Comments on: Weekly Poetry Assignment 3: Poetry and Photographs http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/ Writing Career Center Sat, 20 Mar 2010 01:51:48 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.9.2 hourly 1 By: Jenny McBride http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/comment-page-1/#comment-129327 Jenny McBride Fri, 09 Nov 2007 19:00:36 +0000 http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/#comment-129327 Rosemary Nissen-Wade - Thank you for your feedback and for your advice - I will bear in mind everything that you've told me. It's nice to have someone give me advice on my writing, because usually no one does, not even my English teacher! So I just go along blindly writing with nobody pointing out to me which parts I could improve on. So it's nice to have some solid, firm advice for once from someone who knows what they're talking about. Thank you! And I might add an extra few verses to 'Bleeds', to add background, although I did like the mystery of it at first. Maybe I should also change the last line to 'Beneath the rising sun, her soul still bleeds', rather than 'lying beneath the rising sun, her soul still bleeds'? And the line 'magnificent, sublime' to: 'Something stirs, never still Bends gently against the pale skyline The dream hangs in the air Dying as the sun slowly climbs' Or does that lose the rhythm? Oh well, I'll have to think about that one. Thank you anyway! Rosemary Nissen-Wade – Thank you for your feedback and for your advice – I will bear in mind everything that you’ve told me. It’s nice to have someone give me advice on my writing, because usually no one does, not even my English teacher! So I just go along blindly writing with nobody pointing out to me which parts I could improve on. So it’s nice to have some solid, firm advice for once from someone who knows what they’re talking about. Thank you!
And I might add an extra few verses to ‘Bleeds’, to add background, although I did like the mystery of it at first. Maybe I should also change the last line to ‘Beneath the rising sun, her soul still bleeds’, rather than ‘lying beneath the rising sun, her soul still bleeds’? And the line ‘magnificent, sublime’ to:

‘Something stirs, never still
Bends gently against the pale skyline
The dream hangs in the air
Dying as the sun slowly climbs’

Or does that lose the rhythm? Oh well, I’ll have to think about that one. Thank you anyway!

]]> By: Rosemary Nissen-Wade http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/comment-page-1/#comment-129309 Rosemary Nissen-Wade Wed, 07 Nov 2007 02:55:27 +0000 http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/#comment-129309 Jenny/Angel: I just registered what you said, 'poetry is my life'. Welcome to the clan! It's an unusual life, and sometimes difficult. We almost always have to find some other way to earn a living, and those not in the clan may find us very hard to comprehend. Not even all poets are in this clan; I know some for whom fiction is their true love - and they also make poems, and even make them very well, BUT.... For those who do belong to the clan, there is one great compensation: we would never want any other life anyway. The mere thought is ridiculous! Your BLEEDS is an ambitious piece, remarkably sophisticated for a 13-year-old. But in the end the poems have to stand or fall on their own merits, regardless of the poet's age. This one got away from you a bit. The structure is interesting and well handled for the most part, though you lose the rhythm in the last line - a very bad place to lose it, when you want instead to come to a climax. The language is effective for the most part too, but 'Magnificent; sublime' are cop-out words that are too abstract to convey anything specific. They add nothing to the poem. It reads like a fantasy, and as if you are trying to tell a very big story in just a few verses. At its best this poem is highly evocative, creating powerful images. At its worst it's over-the-top. And I wanted to know more of that back story, which you have only suggested. So you might have to create one, lol! And it might become a sequence of poems instead of just one. I'd be inclined to put it away a while, then in a few weeks or months you'll pull it out and what it needs will jump off the page and hit you in the eye! I imagine you've been writing for years. You also say, 'I'm a thirteen year old writer' unequivocally, not 'I'm a thirteen year old who wants to be a writer' or something. It's great that you have so clearly identified yourself to yourself! So you'll have to excuse me but I'm not going to talk down to you as a thirteen year old. The quality of your work puts you right up here with us big kids and I know you have sufficient poetic maturity - and more, dedication - to deal with whatever I say. (Besides, I might not be right, lol. It's all opinion, really.) Jenny/Angel: I just registered what you said, ‘poetry is my life’. Welcome to the clan! It’s an unusual life, and sometimes difficult. We almost always have to find some other way to earn a living, and those not in the clan may find us very hard to comprehend. Not even all poets are in this clan; I know some for whom fiction is their true love – and they also make poems, and even make them very well, BUT…. For those who do belong to the clan, there is one great compensation: we would never want any other life anyway. The mere thought is ridiculous!

Your BLEEDS is an ambitious piece, remarkably sophisticated for a 13-year-old. But in the end the poems have to stand or fall on their own merits, regardless of the poet’s age. This one got away from you a bit. The structure is interesting and well handled for the most part, though you lose the rhythm in the last line – a very bad place to lose it, when you want instead to come to a climax. The language is effective for the most part too, but ‘Magnificent; sublime’ are cop-out words that are too abstract to convey anything specific. They add nothing to the poem.

It reads like a fantasy, and as if you are trying to tell a very big story in just a few verses. At its best this poem is highly evocative, creating powerful images. At its worst it’s over-the-top. And I wanted to know more of that back story, which you have only suggested. So you might have to create one, lol! And it might become a sequence of poems instead of just one.

I’d be inclined to put it away a while, then in a few weeks or months you’ll pull it out and what it needs will jump off the page and hit you in the eye!

I imagine you’ve been writing for years. You also say, ‘I’m a thirteen year old writer’ unequivocally, not ‘I’m a thirteen year old who wants to be a writer’ or something. It’s great that you have so clearly identified yourself to yourself! So you’ll have to excuse me but I’m not going to talk down to you as a thirteen year old. The quality of your work puts you right up here with us big kids and I know you have sufficient poetic maturity – and more, dedication – to deal with whatever I say. (Besides, I might not be right, lol. It’s all opinion, really.)

]]> By: Rosemary Nissen-Wade http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/comment-page-1/#comment-129307 Rosemary Nissen-Wade Wed, 07 Nov 2007 02:16:15 +0000 http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/#comment-129307 Very visual, Leah. I can see it all! I particularly love 'Splashing gray diamonds everywhere' and 'Whole soggy body wriggling'. I'm wondering at what point you took the photo. Or was it a video, lol? There are several moments that might have lent themselves to a quick snap. Very visual, Leah. I can see it all! I particularly love ‘Splashing gray diamonds everywhere’ and ‘Whole soggy body wriggling’. I’m wondering at what point you took the photo. Or was it a video, lol? There are several moments that might have lent themselves to a quick snap.

]]> By: Leah http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/comment-page-1/#comment-128842 Leah Mon, 05 Nov 2007 21:50:12 +0000 http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/#comment-128842 Late as usual, but here :) The black dog bays with laughter as She scrambles down the sandy shore Freed from leash and boundaries Feet moving faster than her thoughts She leaps Ears flopping Tongue out crazily Straight into the sea Splashing gray diamonds everywhere Suddenly She stops her plunge and Leaps as high as she can Trying to escape chilly drops She wheels around and bounds back To the safe shore Faster than I thought possible Running as though the waves Would grab her by the tail And draw her back in She finally slows At the very edge of the beach By the winding sand trail Leading through the whispering dunes There she snorts and shakes Whole soggy body wriggling As if to rid herself of the experience And she stares beseechingly at me Brown eyes confused Telling me she Doesn’t like The cold, cold wet And there she firmly stays Convinced I’m an idiot Resigned that she warned me As I laugh and wade right in To my chilly home And she sits And waits Expectantly Late as usual, but here :)

The black dog bays with laughter as
She scrambles down the sandy shore
Freed from leash and boundaries
Feet moving faster than her thoughts

She leaps
Ears flopping
Tongue out crazily
Straight into the sea
Splashing gray diamonds everywhere

Suddenly
She stops her plunge and
Leaps as high as she can
Trying to escape chilly drops
She wheels around and bounds back
To the safe shore
Faster than I thought possible
Running as though the waves
Would grab her by the tail
And draw her back in

She finally slows
At the very edge of the beach
By the winding sand trail
Leading through the whispering dunes
There she snorts and shakes
Whole soggy body wriggling
As if to rid herself of the experience

And she stares beseechingly at me
Brown eyes confused
Telling me she
Doesn’t like
The cold, cold wet

And there she firmly stays
Convinced I’m an idiot
Resigned that she warned me
As I laugh and wade right in
To my chilly home
And she sits
And waits
Expectantly

]]> By: Rianon http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/comment-page-1/#comment-128809 Rianon Mon, 05 Nov 2007 20:54:34 +0000 http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/#comment-128809 Thank you Rosemary, I appreciate it. I'll try Thank you Rosemary, I appreciate it. I’ll try

]]> By: Rosemary Nissen-Wade http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/comment-page-1/#comment-128570 Rosemary Nissen-Wade Mon, 05 Nov 2007 04:53:06 +0000 http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/#comment-128570 Here's a revision to my poem above, as some belated research indicates that T-shirt in second verse was probably the genuine article after all. So the amended second verse now reads: You're wearing jeans, one earring, the copper medallion I gave you and a T-shirt with a Gold Coast logo you thought would please me and bought specially: 'Look, your country's famous swimming team,' not knowing that to me it was just some surf club, one of many. Here’s a revision to my poem above, as some belated research indicates that T-shirt in second verse was probably the genuine article after all. So the amended second verse now reads:

You’re wearing jeans, one earring,
the copper medallion I gave you
and a T-shirt with a Gold Coast logo
you thought would please me
and bought specially: ‘Look,
your country’s famous swimming team,’
not knowing that to me it was just
some surf club, one of many.

]]> By: Aquamarine Angel http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/comment-page-1/#comment-128132 Aquamarine Angel Sat, 03 Nov 2007 21:02:05 +0000 http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/#comment-128132 Oh by the way I am Jenny McBride; I am logged on now as Aquamarine Angel, but I will probably using both my accounts. In case you were wondering. =) Oh by the way I am Jenny McBride; I am logged on now as Aquamarine Angel, but I will probably using both my accounts. In case you were wondering. =)

]]> By: Aquamarine Angel http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/comment-page-1/#comment-128131 Aquamarine Angel Sat, 03 Nov 2007 20:58:52 +0000 http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/#comment-128131 Thank you so much for your kind words...and yes, I probably should give it a title... maybe 'a Village in Winter Time' as you suggest. Here is another poem based on a picture, but this is quite different, as I took a picture of a sunrise/sunset and interpreted it in my own way, giving it its own story and history. I think that the poem will mean something different to everybody, but to me it is about the desert. BLEEDS Beneath the setting sun she stood Sky red, its heart, she stands in blood, Half opened eye over the horizon closes Blind to her plight, he turns away A tear which her heart shed, A shadow where she lay. A lonely footprint flecked with red Still in the dirt where her soul once bled. Dark figure on the brightness of sunrise On the edge of the land the demon cries Something stirs, never still Bends gently against the pale skyline The dream hangs in the air Magnificent; sublime. Look into her eyes, into the heart of the dead No fire burns now where her soul once bled. Beneath the rising sun she sits Somewhere above the last piece fits The half closed eye over the horizon opens Still she waits, no one knows what for That for which she searches Is here no more. Broken body, denied all it needs, Lying beneath the rising sun, her soul still bleeds. By Jennifer McBride, Age 13 Thank you so much for your kind words…and yes, I probably should give it a title… maybe ‘a Village in Winter Time’ as you suggest. Here is another poem based on a picture, but this is quite different, as I took a picture of a sunrise/sunset and interpreted it in my own way, giving it its own story and history. I think that the poem will mean something different to everybody, but to me it is about the desert.

BLEEDS

Beneath the setting sun she stood
Sky red, its heart, she stands in blood,
Half opened eye over the horizon closes
Blind to her plight, he turns away
A tear which her heart shed,
A shadow where she lay.
A lonely footprint flecked with red
Still in the dirt where her soul once bled.

Dark figure on the brightness of sunrise
On the edge of the land the demon cries
Something stirs, never still
Bends gently against the pale skyline
The dream hangs in the air
Magnificent; sublime.
Look into her eyes, into the heart of the dead
No fire burns now where her soul once bled.

Beneath the rising sun she sits
Somewhere above the last piece fits
The half closed eye over the horizon opens
Still she waits, no one knows what for
That for which she searches
Is here no more.
Broken body, denied all it needs,
Lying beneath the rising sun, her soul still bleeds.

By Jennifer McBride, Age 13

]]> By: Rosemary Nissen-Wade http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/comment-page-1/#comment-128115 Rosemary Nissen-Wade Sat, 03 Nov 2007 19:35:48 +0000 http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/#comment-128115 Jenny, this is most accomplished! You could title it "A Village in Winter Time" (bearing in mind John's recommendations about giving names to our poems). You create the visual image with your words, and I love both the original image of the "beads of dove-white blood" and the way you have used the repetition of that phrase. Please let us see more of your work. Jenny, this is most accomplished! You could title it “A Village in Winter Time” (bearing in mind John’s recommendations about giving names to our poems). You create the visual image with your words, and I love both the original image of the “beads of dove-white blood” and the way you have used the repetition of that phrase. Please let us see more of your work.

]]> By: Jenny McBride http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/comment-page-1/#comment-128092 Jenny McBride Sat, 03 Nov 2007 17:10:16 +0000 http://www.poewar.com/poetry-and-photographs/#comment-128092 I'm a thirteen year old writer and poetry is my life... I've been following the poetry posted on this site for a while now and I've finally plucked up the courage to post an example of my own work. I know that it isn't quite up to the standard of everyone else on here but I am young. I decided to write about a picture I have of a village in winter time. A wintry sun, feeble at dawn, Drifting snowflakes, Vaguely passing the waking world, Lonely beads of dove-white blood Breaking the copper of the sun, As of little children of the storm Lost in skies of burnished gold. Ice clinging tight, With tips of frosty fingers Mirroring the dawn’s soft light. Footprints trail across the shroud of snow A shadow of the people, Marking their paths, Beneath the feeble, wintry sun Flecked with beads of dove-white blood. By Jenny McBride, age 13 I’m a thirteen year old writer and poetry is my life… I’ve been following the poetry posted on this site for a while now and I’ve finally plucked up the courage to post an example of my own work. I know that it isn’t quite up to the standard of everyone else on here but I am young.
I decided to write about a picture I have of a village in winter time.

A wintry sun, feeble at dawn,
Drifting snowflakes,
Vaguely passing the waking world,
Lonely beads of dove-white blood
Breaking the copper of the sun,
As of little children of the storm
Lost in skies of burnished gold.
Ice clinging tight,
With tips of frosty fingers
Mirroring the dawn’s soft light.
Footprints trail across the shroud of snow
A shadow of the people,
Marking their paths,
Beneath the feeble, wintry sun
Flecked with beads of dove-white blood.

By Jenny McBride, age 13

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