Hi John,
I'm glad you worked on the metre here, it flows beautifully now. I'm no stickler for metre but this one started out so regular that the deviations, particularly L4 that originally ended with "spring" did feel jarring rather than just forgiveably loose. It's interesting to me, and comes with no judgement, that such an excellent poet has a slight blind (deaf?) spot when it comes to metre. It must be something of how the brain is wired, how it hears the rhythm of words. Of course, some poets can
tum-ti-tum quite easily but will absolutely struggle to write free-verse, though that would be less quantifiable.
There's a riot of personification in the first five stanzas, which I confess felt a bit overwhelming at first. And the language is quite old-fashioned-poetic, with spring blowing a "muted horn" and flowers singing "fresh lyrics". I do sometimes notice that when you write in metre you seem to reach more for classically poetic imagery and phrasing. But the effect of it works for me here because they are such delicate images that they don't feel forced or pastiche. They have a genuine simplicity. And it all comes together in the final three stanzes where the speaker reappears, and the mood darkens. The nature personification stops and we get powerful lines that feel so lived-in: "gathers /the courage to concede defeat" and "borrowed feet touching borrowed earth". My ear kept naturally reading "myth" as "mist". I like "lightest myth" though. The whole thing seems to be about transience.
I'll echo what Glenn said here
Quote:
In S3L1, because of the change Yves proposed in the previous line, change
“has blown its oldest muted horn”
to
“blowing its oldest muted horn.”
|
but maybe suggest changing S2L2 instead. And also bring the sentence to a close after “horn”.
So this...
until the walls begin to tell me
to step outside where fresh spring calls
has blown its oldest muted horn,
new life moves shyly in morning light.
Flowers naturally sing fresh lyrics
of life so short, beauty fading,
becomes
until the walls begin to tell me
to step outside where fresh spring’s call
has blown its oldest muted horn.
New life moves shyly in morning light,
flowers naturally sing fresh lyrics
of life so short, beauty fading,