can understand the speaker’s desire to set out on her own course.

I share Carl’s qualified admiration of your metrical gymnastics. I wonder, though, if you could add the last foot to line 14 (perhaps a 2-syllable adjective to describe “fingers?” aching? restless?)

Very impressive debut! Welcome!
Glenn

[Mark McDonnell]

Welcome to the Sphere Paula! There’s much that I like about this and quite a lot I wish were different. It reads like the definition of a promising draft. I like the conceit, and the classic sonnet progression is satisfying. And it’s a midlife poem, which I can relate to, ha. And despite some of the language keeping me at arms length (which I’ll come on to) I sense its sincerity. Not that a poem has any obligation to be sincere in terms of autobiographical fidelity; you could be 21 for all I know. But it feels true. I get a genuine sense of the speaker’s yearning.

So, to take it a section at a time:

Midlife I find my seat has been assigned;
I pull, then glide, snared in this rhythmic ride;
The coxswain’s dictate not to be denied;
River, boat, oarsmen, and I aligned.

First, I would add a comma after “Midlife”.
I find the word “dictate” a little clinical. I know that might be the point, that the speaker feels their life is being “dictated” to, but I really want to hear this metaphorical coxwain. I wonder if it could be his “bellow” or similar that can’t be denied.
I’m not sure if you need the comma after “oarsmen”?

Truth told, I chose to undertake this race
And with stout friends have persevered for long
Years, silent, without thought that aught was wrong,
Yet sensing muted grief constraining grace.

Like Carl, I think “stout friends” feels very old-fashioned. And since the friends are never mentioned again, do we need their appearance in the poem? I wonder if something else could fill those two beats.
The enjambment on “long/Years” threw me. It’s the only real enjambment in the poem and it’s a very jarring one, breaking in the middle of a phrase. I wonder if you could end-stop that line with “persevered so long.”, then start a new sentence with “Years, silent...” (or something else). In fact, one of the reasons I was thrown is because you are starting each line with an initial cap. Now, people have very strong views about initial caps in poetry. I’m not a fan, in general, though they can work in some poems. Try the poem without them and see what you think. I'm also not sure the sonnet needs the gaps. It might be better as one block!

I see no reason for “aught” rather than “anything” other than to sound more “poetic” or for metrical expediency, neither of which are good reasons. And the following line is the first time I slightly rolled my eyes on first reading. “Yet sensing muted grief constraining grace”
is too chock-filled with abstractions and I’m not even sure that “grace” is the best word. It feels slightly strained for the rhyme. The speaker seems to be craving freedom, more than grace.

I would bite the bullet and go for a full re-write of L7 and 8.

But courage whispers from within the wind
And rustles long forsaken sails of hope.
Might I yet billow—full-souled—canvas & rope—
Stand proud upon the prow before trip’s end?

I like the first line enough, but adding “hope” in the second line when you’ve already got the abstract noun of “courage” feels like overkill. I feel that the rustling “long forsaken sails” are already implied to be a symbol of hope. To keep the rhyme word, could you do something like

"And rustles long forsaken sails. Sweet hope,
Might I yet billow—full-souled—canvas & rope—"

I really like that whole “canvas & rope” line btw.

There seems to be a missing “the” in “before trip’s end”, again for metrical expediency: “to the journey’s end” perhaps, with a little anapaest in there?

Willing some wilder way to wend the shore—
Unclench my fingers from that oar.

There’s maybe one too many ‘w’ sounds in that first line. And I agree with Carl about “wend the shore”. Maybe the shore (or shores) could be the wilder thing? The destination.

"Let winds carry my bark to wilder shores—
Unclench my fingers from these oars."

Or some such thing?

I really like the short last line. The bluntness works to give a decisive quality.

I hope some of this is useful, Paula. I’ve spent time on it because I see a really nice poem trying to get out of some unnecessary abstractions and dated language. I have a fairly high tolerance for poems that employ some unfashionably archaic “poeticisms”, but it’s a fine balance.

Mark.

Edit: re-reading the other crits again, I see Carl and I are on a similar page about quite a few things here.

[Jayne Osborn]

Hi Paula, and welcome to the Sphere!

Forgive me, but I have to be brief just now as I'm needed elsewhere, but I agree with all that Mark said.
I definitely think that "aught" and "stout" need to go... along with the initial caps.

Might I suggest "Searching some wilder way to wend the shore", rather than "Willing some wilder way to wend the shore—" ?

But your first poem more than demonstrates that you've found the right place to be. Yay!

Now I have to dash...

Jayne

[Paula Fernandez]

I'm so grateful to you all for giving this your attention. I have been craving honest and informed feedback for a while, and I'm so very happy to have found it at last!

Yves, Carl, Glenn, Mark and Jane--Thank you all for pointing out the archaic language. Believe it or not, I didn't actually notice! I read a lot of older poetry, and some of these usages seemed quite fine to me, but now that you point it out, I see that it doesn't fit a contemporary idiom.

Carl--I have tried to address all your critiques in this rewrite. I was aware of the metric difficulties in lines S1L4 and S3L3. I have tried to fix the first by adding a syllable--did it work? S3L3 is a bit more purposeful--I intend it to slow you down and make you pause on each word. It's the real pivot of the poem (and hence also the title).

Mark--Your extensive comments made me really thoughtful. Quite right about not even needing those "stout friends' at all. I have deleted them! Also, thank you for liking the last line's bluntness. The original version of this switched to iambic tetrameter (to hurry the pace) from line 9, but later rewrites went back to pentameter throughout. I have added the extra foot to the end in this rewrite--as per Glenn's suggestion--but I really like the tetrameter surprise in the last line as well. I may bring it back.

As to this poem's origins and intent, if any are interested. This poem has been my misborn child for about four years. It was the first thing I wrote after I powered down my laptop, turned in my keycard, and quit my profession mid-Covid. I had had it, and, well, the muse was actually calling! Some 25 years ago, back when I was an English major, I had wanted to spend my days writing and reading. Then I realized that was a sucker's bet. I got an MBA and the race was on. It was high-time for me to get back to this, and I'm actually grateful that Covid drove me over the edge. The muse and I are friends again. But this poem just will not land. Hoping I'm getting closer now.

[Cally Conan-Davies]

Hi Paula!

Mark's crit is fantastic, and what you've done in your revision is, too! The whole poem has come more alive.

I do love the new line "gathering this strong cloth off the floor"—visual and tactile at the same time. I can feel the vigour of it. The weight and the energy to lift into life!

I wonder would it be better if you changed tense in the second stanza: "... my muse whispers on the wind/ and rustles". You had it that way in the first draft, and it works better for me that way.

I still feel something else is possible in the last line—an image that really lifts the poem into another way of being than the one described in the first stanza.

Good work!

Cally

[Yves S L]

Hello Paula,

It's not about archaism as such, it is more that in the first revision the poem breathes a lot better without what sounded like an artificial straight jacket constraining the phrasing.

Yeah!

[Glenn Wright]

Great revisions, Paula! The Petrarchan formatting, which highlights your rhyme scheme, has the added benefit of making the volta in line 9 much more powerful. I especially like how you revised lines 5-8 and used them to extend your boat race conceit. The revised version is altogether tighter, more vivid, and more resonant. The modernized diction is an improvement, too (although I’m pretty tolerant of archaisms). Excellent work!