Pastoral for the Midlands ** Options

[anaisa]

I tweaked it in a few places, hopefully for the better. I actually like some "ing" words so I left a few.
Thanks everyone for the feedback and help with this.

Pastoral for the Midlands

The heart-shaped linden leaves have netted veins,
That web into a rib along the center;
Their blades are broad with scalloped edges, catching
October’s sun, as filmy light rays enter

Between long layered branches. By the Severn,
We walk the well-worn, narrow bridleways.
Our trail is trimmed in sedges, maples drop
Their dappled leaves in paper-thin arrays,

To fan the feet of ancient brambles. Roots
Rise from a hidden ditch; the sun burns off
Earth’s rim of mist; a patch of peacock blue
Appears above a whitewashed mill. Clouds doff

In salutation to the sky. The bleats
Of farmland sheep float through the country air.
A passing steam train lets its whistle out
As we rest by the waters of the weir.

This place is far from what I’m used to. Thick
With large leaved limes and sycamores . . . My home
Is desert mounds and dull mesquite; stretched suns
Lay ribbons dipped in scarlet strands that comb

Through warm horizons. But lush emerald hues,
Medieval bridges, plenitudes of calm—
No sand dune is superior to these.
The blends of meadow-breeze, the water’s balm,

Brushstrokes of nature, delicate as sorrel,
Create a mental mural for my mind.
And there I find the time to pause, reflect,
When harshness of the desert seems unkind.













Pastoral for the Midlands

The heart-shaped linden leaves have netted veins,
Extending from their midrib in the center;
Their blades are broad with scalloped edges, catching
October’s sun, as filmy light rays enter

Between long layered branches. By the Severn,
We walk the well-worn, narrow bridleways.
Our trail is trimmed in sedges, maples drop
Their dappled leaves in paper-thin arrays,

To fan the feet of ancient brambles. Roots
Rise from a hidden ditch; the sun burns off
Earth’s rim of mist; a patch of peacock blue
Appears above a whitewashed mill. Clouds doff

Their salutations to the sky. The bleats
Of farmland sheep float through the country air.
A passing steam train lets its whistle out
As we rest by the waters of the weir.

This place is far from what I’m used to. Thick
With large leaved limes and sycamores . . . My home
Is scorching desert and mesquite; stretched suns
Lay ribbons dipped in scarlet strands that comb

Through warm horizons. But lush emerald hues,
Medieval bridges, plenitudes of calm—
No sand dune is superior to these.
The blends of meadow-breeze, the water’s balm,

Brushstrokes of nature, delicate as sorrel,
Create a mental mural for my mind.
And there I find the time to pause, reflect,
When harshness of the desert seems unkind.

[posthumous]

This is a joy to critique. A great poem with a few problems, perfect for a workshop!

First, why it's good: you do the hard thing, describe a complex landscape and bring it to life. And now, a few suggestions for improvement:

Pastoral for the Midlands

The heart-shaped linden leaves have netted veins,
Extending from their midrib in the center;

this is redundant. It's the MID rib, so of course it's in the center.

Their blades are broad with scalloped edges, catching
October’s sun, as filmy light rays enter

Between long layered branches. By the Severn,
We walk the well-worn, narrow bridleways.
Our trail is trimmed in sedges, maples drop
Their dappled leaves in paper-thin arrays,

To fan the feet of ancient brambles. Roots
Rise from a hidden ditch; the sun burns off
Earth’s rim of mist; a patch of peacock blue
Appears above a whitewashed mill. Clouds doff

Their salutations to the sky. The bleats

you can only doff a hat or perhaps some other article of clothing. maybe you could say they doff "as" or "in" salutation

Of farmland sheep float through the country air.
A passing steam train lets its whistle out
As we rest by the waters of the weir.

This place is far from what I’m used to. Thick
With large leaved limes and sycamores . . . My home
Is scorching desert and mesquite; stretched suns
Lay ribbons dipped in scarlet strands that comb

Through warm horizons. But lush emerald hues,
Medieval bridges, plentitude of calm—
No sand dune is superior to these.
The blends of meadow-breeze, the water’s balm,

Brushstrokes of nature, delicate as sorrel,
Create a mental mural for my mind.

you've done so much work painting this mental mural, it seems unfair to sum it up so mundanely. and "mental" and "for my mind" is redundant.

And there I find the time to pause, reflect,
When harshness of the desert seems unkind.

having no "the" before harshness feels awkward. I don't think you have to be so chained to the meter to drop expected articles.

as I said, you did the hard work, making a picture with words. I hope my comments help.

[anaisa]

Hi Posty,

Really helpful advice and comments. I look forward to working on those areas.

Karen

[RC James]

anaisa - I enjoyed the fluidity of this, it reads well, without that usual hang-up of antiquated words that somehow make their way into rhymed and metered pieces. My only suggestion is that, in the first couple of stanzas, you lose the "ing" words, they tend to lose force and the more direct version of their forms are more powerful. Well done, RC

[anaisa]

Thanks RC! I have to rearrange the second line so I can pull "extending" out of there.
KD

[Larry]

Hi Karen,

I enjoyed reading through your post numerous times and the suggestions from others. I'm not sure if you want
a full editorial critique or merely tweaks here and there so I will just start with a few comments and wait to hear
back from you.

Firstly, is your Pastoral intended to be a Ballad in iambic pentameter?

Next, my main "pet peeve" is the capitalization of each line. This was fine when the typesetters centuries ago
found it easier to utilize the large carved wooden capital letters than the more difficult small ones when preparing to print.
That is no longer the case and besides, you use a lot of enjambment in your piece and I find it breaks the thought
process when going to the next line.

As far as gerunds are concerned, I found four in your entire piece and you might replace one or two with more
descriptive adjectives.

You do paint a beautiful picture and from the looks of it you won't have to do a lot to polish it into a gem.

Larry

[anaisa]

Hi Larry,

Thank you for the critique. It's iambic pentameter for the most part. I think if I keep it at least 85 % true it works fine for me.
I'm aware of issues concerning Caps at the start of the lines, and I use them 50% of the time. A few editors of formalist journals I know still prefer them, believe it or not... So I go with whatever I think helps it get printed at the time. Here is one example in a fairly exclusive women's journal. Notice 2 of the three poems use caps in the beginning and the third one does not:

http://www.mezzocammin.com/iambic.php?vol=...amp;page=garcia

I'll get the revision up in a few days. It's nice to be here and I appreciate your thoughts and comments.

KD

[Eisa]

It's always a pleasure to read your poetry, Karen and I'm so pleased to see you here.

This one has wonderful images and only needs a tweak here & there.

The heart-shaped linden leaves have netted veins,
Extending from their midrib in the center;
Their blades are broad with scalloped edges, catching
October’s sun, as filmy light rays enter

midrib & center are really saying the same thing


Brushstrokes of nature, delicate as sorrel,
Create a mental mural for my mind.
And there I find the time to pause, reflect,
When harshness of the desert seems unkind.

L2 - mental and of the mind - one is redundant

Yes, perhaps a few too many 'ing' words

I have criticized the use of capitals in the past, but now am aware that in recent days this is acceptable in formal poetry and sometimes sought after. Go with the flow when you want to get published

Really enjoyed
Eira

[anaisa]

Hi Eira,

Thank you, nice to see you here. I hope I can keep writing a little, it's been a long dry spell.
I appreciate your time and comments.

KD