[Jim Moonan]

.
revision 4
Words Thawed Fireside on a Cold Mid-Winter Evening

I
thaw
my words
tonight by fire.
Fossil notes flash-
frozen by elements and
etched on skull; thoughts
extracting a staccato song
thumbed with thick fingers:


hoar-frosted dune grass
snow-crusted sand
sea slushed slow
sky fogged gray
spumed waves
whitened sun
iced wind
and
I

.



Edits
S1was:
I
thaw
tonight
by the fire
my thoughts.
Fossilized notes
etched by elements
imbedded in my skull
extracting a crackling song:

S1L9: "thick" was "trembling"
1L3: "words" was "thoughts"
S1L7: "thoughts was "my brain"
S1L7: "skull" was "bone"
--------------------------------------

Defrosting Frothed Thoughts Fireside on a Bitter-Cold Evening In February


I
thaw
by fire
tonight
excavate
relic bones
dug from dunes
etched skull notes
this crackling song:

hoar-frost dune grass
snow-crusted sand
sea slush slow
spume waves
sky fog gray
white sun
ice wind
and
I
[/font]
Edits
S1L8 was "this sea-chirped song:"



------------------------------------
Revision 2

Half-Frozen

Half-frozen, atop wintry dunes
slurry sea and sky and land
winds, tides, glacial flows
elemental animal gods
thickened blood,
stolen breath,
tearing eyes

muscles knotted
hieroglyph skull
face fossilized
sea mouth roar

I thaw tonight
excavate lines
like relic bones
dug from dunes
a staccato song:

snow encrusted sand

milky spume waves

sea slushy slow

bent-over grass

sky fog gray

white sun

ice wind

me




--------------------------------------------------------------
Revision 1

Half-Frozen

Half-frozen, perched atop wintry dunes in the Province Lands
facing a panorama of slurry sea and sky and land sculpted
by winds and tides and glacial flows, as the elements
encircled me like animal gods conspiring to penetrate,
rendering me unable to articulate the scene with utterances
or scribble them with aching ungloved fingers, only able
to see with tearing eyes and halting, stolen breath,
my veins thickening with blood, muscles cramped
and knotted by north wind blast and sea roar,
feeling myself being fossilized into the frozen scape
that had scratched itself into the eyes of my skull
like a hieroglyphic song I thaw tonight
and place in lines like relics on a table
that form these staccato notes:

snow encrusted sand

waveless milky spume

sea slushy slow

bent-over grass

sky fog gray

white sun

ice wind

me


Edits

L1 was: I flash-froze myself today perched in the wintry dunes
"snow encrusted sand" was "snow crusted sand"
"waveless milky spume" was " chunked waves"
Last line was: and I
Title was "Flash-Frozen"
... and then the floodgate opened to little tweaks and changes too many to mention.




--------------------------------------------
ORIGINAL
I See
.
A winter walk in the dunes on the Outer Cape


snow topped sand
stiff dune grass
sea slushy slow
spume waves
sky fog gray
white sun
ice wind
and
I



Edits
Title was See What I See
Last line was me



.

[Rick Mullin]

Hi Jim,


Consider changing "me" to "I". It would sound and look better as the poem tapers down. Also, there is the "Ich" philosophy of Johann Gotlieb Fichte: The world is created and perceived by the "I".

Not sure what the metrical structure is, but only noting this because this is a metrical trough.

Rick

[R. Nemo Hill]

This is too slight for my tastes.

Nemo

[Joe Crocker]

It looks like a shape poem to me. (a quarter of a snow flake?) Maybe something outlining the shape of sand dune might be better, something sigmoid ie much longer first line, very short last line, gradually shortening middle lines. I would rather "slush" than "slushy" in L3.

[John Riley]

I think I would like this more if it was more like a haiku. I see what you see but that’s it. I’d like to feel more of what you feel.

[Alexandra Baez]

I see what you see but that’s it. I’d like to feel more of what you feel.

Yes. The poem rather matter-of-factly describes a scene--"sea slushy slow" and the ending on "me" are the only places that it's more expressive. So my reaction is, "Yes--and ... ?"

I'm able to perceive the form as reflecting a dune, but Joe's surely right that a more exact representation of that form would be more effective.

To me, there's a problem in Rick's suggestion of switching "me" to "I": the title suggests that "me" is functioning as a direct object in this context, in which case it's the appropriate pronoun for the job. As to the metrics, yes, it's heterometrical without an organizing pattern to the shifts--plus there's an anapest thrown in in L2.

[W T Clark]

Jim. The poem is purely visual. It feels like reportage. There is no sensation in the poem, not even of numbness. Here is numbness:

After great pain, a formal feeling comes -
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs -
The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?
The Feet, mechanical, go round -
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought -
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone -
This is the Hour of Lead -

Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow -
First - Chill - then Stupor - then the letting go -

I hope that might help in revision.
It is always wise to remember that one's intentions for a poem and the reader's perception of that poem may differ widely, and that one may have to work to alter those perceptions that they might align with those intentions.
Hope this helps.

[Rick Mullin]

Now, looking at the "I" at the end, I'm thinking that ending it

and
I

would look and "be" better. All these things "and" I. One more thing.

I take points made by Nemo and Cameron and others on the thinness of this. It is a list of things seen. Elevating connectivity of images may bring this to a higher level--one where the images appear. I suggest dropping the notion of see/sea and getting it out of your mind now that it's started you on something.

But by all means, end it

and
I

[Michael Cantor]

This doesn't particularly call to me - but if it's minimalism you're after I'd suggest cutting L3. Graphically, it sticks out, and "slushy" stinks sonically. Go with:

snow topped sand
stiff dune grass
spume waves
sky fog gray
white sun
ice wind
....I

Additionally - although this changes it to a more substantial poem - it might be more interesting if you prefaced it with another six line stanza which was the reverse of the first - starting with "I" and then increasing the length of each line - that dealt with a related aspect of the same landscape or weather, but gave the poem more substance.

[Jim Moonan]

Originally Posted by W T Clark

Jim. The poem is purely visual. It feels like reportage....

It is always wise to remember that one's intentions for a poem and the reader's perception of that poem may differ widely, and that one may have to work to alter those perceptions that they might align with those intentions.
Hope this helps.

Yes to that!
My explanation of what I had intended to convey to the reader and the disconnect with what the reader is perceiving is essentially expecting the horse to drink the water without leading them to it.

In my response earlier I erroneously indicated that I wanted the feeling of numbness to come across. In fact, it's not numbness but extreme coldness that I hoped would come through the short lines growing shorter by the line as well as the key visual descriptors (anytime an ocean turns to ice it is extremely cold) that I'd hoped would connote extreme cold. I wanted a poem that sounded like it was being spoken between the teeth through clenched jaw. Instead, it is coming off anything but cold, other than the fact that it "feels like reportage" as you said. In that regard I failed. There may be a way that I can salvage it, but it might be a very different poem given the other things, too, that it falls short on delivering.

But thanks for pointing out that vital fact: a poem's intentions do not always align with the reader's perceptions. And thanks nonetheless for the poetic example of numbness. It's fantastic.

Thanks for reading and commenting, Alexandra. We cross posted. The essence of what you say is very much what others are saying. Regarding the shape of it, I was not going for a visual representation of the dune. It was meant to be a visual representation of how words dwindle in the face of stiff, icy winds and bone-chilling cold. But I don't think it came through. I might be better off using increasing space as the poem sinks.... Until I get around to revamping the poem entirely (or just throwing it out and starting over) I may experiment with space and see if that jumpstarts it into being what I intend.

Rick, I think you’re right again about how to incorporate myself into the poem. I’ve changed it. But I don't think it does much, if anything, to breathe life into the poem. I think this has turned out to be a poem with no wind in its sails. The irony is that the poem was meant to be full of wind. Icy, breath-taking, bone-chilling stiff wind.
If I do anything more with it I would do as you say: find the connective tissue that will animate it. Thanks for the help.


-------

Michael, we cross posted. You may have come to save the day. Your suggestion to add a stanza might be the right vehicle for breathing life into it. I’ll have to sleep on it.
(I see you’ve posted a poem that deals with the same landscape. You would know. Plum Island has been pounded this winter. I read the poem quickly and found the loss within it beautifully conveyed. I’m looking forward to giving it more time and commenting.)

.