[Susan McLean]

Firstborn (3rd revision)

You focus on them fixedly, the first
part of you that leaves but stays alive—
as if your hand could crawl and cry and thirst.
Although they need your care just to survive,
they're out of your control. Of course they're cursed.
You're vulnerable through them. For them to thrive,
you sacrifice and save, your funds disbursed
to smooth their way. You hope they will arrive.

The firstborn suffer hardest for the friction
between their parents' pride, control, and loss:
restive, rebellious, always in the wrong.
But when each choice they make is your affliction,
they stumble toward a place they can belong:
displayed on a front page or on a cross.


Firstborn (2nd revision)

You focus on them fixedly, the first
part of you that leaves but stays alive,
as if your hand could crawl and cry and thirst,
dependent on your care just to survive,
yet out of your control. Of course they're cursed.
You're vulnerable through them. For them to thrive,
you sacrifice and save, your funds disbursed
to smooth their way, ensuring they'll arrive.

The firstborn suffer hardest for the friction
between their parents' pride, control, and loss:
restive, rebellious, always in the wrong.
But when each choice they make is your affliction,
they stumble toward a place they can belong:
displayed on a front page or on a cross.

Revisions:
L2 was "part of you to leave but stay alive,"
L11 "restive" was "always"
L12 was "When every choice of theirs is your affliction,"

Firstborn (revision)

You focus on them fixedly, the first
part of you to leave but stay alive,
as if your hand could crawl and cry and thirst—
without your help, unable to survive,
yet out of your control. Of course they're cursed.
Through them, you're vulnerable. For them to thrive,
you must be sapped, and what is yours, disbursed
to fund their journey, so they may arrive.

The firstborn suffer hardest for the friction
between their parents' pride, control, and loss:
always rebellious, always in the wrong.
When every choice they make is your affliction,
they stumble to a place where they belong:
displayed on a front page or on a cross.


Firstborn

You focus on them fixedly, the first
part of you to go solo and survive,
as if your hand could crawl and cry and thirst
without you, needing you to stay alive,
yet out of your control. Of course they're cursed:
through them, you're vulnerable. For them to thrive,
you must be sapped, depleted, and disbursed
to fund their journey, so they may arrive.

The firstborn suffer hardest for the friction
between their parents' pride, control, and loss:
always rebellious, always in the wrong.
When every choice they make is an affliction
to you, they find the one place they belong:
displayed on a front page or on a cross.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Susan—

My wife and I have often reflected on how much trickier it is to parent grown children than babies. I like how you focus on the turmoil from the empty nester parents’ viewpoint.

The cover title threw me. I was expecting a more direct reference to Exodus and the Passover story. I wonder if this parallel could be developed a bit more. There is a definite Oedipal theme in the Bible story, especially in the Golden Calf episode and the Giving of the Law.

The only tiny nit is the meter is L2.

Nice work.

Glenn

[Susan McLean]

Glenn, I am glad this made sense to you. It started out as a meditation on the firstborn as sacrifice to parental need for control in the Passover/Easter stories, but obviously it went in a different direction as I was writing it. I was just hoping that it would still be comprehensible in its current form. I have struggled with the meter in L2. I will keep trying to find something that works better.

Susan

[Jim Ramsey]

Hi Susan,

Just a quick thought this first time around. As it did with Glen, the thread title threw me at first and I tried torturing a confession out of the poem. I was imagining God delivering a soliloquy and either talking about Jesus as the firstborn or those created in God's image as the firstborn, maybe even God contemplating, vacillating, on the need for a redo on creation, yet still feeling that special relationship with the first born and the need to give them a second chance or the opportunity to come to terms with their failures to that time. And even now that I've read your response to Glenn, I still feel like I can infer something like that in the piece, but only because of the thread title. So I guess I am saying that I would not get the connection to the passover story until the last line, and then without the thread heading would wonder whether the line was sort of gratuitously thrown in, in order to lend gravitas. In that way I am wondering as did Glenn whether there may need to be a more obvious connection as you first intended.

All the best,
Jim

[Yves S L]

Hello Susan,

This reads to me very, very much as a first draft where an author is working out what they want to say while rhyming as they go.

[Roger Slater]

In L2, just omit the word "go".

[David Callin]

Hi Susan. The last line took me completely by surprise, which a reader would often think a good thing, but I'm not sure it is here.

I don't think the routine parental concerns of most of the poem mesh well with the ending, which seems to be in a much more high-pitched register that (to me) is out of keeping with the rest of the poem.

I'm not persuaded that the idea of "the firstborn as sacrifice to parental need for control" can meaningfully be compared to the Passover/Easter stories. But that may be my disability as a reader here.

Interested to see what you make of this, though.

Cheers

David

[Susan McLean]

Thanks for the responses. I have posted a revision that addresses some of the technical issues.

Jim, I apologize for the misdirection of the cover title, which was just a nod to my initial inspiration and the timing of the poem. Let's work with the poem I produced, not the one I thought I was heading toward.

Yves, you nailed it. But the purpose of a workshop is to look at what was produced and see how it can be improved.

Roger, thanks for the suggestion. I decided to take a slightly different tack, but your comment was helpful.

Hilary, I agree that that line was repetitive. I have tried reworking it to point up the difference between being drained of energy and giving up what one owns. I am glad to hear that the title was enough of a tip to justify the last line, in your opinion. I want to downplay the Biblical underpinnings of the poem in general, but "cross" can be both literal and metaphorical.

David, I have moved away from the poem's original intentions. I still mean the poem's last line to come as a shock, but more as a metaphor than as a reality. One can wind up on a front page for a wide range of reasons, but a cross always signifies something bad. Firstborn children are often high achievers, but their relations with their parents are often fraught. A few days ago, a friend, speaking of her oldest brother, said that in her parents' eyes "he could do no right and I could do no wrong."

Susan

[Hilary Biehl]

Hi Susan, I'm struggling with this sentence -

For them to thrive,
you must be sapped, depleted, and disbursed
to fund their journey, so they may arrive.

It seems circular and repetitive, as it both begins and ends with reasons why "you must be sapped (etc)." The rhyming of "thrive" and "arrive" (both things that the firstborn child is expected to do) adds to the circular feeling.

Meaning-wise, I didn't have any trouble with it, and the title (Firstborn) is Biblical enough to justify the final line, in my opinion.

[Alex Pepple]

Hello, Susan,

I like your clearer, less convoluted syntax in response to Yves’s take. Still, I think it could be even clearer. So, here are some potential reworkings toward a more relaxed, conversational tone:

You focus on them fixedly, the first
part of you that’s gone yet stays alive,
the way your hand might crawl and cry and thirst,
relying on your care just to survive,

for more direct and smoother phrasing.

though outside your control. Maybe you’re cursed,

If you are the one troubled by their actions, then it's arguably you who might be cursed.

subjected to their whims. For them to thrive,
in sacrifice you save, get funds disbursed
to smooth their way, ensuring they'll arrive.

This version is more direct and active, using phrasing like “in sacrifice” rather than (the tellier) “you sacrifice,” and “get funds disbursed” to preserve concision and clarity.

The firstborn is the most restrained by friction
between the parents’ pride, control, and loss:
sometimes rebellious, sometimes in the wrong,
opting for choices breeding your affliction,
they stumble through to where they can belong:
they’re front-page news or they’re nailed to a cross.

Here, too, I’d suggest toning down the absolutes—e.g., “always” to “sometimes”—for greater realism and balance, and leaning more toward showing and metaphor than telling.

Good luck with the sonnet, Susan. I hope you find something helpful here!

Cheers,
...Alex