[Glenn Wright]

Version 2
Cut

With Occam’s razor I somehow cut my heart,
poking around my lover’s glib excuses.
Most of her lies were flimsy. They fell apart
when touched by tears. I saw that the abuses
had been there in plain sight for quite a while.
I bandaged my injury with a forced smile.

Considering all the evidence together,
of course her words and heart had been untrue.
I’d tried to explain her moodiness as weather,
the storms and dry spells couples all go through.
Receipts, late night homecomings, a phone call
from a strange man—I’d overlooked them all.

I told her I had finally solved her puzzle.
Her silent nod congratulated me.
I stayed composed by straining every muscle
while listening to the curt apology
she offered like a bowl brimful of acid.
Her voice was steady; her features, smooth and placid.

Naming it out loud was oddly calming.
It gave some weight and shape to what had been
a premonition, threatening and alarming,
now just a paper cut, deep in the skin,
without much blood. I’ll clean and bind the damage,
and accept it as a hurt that I can manage.
Relieved, she packed her things and left her key,
Cutting me loose and setting us both free.
——————————————————
Edits:
S1L1: Today with Occam’s razor I cut my heart, > With Occam’s razor I somehow cut my heart,
S1L3: the > her
S2L5: Receipts, unexplained absences, the phone call > Receipts, late night homecomings, a phone call
S2L6: from a strange man—I’d put them behind a wall. > from a strange man—I’d overlooked them all.
S4L8: Cutting me loose and setting herself free. > Cutting me loose and setting us both free.

Version 1
Cut

Today with Occam’s razor I cut my heart,
poking around my lover’s glib excuses.
Most of the lies were flimsy. They fell apart
when touched by tears. I saw that the abuses
had been there in plain sight for quite a while.
To bandage my injury I used a smile.

Looking at all the evidence together,
of course her words and heart had been untrue.
I’d tried to explain her moodiness as weather,
the storms and dry spells couples all go through.
Receipts, distracted silences, the phone call
from a strange man—I’d put them behind a wall.

So saying it out loud was strangely calming.
It gave some weight and shape to what had been
a premonition, threatening and alarming,
and was now a paper cut, deep in the skin,
but not much blood. I’ll clean and bind the damage
and accept it as a hurt that I can manage.

I told her I was done solving her puzzles.
Her silent nod congratulated me.
My face grew stiff and tense, my smiling muscles
ached. She made a curt apology,
offered like a bowl brimful of acid.
Her voice was steady; her features, smooth and placid.

Her speech was free of blame and of remorse.
She’d had it ready. I think she was relieved.
Her lack of feeling for me made it worse,
knowing how easily she had deceived
my willing heart. She packed and left her key,
cutting me loose and setting herself free.
——————————————————
Edits:
Title: Turning the Page > Cut
S1L2: poking around in all her glib excuses. > poking around my lover’s glib excuses.
S2L2: of course I must have known she’d been untrue. > of course her words and heart had been untrue.
S2L3: I’d tried to explain her distance as just weather, > I’d tried to explain her moodiness as weather,
S2L6: from a strange man—they made me build a wall. > from a strange man—I’d put them behind a wall.
S3L4: a paper cut, painful, deep in the skin, > and was now a paper cut, deep in the skin,
S4L1: I told her I had finally solved her puzzle. > I told her I was done solving her puzzles.
S4L4: ached. She made a calm apology. > ached. She made a curt apology.

[Max Goodman]

This is strong and moving. The paper cut, the bowl of acid, lies falling apart when touched by tears, Occam's razor cutting flesh, these lift the poem close to me.

In places, images feel less fresh, metaphors so common they've passed into the language and likely feel to many readers like straightforward ways to communicate; I may be aberrant in disliking them, but my reaction, aberrant or not, is all I can offer: the heart as the seat of emotion, the wall, the page turning of the title, "untrue."

I first read "her" in L2 as referring to the speaker's heart, which prevented me from understanding the rest of the stanza until I'd gotten further. The abuses in S1 are too vague to be helpful. They become more specific later, but are first allowed to sit there while the poem goes elsewhere. The cleaning and binding deal with the surgery described in the first line, but their placement makes them sound like they deal with the paper cut.

There's little to surprise, little that I don't feel I've seen in other such situations, but that doesn't bother me. This feels close to the bone (another of those non-metaphor metaphors, but I'm not writing a poem here), felt, true. So true that I'm inclined to offer condolences, assuming you've lived this. Strong work.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Max—

I appreciate your kind encouragement and helpful critique. This piece is based on events from more than fifty years ago, so I can understand how my earnest, overly Romantic younger self could be wearying to a practical, ambitious young woman. I don’t regret the breakup and shortly afterward met the woman with whom I celebrated our fiftieth anniversary last year.

I was not happy with the title, so thanks for giving me the impetus to change it. I wanted the “cutting” image to refer both to the injury of the betrayal and the therapeutic surgery necessary to heal it. The “heart as the seat of emotion” was too central to the poem to allow jettisoning, but I hoped that the references to cutting refreshed it somewhat (like Janis Joplin’s “Take another little piece of my heart.”). I wanted the betrayal to seem, at first, like a laceration to the heart—probably fatal—but then to morph into a paper cut to a finger—painful, but hardly lethal. From your response, I’m not sure this was effectively communicated.

You rightly pointed out that “her” in S1L2 and “wall” in S2L6 needed to be brought into focus, so I made some tweaks. You also judiciously pointed out that “untrue” has a Victorian nuance that jars. My solution was to use it in a zeugma to play off the literal meaning with “words” (“false words”) and the more antiquated figurative meaning with “heart” (“faithless heart”). My hope is that the literal meaning will justify the figurative one.

Thanks again for your time and generosity.

Glenn

[Harry Nicolas]

Hey Glenn, I thought the opening line was very striking. Sorry you had to go through that. I think the only suggestion in S4 L1 to consider changing
"I told her I had finally solved her puzzle."
to
"I told her I had finally solved her glass(or some other word to tie back to flimsy) puzzles. "
in order for the end rhyme with L3 to match.

[Roger Slater]

"I don’t regret the breakup and shortly afterward met the woman with whom I celebrated our fiftieth anniversary last year."

Maybe another stanza saying that, or something like that? As the poem now stands, I think it's very well written but doesn't finish telling us its story.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Harry and Roger—

Thanks for weighing in, gentlemen.

Harry—I gave your suggestion to fix the rhyme sone thought and came up with an alternative that I think is an improvement. There are a couple of slantish rhymes in S3, (calming/alarming and damage/manage), and an eye rhyme in S5 (remorse/worse), but most of the rhymes are pretty exact, so the puzzle/muscles rhyme you identified stuck out. Glad you liked the opening.

Roger—Emotionally, I don’t feel any connection between the two romances. The poem is about an experience that I regard as a learning experience and object lesson. I just got lucky finding the love of my life soon after. Thanks for the encouragement.

Glenn

[David Callin]

This is a sad story, Glenn. It arouses the reader's sympathy (although we're conscious we're only getting one side of the story).

I might go against the grain of the other comments by suggesting that it could be shorter. Brutally, I think losing the second and third verses would do the poem some good. I realise that it might not then say everything you want to say. I just wonder whether that would work better.

Cheers

David

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, David—

Lovers’ laments that go on too long run the risk of becoming whiny. I’ll think about how I might tighten or compress some of the parts that belabor the obvious, are redundant, or simply aren’t pulling their weight. I agree that S2 doesn’t contain much that attentive and imaginative readers could not provide for themselves. I’d be interested to see if other readers agree. Thanks for sharing your thoughts.

Glenn

[Alex Pepple]

Hello, Glenn,

Your poem "Cut" develops a compelling metaphor through its exploration of painful revelation and emotional severance. The first stanza is particularly powerful, establishing both the emotional terrain and the central cutting motif with surgical precision.

This opening stanza balances metaphor and narrative very well. As the poem progresses, I appreciate how you continue to develop the cutting theme through different manifestations: compartmentalized warning signs behind walls in stanza 2, the paper cut metaphor in stanza 3, and finally "cutting me loose" in the closing line.

Where I think the poem could be strengthened is in the emotional progression of stanzas 4-5. While these stanzas complete the narrative arc, they shift toward a more direct reporting style that lacks some of the imagistic richness found earlier. Lines like "I told her I was done solving her puzzles" and "Her speech was free of blame and of remorse" communicate clearly but don't resonate with the same metaphorical depth as earlier passages.

Consider revisiting these final stanzas with an eye toward maintaining the physical, sensory quality that makes the opening so effective. The moment you mention "a bowl brimful of acid" shows this potential—perhaps you could further develop sensory elements that continue the cutting/wound imagery rather than relying on statements about feelings and conversations.

The emotional trajectory you've crafted is good—from revelation through confrontation to a resigned acceptance. With some tightening and heightened imagery in those later stanzas, the entire poem could maintain the powerful resonance established in your opening.

Looking forward to seeing where you take this!

Cheers,
…Alex

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Alex—

Your critique was very perceptive and helpful. David had suggested some cuts as well, and I think your idea of looking at the narrative arc was most useful. In the revision, I cut four lines and arranged the stanzas so that the first cut to the heart in S1 that seemed fatal is balanced almost humorously by the painful but much less serious paper cut in S4. The lines I cut include one that you had singled out. I think the cuts tightened the poem and made it a bit less whiny. Thanks for the inspiration.

I reflected while writing this piece on how, in the area of human relationships, we are completely powerless to make other people love us, no matter how loveable we might try to be. Love has to grow according to its own plan, like the plants in a garden. Neither of two lovers can control the other person’s feelings, and only in a limited way can we control our own feelings.

The only real control we have is the power to cut others out of our lives. (Sometimes aided by a restraining order.). Gardeners can’t make plants grow. They can encourage them, restrain them, or try to coerce them by cutting them back, but when the coercion stops, the plants grow where they will. But gardeners can uproot or destroy plants they do not want. That’s why gardeners’ tools are sharp and bladed. I wonder if the Japanese art of Bansai developed from our futile desire to control our relationships with others.

Please excuse the digression. Thanks, as always, for your generous responses to my work.

Glenn