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Mosaic Musings...interactive poetry reviews _ Free Verse Poetry for Critique -> Seren's Synapse _ Cool Jazz [revision 1]

Posted by: Anisha Apr 17 13, 18:48

I used to write poetry as a kid, and just started writing again now that I'm in college. Please let me know what you think/how I can improve! Just a fair warning, I'm not too knowledgeable about the technicalities of poetry, so explanations in layman's terms would be greatly appreciated! I've always loved reading, but I'd really like to develop my writing. =) Thanks!

Thanks again! Here's a revision. I kept the repetition, but hopefully the rearranging of some words and the new line breaks make it seem less out of place. The jury is still out on that one for me so I might end up changing it later on! I incorporated your other comments though.

Cool Jazz - Revision 1

I like to remember the sound of your voice, snatched
from overheard conversations,
tucked away in the depths
of my mind.
I unfold the memory
on lonely nights, when the arch
of my spine aches,
for the sensual reverberations,
of your sweet bass.

The memory of your voice is the clay
that I spin. Contorting and distorting
mundane utterances
into quixotic shapes, I thrust
my hands into the slippery smoothness
of those invented words.
They swell into my open palms, caressing
the curves of my longing,
toes curling in a pottery dream,
where you are the vessel
that I
am spilling into.

The next morning I sit beside you, the sliver
of space between our shoulders
throbbing
like an open wound.
You play your sweet bass for some friend,
the coolness of your jazz
raising goose bumps on my brown arm.

Your brown arm, supple
as polished wood, is riveting.
My eyes survey
the rugged topography
of your veins,
a raised relief map,
these vagabond fingers
are itching
to explore.

In the afternoon I pass you in the hall, yearning
for a moment of contact.
By chance my plain black eyes
meet your emeralds,
so brief, but in that moment, my heart screams
for oxygen, turning purple,
then blue, asphyxiated,
strangled,
by the immensity of an imagined intimacy,
of a soul peering out
from behind your jade curtains,
if only.

Long after sunset, when the lonely silence
encroaches again, I unfold a deep corner
of my mind, releasing that sweet
bass music. It tickles my spine
with rhythmic kisses.

I dream of holding emeralds
to the light.

I prod the fresh
bruises on my heart,
again and again, limbs writhing
beneath sheets—

Oh! The excruciating ecstasy
of impossibility.
The agonizing seduction
of life—
unlived.

-------------------------
Original:

Cool Jazz

I like to remember the sound of your voice, snatched
from overheard conversations,
tucked away in the depths
of my mind.
I unfold the memory
on lonely nights, when the arch
of my spine aches,
for the sensual reverberations,
of your sweet bass.

The memory of your voice is the clay
that I spin. Contorting and distorting
mundane utterances
into quixotic shapes, I thrust
my hands into the slippery smoothness
of those invented words.
They swell into my open palms, caressing
the curves of my longing,
toes curling in a pottery dream,
where you are the vessel
that I
am spilling into.

The next morning I sit beside you, my
shoulder a throbbing heart so close to yours.
You play your sweet bass for some friend,
the coolness of your jazz
raising goose bumps on my brown arm.
Your brown arm is flailing,
gesticulating.
My eyes are riveted
to the topography
of your veins,
a raised relief map,
my vagabond fingers
itching
to explore.

In the afternoon I walk past you in the hall, yearning
for a moment of contact.
By chance my plain black eyes
meet your emeralds,
so brief, but in that moment, my heart screams
for oxygen, turning purple,
then blue, strangled,
asphyxiated,
by the immensity of an imagined intimacy,
a soul peering out
from behind your jade curtains,
if only.

Long after sunset, when the lonely silence
encroaches again, I unfold a deep corner
of my mind, releasing that sweet
bass music, that tickles my spine
with rhythmic kisses.
I dream of holding emeralds
to the light.
I prod the fresh
bruises on my heart,
again and again, limbs writhing
beneath sheets—

Oh! The excruciating ecstasy
of impossibility.
The agonizing seduction
of life—
unlived.

Posted by: Alan Apr 17 13, 23:43

Dear Anisha,

First, WELCOME to MM ! Great to have new talent joining us.

This is an excellent write, very graphic and sensual.

Only place I get "stuck" in the mechanics is S3, where you use brown arm 2x in to lines, also, a shoulder as a heart does not quite do it for me, and

a raised relief map,
my vagabond fingers
itching
to explore.

I think it needs to be "are itching", to make a whole sentence.

Can't say why, but if your shoulder was "like" a throbbing heart, that would make sense to me !

All of what I say can be thrown away by you unless it meets your needs ! Take or toss, as they say.

Love
Alan

Posted by: Anisha Apr 18 13, 02:28

Thanks for the feedback! I will definitely add the "are" before itching because I realize that I've been using whole sentences throughout the rest of the poem.

I was wondering if you could clarify a few things though. Were you confused about what I was trying to say in S3 or just didn't like the repetition of brown arm? I thought the repetition might be an interesting way to connect and transition between a discussion of the sensuality of his voice to a physical longing (being riveted to the veins on his arm while he is gesturing in conversation). If it sounds very awkward though, I could always find another way.

Also, I can definitely turn the shoulder as a throbbing heart metaphor into a simile with like, but do you think it would be better to come up with a different metaphor? I was trying to find a way of expressing the feeling of heat, vulnerability, and hypersensitivity that you feel when sitting close to someone you are attracted to.

Posted by: Alan Apr 18 13, 03:11

Dear Anisha,

Thanks for the feedback! I will definitely add the "are" before itching because I realize that I've been using whole sentences throughout the rest of the poem.
- Yes, that was my point.

I was wondering if you could clarify a few things though. Were you confused about what I was trying to say in S3 or just didn't like the repetition of brown arm? I thought the repetition might be an interesting way to connect and transition between a discussion of the sensuality of his voice to a physical longing (being riveted to the veins on his arm while he is gesturing in conversation). If it sounds very awkward though, I could always find another way.
- No confusion, but IN MY OPINION (ie you can DIScard if you want !) that one repetition is like a sore thumb - if you had used more rep in the poem it would have worked. I got the physical yearning for sure !

Also, I can definitely turn the shoulder as a throbbing heart metaphor into a simile with like, but do you think it would be better to come up with a different metaphor? I was trying to find a way of expressing the feeling of heat, vulnerability, and hypersensitivity that you feel when sitting close to someone you are attracted to.
- No, is a good simile, just that shoulder does not seem very much like a heart to me - but YOUR choice. Perhaps "Throbbing, as is my heart" ? Also, there is no need to mention brown at all, unless it is important to you ? The second brown could be "own" ?

This poem is certainly vibrant, I love it. Only a few matters to consider if you want to. I trust you do understand that !

Love
Alan

Posted by: Anisha Apr 18 13, 03:28

Thanks again! Here's a revision. I kept the repetition, but hopefully the rearranging of some words and the new line breaks make it seem less out of place. The jury is still out on that one for me so I might end up changing it later on! I incorporated your other comments though.

Cool Jazz

I like to remember the sound of your voice, snatched
from overheard conversations,
tucked away in the depths
of my mind.
I unfold the memory
on lonely nights, when the arch
of my spine aches,
for the sensual reverberations,
of your sweet bass.

The memory of your voice is the clay
that I spin. Contorting and distorting
mundane utterances
into quixotic shapes, I thrust
my hands into the slippery smoothness
of those invented words.
They swell into my open palms, caressing
the curves of my longing,
toes curling in a pottery dream,
where you are the vessel
that I
am spilling into.

The next morning I sit beside you, the sliver
of space between our shoulders
throbbing
like an open wound.
You play your sweet bass for some friend,
the coolness of your jazz
raising goose bumps on my brown arm.

Your brown arm, supple
as polished wood, is riveting.
My eyes survey
the rugged topography
of your veins,
a raised relief map,
these vagabond fingers
are itching
to explore.

In the afternoon I pass you in the hall, yearning
for a moment of contact.
By chance my plain black eyes
meet your emeralds,
so brief, but in that moment, my heart screams
for oxygen, turning purple,
then blue, asphyxiated,
strangled,
by the immensity of an imagined intimacy,
of a soul peering out
from behind your jade curtains,
if only.

Long after sunset, when the lonely silence
encroaches again, I unfold a deep corner
of my mind, releasing that sweet
bass music. It tickles my spine
with rhythmic kisses.

I dream of holding emeralds
to the light.

I prod the fresh
bruises on my heart,
again and again, limbs writhing
beneath sheets—

Oh! The excruciating ecstasy
of impossibility.
The agonizing seduction
of life—
unlived.

Posted by: Cleo_Serapis Apr 18 13, 05:41

Hello ANisha and Welcome to MM!

I will be back to comment on your first poem posting with us, but for now I wanted to welcome you and to let you know that I have posted your revision in your initial thread up top. We do this so that all members can see the changes in one place.

If you;d be so kind, please tell us about yourself in our Newbie forum here: http://forums.mosaicmusings.net/index.php?showforum=26

I'll just say what I do to all newbies here to you:

We offer honest, yet friendly feedback in our forums so I hope you'll find yourself at home here. There are many members here with different skill levels and technique, which makes MM more comfortable and diverse.

Please, wander our halls, take in our colorful 'tiles' and join in the fun. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask.

Cheers!
~Cleo (aka Lori)

Posted by: Alan Apr 18 13, 18:19

Dear Anisha,

Yup, no nits !

Love
Alan

Posted by: Maureen Apr 19 13, 00:04

The only nit pick I would have and this might just be from an Australian perspective relates to the 'sweet bass' you used twice throughout the poem.

Everytime I read it I visualized this fish flopping around....sorry

Were it my poem and of course it isn't so I offer this in the spirit of friendship for you to use or lose as you choose - I would perhaps write it as

I unfold the memory
on lonely nights, when the arch
of my spine aches,
for the sensual reverberations,
of your sweet deep dark voice.

You play your deep bass notes/trumpet/guitar ?? for some friend,
the coolness of your jazz
raising goose bumps on my brown arm.

Other than that I thought it was pretty spot on and a great poem.

Cheers

Maureen
The Scribbly Bark Poet

Posted by: Anisha Apr 19 13, 02:47

Hmm, thanks for your input! I definitely don't want people to be thinking of fish haha =) I guess as a musician any other associations never occurred to me! I'll have to think on it for a while though, because I can't really change it without having to readjust the central metaphor of the poem.

If I say "sweet bass music" does that clarify things a bit? I want to express how his voice is like the double bass used in jazz bands, deep and rhythmic and sensual. I could use baritone, but I kind of like how bass refers both to an actual instrument (tying it to the jazz metaphor) and to a vocal part in a choir (hearkening back to the fact that I am describing his voice).

If you have any ideas on how I could frame it so that i still use the word bass, but that I'm obviously referring to the instrument, and not the fish, I'd really appreciate it! In the meantime, I have some thinking to do

Posted by: Psyche Apr 28 13, 02:01

Anisha, I love your poem, so sensual, so sad... a life unlived...if only..

At this moment I have no crits to make, but I do want to say that this piece reminds me absolutely of the movie "Ghost", with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze R.I.P.

The famous pottery scene, with the music Unchained Melody...aahh...by The Righteous Brothers. The outright sensuality of that ill-destined couple in love.

The sweet bass of one of the R.B.'s, can't remember which.

How Sam (P.S.)follows her, invisible, their eyes meeting, but only in that sort of limbo he inhabits. So many things left undone, their love broken off so suddenly

Your heart-breaking finale:

QUOTE

Oh! The excruciating ecstasy
of impossibility.
The agonizing seduction
of life—
unlived.

Maybe you didn't write this as a tribute to them, but that's the way it touches me. Beautifully

Thanks so much for sharing. You've already had suggestions made by others, so for the moment I'll just balm in the mystic light of 'excruciating ecstasy of impossibility' and the 'agonizing seduction of life - unlived'

Psyche a.k.a. Syl***

P.S.: My family is full of musicians, so I had no trouble with 'sweet bass', but I certainly understand Maureen's problem. I've no ideas right now.