[Michael Cantor]

The Old Camp at Plover Island

The charred bones of the house
and the blackened hearth
squat between summer dunes:
dry, sun-blasted ruins
of an ancient shrine.
... Withered sea-kelp lines the beach.

Somebody lived here once, bound
flesh onto these bones.
Fishermen? Whalers?
Perhaps a clam digger’s family,
young and strong.
Or scavengers, using false beacons.
... Falcons dive at rabbits in the marsh.

Was this a tight house in winter,
compressed and warmed by snow?
Did those who lived here cling more closely so
face to face
flesh to flesh
mouth to open mouth
welcoming the snow’s weight
the long nights
the fire
and winter’s absolute silence?
... Beach grass threads among plum bushes.

Or did snow dance meanly through the cracks?
Did the wind invade and freeze the marrow
of cold and unloved lives?
Was the fire gray
and then turned all-consuming?
... The dumb surf rattles rocks and shells.

What happened here?
... Gulls hover, screaming at the sun.


Edits: S2L1/2 was put/flesh on

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Michael—

You present an evocative picture of a weatherbeaten ruin. The N speculates about the people who might have lived there and done battle with the elements, but merely concludes, “What happened here?” This struck me as anticlimactic. I wanted an answer to that question, even if it was only a rumor or legend. But maybe that simply isn’t the poem you wanted to write.

I wondered what the “false beacons” were. Did they pretend to be distressed vessels in order to lure other fishermen onto the rocks and attack them as the falcons attack the rabbits? The “plum bushes” puzzled me, too. I usually think of plums growing on trees. Are these stunted by the salt spray?

I like the personification of snow dancing “meanly” through the cracks in the wall, but thought the wind would be more likely to “freeze the marrow of cold and unloved” bones rather than “lives.” I’m also having difficulty visualizing “gray” fire, unless you mean that it is very smoky so the actual orange flames can’t be seen.

Hope my responses are helpful.

Glenn

[James Brancheau]

Hi Michael—Great to see you posting in non-met. Or just posting in general. This is kind of haibun-ish, or maybe it’s some form that I’m not familiar with. In any case, I think this is excellent. I love the gray fire and that it possibly "turned all-consuming.” So I’d be very tempted to just end it with the fourth stanza. With that in mind (and I have no idea now how to make this work smoothly), I might flip stanzas two and three. I was thinking the same as Glenn re the beacons luring boats to crash on the rocks, and that wonderful beacon moment seems to go with “rattles rocks and shells.” I just think I’d like those two elements to be in closer proximity. Just a thought.

The only other thing that came to mind is that the questions seem rather piled on. I might limit them to the last, or penultimate stanza. I do think this is pretty great as it sits, so, for whatever it's worth.

[Jim Ramsey]

Hi Michael,

I liked this from my first reading. Then, still liking it, I read James's comment that the questions seemed piled on. At that point I thought this might be even better if no questions were asked by the N and only the reader were allowed to infer the natural ones the circumstances and images bring to mind. In other words, the N's questions are too telly maybe. Anyway, like I said, I liked the poem as is immediately.

All the best,
Jim

[Jayne Osborn]

Michael,

This is marvellous; I really love it! On first reading it, it brought to mind one of my all-time favourite poems, "Naming of Parts" by Henry Reed.

Both poems talk about a specific thing, i.e. a dilapidated house and how to clean a rifle, with each stanza ending with a pastoral image.

I haven't got any nits with it, as it is. Just praise for a well-written poem. I'll be interested to see if/how you revise it in any way.

Jayne

[Richard G]

Hi Michael,
perhaps there are one or two too many questions.
Could S3 continue the thought/s of S2 and start "They'd make this a tight ..."? Thus leaving the delightfully long question of that stanza on its own?
Small nits: how was it a shrine, and to whom/what? The marsh gave me pause (but that's me not knowing the geography.) Is scavengers the right word? (Here they'd be called wreckers.) And might the ending be 'Gulls are screaming at the sun.'?

RG.

[Jim Ramsey]

Hi Michael,

I'm back because I am not sure my first comment accurately said what I was thinking (and maybe I actually do not know what I am or was thinking). The poem right now has the N in present time and the reader's empathy is directed toward someone similar to them who is walking along pondering the past, and it makes a fine poem as is. I think what I was saying is that without the questions the N could have more of an omniscient voice that would put the reader more in empathy with the poem's inhabitants rather than with the pondering narrator. Rather than asking whether certain circumstances existed the N could present them as facts. That would be a different poem. What I do know is that the poem as is made a good first impression on me. Like Jayne, I'm curious whether you'll see any need for changes.

All the best,
Jim

[Roger Slater]

I think this is very good. Just a couple of thoughts to consider:

I'm grammatically lost when it comes to the sentence beginning "Did those who lived here."

I don't like ending lines on "put" and "so", and I can't see why you'd go with such awkward enjambments in a free verse poem where you could just as easily push them to the next line.

Finally, I'd consider losing the last two lines.

[Michael Cantor]

Thanks, all, for the crits and encouraging response. I'm not very creative. Like almost all of my poetry this is totally biographical, with Plover Island standing in for Plum Island (north of Boston on the Atlantic coast, our first line of defense from the Portuguese Armada), where I lived full or part time for almost forty years.

Glenn - the mystery - not knowing what happened - is (a) the heart of the poem, and (b) the actual situation - so I'd prefer to leave it there. Your conjecture on "false beacons" is correct, but I did not deliberately use the "falcons/rabbits" bit for emphasis - it was just local color - a little flick of the head at the end of each line. However, it works as you interpret it, so I'll take full credit. I don't know about the rest of the world, but Plum Island is loaded with plum bushes (we had a ton of them in our yard), and at the end of summer the Island maidens strip the bushes and make enough plum jelly to see us through the desolate winter.

I prefer "unloved lives". "Unloved bones" is possibly clinically more correct, but it's too clinical. And a "gray fire" is partly smoky and partly there because I like the way it sounds.

James - it's not really a form, but I'm primarily a formalist, and even my free verse often has hints and whispers of form. I'm glad it came through. The order of the stanzas makes more sense to me as it is now - I was trying to ramp up the intensity as the poem went on. And the repeated questions - the lack of knowledge as to what actually happened - are, to my mind, the core of the poem. If I leave them out it's a different (and probably more difficult to write) poem.

Jayne - thanks for the good words.

Richard - this is a matter of taste, but I think the pattern of questions gives the poem a form it would lack if the stanzas were more meandering. I guess I don't know who or what it was a shrine to - it just sounded good - and was part of the mystery. "Scavengers/wreckers" are the same thing at different ends of the Atlantic. And I think it's critical to keep "hover" in the last line, because that's what gulls do - they hang around overhead, almost motionless, squawk at you, and - if you're not careful - sometimes shit on you. Or your car. (But that's another poem.)

Jim (again) - that's an interesting approach, but a very different poem. And I don't do omniscience (I can barely spell it) well - I tend to start giggling. Kidding aside, I tend to let the poem take me where it wishes, and in this case the form and the questions seemed to work well, and I'll see where I can shuck and jive and improve it, but within the same framework.

[Michael Cantor]

Sorry, Roger - missed this one earlier. I agree that the sentence you mention is a bit of a grammatical slog. I could have made it work grammatically, IMAO (in my arrogant opinion) by choking it with commas and semi-colons and maybe a em-dash or two - but I would lose all sense of immediacy and bring the poem to a crashing halt. I wanted the tightness and intimacy and passion that I hope the unpunctuated run-on provides, and believe it is understandable, if ungrammatical.

As I mentioned to James, while the poem is free verse, I have a meter - a very personal meter - ticking in my head, and both the "put" and "so" lines were governed by (at least in my head) sound. Transfer "put" to the next line, and both lines (to me) suffer. And I feel even more strongly about including "so". It may be a private thing, but I would rather write something that sounds good to my ear, even if it theoretically bends/breaks a rule or two.

Re the last two lines, I'm afraid we're going to have to agree to disagree. I felt I needed a summation - a step back from the intensity of the previous stanzas - and I loved the gulls image.