The Dusk of Day's Remains, sonnet Options

[heartsong7]

The Dusk of Day’s Remains

His coming home alive was only half
the battle. Acting like he cared at all
for anyone or thing, to simply laugh,
was hell. Awakened, crouching in the hall,
not knowing where he was or why he should
survive, he raised the gun, and felt the scar
where once had been a cheek; then slowly stood.

By morning he'd retrieved his old guitar,
a scratched-up, string-less wreck he vowed to save.
I watched him recreate an instrument.
As countless hours of renovations gave
him purpose, he was peaceful and content.
He strummed his own renditions. Those refrains
still echo in the dusk of day's remains.

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hi Sue,

It's good to read your poetry again! I really enjoyed this and your title as well. As I'm not as confident with the sonnet form, I did wonder why you chose not to make the closing couplet its own stanza? I noticed you had forgotten the endstop at the end (I know, not much of a nit, but I did notice . I also wasn't sure of the word choices in this line below, and wondered if there is another way to phrase the idea that one of his few joys was playing the instrument (acting like he cared at all) - the 'at all' part seems to be a tad forced there for rhyming sake:
the battle. Acting like he cared at all

Now this line below peeks my interest - because you've introduced another person into the 'story' and I wonder what part he/she plays? Perhaps another hint elsewhere would be something to consider? Maybe personify that instrument: 'his'?
I watched him recreate an instrument.

Enjoyed the read and the draw in!
~Cleo

[Guest_ohsteve_*]

Susan, It has been a long time since I have read a poem of yours, This is a wonderous way to return to MM. This felt very close to me as I had a lot friends return from war scarred mentally as well as physically. Post Traumatic Stress is not something to be taken lightly, I know as I have been diagnosed for it, just wasn't from war but it was tramatic. I don't know much about sonnet forms but I really did like the way this was done, there were a couple of spot where I got hung up do to the wording as Lori already pointed out. I hope to see the revision soon and hope that you will continue to write and keep all the rest of us here company.

Take Care
Steve

[heartsong7]

Thank you for taking the time to read and offer your insights, Cleo.
re:
"wondered if there is another way to phrase the idea that one of his few joys was playing the instrument (acting like he cared at all) - the 'at all' part seems to be a tad forced there for rhyming sake:"
"the battle. Acting like he cared at all"
This sonnet is divided into 2 stanzas of 7 lines each, which is unusual but acceptable when there is a specific reason for doing so. In this case the turn starts with line 8, and since the first 7 lines address his PTS symptoms and the second 7 are about his recovery, I thought that would be a good division point.
The line about his not caring at all refers to his overall depressed feeling... and does not have to do with the guitar, which at that point has not entered his mind.
I'll fix that end-stop. I'm pretty bad about missing those little details in the midst of several revisions and appreciate your eagle eye.

and thank you too, Steve, for the kind words of understanding.
I hope you are doing well.

Sue

[merle]

Hi Sue -

I can't help with form, never felt brave enough to attempt a sonnet but I can relate to the content. My husband served two tours in Vietnam and for him, being involved in animal rescue is his guitar. Vets with PTSD do need a lifeline otherwise they'll sink. You've captured the condition perfectly.

Robin

[Daniel Barlow]

Hi Sue, very nice to see you here and to see your work again.
I hope I haven't missed you.

His coming home alive was only half
the battle. Acting like he cared at all
for anyone or thing, to simply laugh,
was hell. Awakened, crouching in the hall,
not knowing where he was or why he should
survive, he raised the gun, and felt the scar
where once had been a cheek; then slowly stood.

I feel like i want your words to fork some lightning or to overwhelm me with the rightness of simplicity or to paint something i couldn't have seen. At present i think you have a workable scene where all the dots line up, although I think L7 could be strengthened as it seems a bit mechanical in its description. I feel overall, rather than seeing someone waking up not knowing where they are, it might enliven the story more if through the descriptions we get a sense of where he isn't (the battlefield etc)


By morning he'd retrieved his old guitar,

I like that this line tells me he stayed up all night, though for the sake of the story and in the interests of cohesiveness i'd kind of like it if the whole coming back, waking up, retrieving the guitar etc etc all happened in one set of time, either over a night and day or over many nights and days, otherwise the transition from the one night to countless hours is less smooth than it might be imo.


a scratched-up, string-less wreck he vowed to save.
I watched him recreate an instrument.
As countless hours of renovations gave
him purpose, he was peaceful and content.
He strummed his own renditions.

I think you could use the action to suggest the mood state, because as it stands the movement to/interest in the guitar suggests peace and a smoothing out of things, a settling of self/coming to terms with the old and new etc.




Those refrains
still echo in the dusk of day's remains.

By contrast and in relation to what I just said, these lines almost seem out of place because they are such a departure from the ones that proceed them. That works and doesn't work.

I guess I want a sense of who he is and what he's come from and how, in particular, the music, moments leave us with a sense of him.


hope that's not too much.
I don't know what I think about crit anymore but then I haven't exactly immersed myself in the culture/environment.

It's really nice to see you here. I missed ya.

db

[heartsong7]

Hi Merle,
My husband was in Vietnam too... in '71.
Fortunately, he was an Air Force OSI investigator and was not in the midst of the fighting most of the time (except for a few bombings of the base) He does have some frightening memories but nothing as debilitating as many others who returned from that war and those since.
This poem is about a fictional character but does incorporate a real scenerio of a friend's experience. He would wake up often at night reliving an experience and once was found by his wife crouching in the hall with a gun as if the enemy were around the corner. Something woke him and he realized how dangerous the situation was becoming and that he needed help (which he got) His resolve to fix up an old instrument played a big part in his recovery.
I appreciate your encouraging words.
Thank you,
Sue

Hey DB,
Wow! you're crit abilities are still going strong even if you haven't exercised them much lately.
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts and impressions on this one. You give me much to ponder, which I will do... but it may be awhile before I can get to any serious revising... Grandbaby is coming for a nice long visit and time for poetry will be set aside for now.
Hope all is well with you and your lovely family.
Sue

[Eisa]

Hi Sue

It's great to read your work again. I enjoyed reading this topical and poignant piece. I'm sure this is a story that many people can identify with ... sadly!

The Dusk of Day’s Remains

His coming home alive was only half
the battle. Acting like he cared at all
for anyone or thing, to simply laugh,
was hell. Awakened, crouching in the hall,
not knowing where he was or why he should
survive, he raised the gun, and felt the scar
where once had been a cheek; then slowly stood.

I really like the opening here and the double meaning of 'only half the battle'.

By morning he'd retrieved his old guitar,
a scratched-up, string-less wreck he vowed to save.
I watched him recreate an instrument.
As countless hours of renovations gave
him purpose, he was peaceful and content.
He strummed his own renditions. Those refrains
still echo in the dusk of day's remains.

A nice change in this stanza. 'an instrument' in L3 sounds a bit impersonal. You could change to 'his' or 'this' instrument.
I like the way this stanza shows how he came to terms with the past and how he found purpose in his life again to make a recovery.

Your final line, is really beautiful, but I have to agree with Daniel that it seems a little out of place somehow, with the rest of the poem.

Hope this helps - take or toss!
Snow

[Arnfinn]

G'day Susan : the flower lady. What are they; Clematis? You always have flowers.

I to have missed your poetry.

I'm not going to say much; except it is a boost to me and MM to find you writing once more at MM.

Great to have you back.


John

[anaisa]

Hi Susan,

This is so lovely. I really enjoyed the story,
it touched on the universal hope that everything can
be turned around for the better-- a great poem.

K

[Larry]

Hello Sue,

Your sonnet sings as only a sonnet can. Rhyme and meter are spot on!

As for your subject matter, though attesting to a fictional PTSD sufferer, you've done yourself proud. For someone who, I believe, never experienced the horrors of war, your description pierces my soul. I spent two tours in 'Nam with the 3rd Marines. Lots of my friends and acquaintances never made it back alive and some that did are still lost in that abattoir. Even with the best of help, I doubt they will ever return. Your character is very lucky.

Perhaps I am reading too much into your poem but it seems that while re-building that "wreck", he was really re-building himself as well.

Thank you so much for sharing this with us.

Larry

[Mary Boren]

Great to see you back here, Sue!

This lovely sonnet has metamorphed into a real keeper since I first saw it. Not to suggest that the first draft wasn't, but as Merlin says, "a little polish never hurts -- look what it does for shoes." Congrats on an excellent job of accepting input and applying tweaks without sacrificing its original raw appeal. I like the effect of the enjambment in the octave -- it kinda lurches along hesitantly as someone with a wounded body and spirit might do -- then smoothes out in the sestet, reflecting a hard-won resolution, and culminating with that beautifully poetic title phrase. The dusk of day's remains evokes an image as far removed from conflict as east from west.

Enjoy that grandbaby's visit, and then let's meet here often, OK? I have really missed you.

Mary

[Guest_bombadil1247_*]

The Dusk of Day’s Remains

His coming home alive was only half
the battle. Acting like he cared at all
for anyone or thing, to simply laugh,
was hell. Awakened, crouching in the hall,
not knowing where he was or why he should
survive, he raised the gun, and felt the scar
where once had been a cheek; then slowly stood.

By morning he'd retrieved his old guitar,
a scratched-up, string-less wreck he vowed to save.
I watched him recreate an instrument.
As countless hours of renovations gave
him purpose, he was peaceful and content.
He strummed his own renditions. Those refrains
still echo in the dusk of day's remains.

Hi, Sue,

much enjoyed this perfectly formed sonnet. There are a few suggestions I would offer for your consideration.

survive, he raised the gun, and felt the scar
where once had been a cheek; then slowly stood.

not sure about raising the gun, would feel more natural to drop it in this context? Would also remove the suggestion that he touched the scar with the gun, which cannot feel. The 'where' start to line 7 is too passive for me, perhaps that/which to give the scar more strength? The last phrase in this line is too weak and looks like filler for the sake of the form. I would suggest that this is the turn in your sonnet and you can make it an epiphany moment by simply saying 'and understood' thus preparing the way for the next section.

By morning he'd retrieved his old guitar,
a scratched-up, string-less wreck he vowed to save.
I watched him recreate an instrument.

I suggest switching the tenses between 'retrieved' and 'vowed', putting the vow before the trauma, to emphasise the 'picking up the pieces' element. Another thought might be to use 'next morning' to draw the line clearly. In line 10, I feel 'the instrument' would be much stronger.

My last suggestion springs from your clever use of emjambement to disguise the demands of this form - why not disguise it completely by laying it out as 'prose'? A close reading would still reveal the sonnet - and picture your readers' delight at that discovery - but the layout would not distract from your wonderful content. Yours to use or lose, of course,
Jim

[heartsong7]

Hi, Snow, John, anaisa, Larry, Mary and Jim...
Thank you all for taking the time to share your kind praise, impressions and suggestions on this one.
I will return to digest and work on a revision as soon as I can. I'm still playing hostess to a houseful of visiting family and finding little time to get online.

y'all take care.
Sue

[Michelle]

Hi Sue,

This is a potent poem. I will remember it. There is no doubt that this is about PTS. I've been away from poetry so long, my critiquing and writing skills have dulled, I'm afraid.

For me, this poem is fantastic as is. I have no suggestions. The meter and rhymes are perfect to me.

Reading you and some others here, makes me mourn the time I spent away from writing.

my best,

Michelle

[heartsong7]

Hi Michelle,
Thank you so much for the kind praise. That you find it memorable means a lot to me.
I'm glad to see you jumping in again.
I'm sure you'll be going strong in no time.
Sue