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[Vincent Turner]

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Who knows if the swan is happy?
The long wand of neck that leads
like a question mark up to her beak
might not make it so.

Whose to say when she stretches
her wings, flailing them with grace
against the sky she is not beckoning
God to remove her from the river

where she daily roams. Do the fish
she plucks from the flimsy water
satisfy her palette or does she crave
the texture of something new.

Does she ever question why so many
share so little of her colour?
and why rats can swim as fast
as they run. Does she envy their talent?

Has she ever stopped by the reeds
not for shade but to hear how the wind
brings them to sing. And the song
is it one of melancholy or joy?

When children throw her stones
does she swan to where they stand
hoping to swallow their gift
so to choke and sink and join

the ghost that glides beneath her,
mirroring her every move,
who never stops staring back
at those perfect black lonely eyes.



Work in progress. further evidence of expermination. Anthing work, probally much that does not. This may be the first poem i have written that has not mentioned "I" be it universal or indivudual. So in some ways a small succsess.


the ghost that glides beneath her,
mirroring her every move,
who never stops staring back
at those perfect black lonely eyes.


looking for help/suggestion especially around this part. Hopefully it is clear that i am describing her relfection, but feel i have lost it slightly due to having to take out a third "her" in the last two lines, as i felt it was to many.. is it clear that it is the ghost/relfection who is staring back up at her from beneath the water surface??

I am aware the poem may come accress as a little to rhetoric espeically the 4th stanza, which i consider the be a little weak.



Whilst downstairs chuffing on a ciggarette it occured to me that the poem might be better if is were to shift from a human angle to a more honest perspective of questioning, i,e from the swan itself, i have lost the four line form for this one, but i think i am liking it more, it has been hurriedly posted and will no doubt require some hefty editing but all the same i thought i would offer an alternative angle and hopefully hear if it works any better of maybe even less.....


An Ode to the ghost beneath me.

Who knows if I am happy?
The long wand of my neck
that leads like a question mark
up to my beak might not mean it so.
Whose to say when I stretch
my wings, flailing them with grace
against the sky I am not beckoning
God to magic me elsewhere
anywhere but this river where
mangled metal harbours against
mossy rocks like storm ruined ships.
The fish I pluck from the river,
do nothing to satisfy my thirst
for something other than slippery
entrails and pricking bone.
Why is it so many share so little
of my colour? Even my kin bare
feathers of everyday grey.
Do they know I often stop by the reeds
not for shade but to hear the wind
bring them to song.
When children throw me stones
I know too well it is not bread
for I long to choke on their gift
and sink beneath the surface
to join  the ghost that glides
beneath me,
mirroring my every move
and who stares at me with
eyes as perfect and lonely as mine.

[Father Luke]

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the ghost that glides beneath her,
mirroring her every move,
who never stops staring back
at those perfect black lonely eyes.


looking for help/suggestion especially around this part. Hopefully it is clear that i am describing her relfection, but feel i have lost it slightly due to having to take out a third "her" in the last two lines, as i felt it was to many.. is it clear that it is the ghost/relfection who is staring back up at her from beneath the water surface??

Let me guess. The extra "her" was like this:

Her ghost that glides beneath her,
mirroring her every move,
who never stops staring back
at those perfect black lonely eyes.

Right?

Whatever. The paragraph rocks. I like it, and I think it's among your strongest.
It has imagery in it, and metaphor, and all the picture things words can do.

Whilst downstairs chuffing on a ciggarette it occured to me that the poem might be better if is were to shift from a human angle to a more honest perspective of questioning, i,e from the swan itself,

An Ode to the ghost beneath me.

Who knows if I am happy?
The long wand of my neck...

Dude? If that's what huffing on smokes does for you, I'd give up smoking.

 

[Vincent Turner]

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Thanks father luke. My kids would agree with you about the smoking thing... I've promised them once we move to Ireland, I will quit. Thanks for the positive comments on that last stanza, it really did appeal to me when I wrote it, and I enjoyed the places it took me whilst writing it. The first version is the one I went with, I think with the second I got carried away with the idea. May I ask- the poem as a whole, did you enjoy it as much as the final stanza. Sometimes I read it and think the thought behind it was a good idea, but I didn't quite pull it off. Many thanks for the read.. And you was right about the 'her' but you didn't need me to tell you that!!!

[Father Luke]

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May I ask- the poem as a whole, did you enjoy it (...)

Meh. I didn't want it to be about questioning sorrow, and all that.

If I were to write it, just as a f'rinstance, I would maybe look at the things she
does experience. That would give me a more assertive voice.

Passive voice loses my interest pretty quick. Usually.

Look at how you wrote this:

the ghost that glides beneath her,
mirroring her every move,
who never stops staring back
at those perfect black lonely eyes.

Every idea asserted rather than left lilting in the still air.

So, all in all? Naw. Didn't much care for it.
But as an experiment? Yeah. It rocked. It was like
307% better (I did a quick estimate) of everything I now
see in the "small press", which means like the entire internet.

The problem is that people are mistaking blogging for poetry.
You get beyond this with your poem. I like that.

HTH

[Vincent Turner]

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Father luke thanks you have given me much to think about... Far harder, bur far more useful.I thank you.

Let's see where this one takes me... I live in hope.

Best regards

An avid listener

Vincent

[Vincent Turner]

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Hi father Luke

I just wanted to fire a quick question  at you and anyone else who wishes to reply.

I was quite taken by your comments on my Swan poem and agreed with the comments about the "assertive voice"


Following your suggestions i have attempted ( and i mean attempted) to write the poem with a more assertive voice, but in the same sense, i am not totally sure it is assertive, i mean i know the difference between assertive and passive etc, but am not sure if i have applied it to this.....


Swan

Graceful with her fear
She flails her wings
at kids
who hold the stones.

When they move on
to magnify grass
into fire
she goes to where the reeds
and their shadows sway
to pluck fish
with lethargy.

In the cool pool
of the
lazy riverflow
she watches
a travelling world
that shares
so little of her colour
& when the children return
she wades to where
their
stones fall
not for thought of food
but to join
her ghost that glides beneath,
mirroring her every move
who never stops staring back
at those perfect black lonely eyes




is this sort of what you meant when you said assertive, i have obviously removed, all "what ifs" etc.

I ask you, through want of learning to improve my craft.

best regards

Vincent

[Father Luke]

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Yeah. Not bad. I liked the omniscience of the first version more, though.

Here's the thing.


This workshop is a safe place to take risks. It's someplace supportive away from the publisher's "submissions" box. No one is expected to be professional here. If you are, fine and good.

What you are expected to do is experiment, grow, listen to suggestions, and offer critiques for others too. In learning it's expected you'll take risks.

So kudos for stretching and experimenting.

How do you like what you wrote?

[Vincent Turner]

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I like it,by experminting with it I have got out of another 3 to 4 lines which are for me fresh in terms of my own style. I don't however like the way it looks, I felt reassurred by the four line stanzas... I suppose it looks neater, more pleasing, controlled to the eye. I am struggling with trying to make it assertive yet as you pointed out for the first poem that omniscience. I can't quite grasp where the omniscience works... Is it the questions the poem asks?... And if it is, how then can I mantain a level of assertivness.... In truth I am both frustrated and confused. But am also happy that I am testing myself.

[Ġakbu]

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http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=179109

I agree with what Father Luke said. Assertive is better, even if the emotion/thought being conveyed is one which reflects some sort of insecurity. I love the poem which I linked; it's interesting to notice how both of you describe the neck as question-mark-like.

[Vincent Turner]

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Thanks james... Regarding this assertive thing, sorry to play the fool, but what do you mean when you say the writing can come across a little insecure? As for the link I can't get to it at the mo as I am on my mobile and the link won't work.. But it did say the poem is it the black swan? Never read it but will be sure to take a look as I too find it intersting that the question mark image was used... It will be good to see how it was written

[Father Luke]

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I can't quite grasp where the omniscience works...

Third person omniscient is where the narrator knows the thoughts and feelings as
opposed to third person limited, which adheres closely to one character's perspective.

You've changed the point of view more to that of the swan rather than focusing on the swan.


Do you see?

[Ġakbu]

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What I meant was, Vincent, that even if you are aiming to convey some sort of insecurity or anxiety through the writing, an assertive tone may work better. In prose perhaps less so. But in poetry, there are other ways to show that insecurity, or anxiety and whatnot; when you fall away from the assertive tone, there is always the risk that what starts asserting itself is the raw thought and emotion, rather than the refined (meaning worked upon) one. Confidence, is perhaps important in the delivery of poetry, and an assertive tone has something to do with that, I should think.

And yes, it's called The Black Swan by James Merrill.

[Vincent Turner]

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Thanks james. It has finally filtered through the not too clever part of my brain!- I managed to download the poem-The Black Swan to my phonea, it took most of thr night, it's much longer than my attempt-going to read it this morning on the train.

Best regards

Vincent

[Vincent Turner]

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Third person omniscient is where the narrator knows the thoughts and feelings as
opposed to third person limited, which adheres closely to one character's perspective.

You've changed the point of view more to that of the swan rather than focusing on the swan.


Do you see?

Slowly, i am making sense of it!- on my revised version, i made attempts to bring the focus of thought, away from the swan as i had done with my second version, I also tried to make it more assertive and in the same sense in the style of third person omnicient.
This is clearly a work in proggress and an enjoyable one at that, albiet a slow, often failed proccess of expermination.

[Vincent Turner]

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Mmmmmmmm, I think i am getting there. Comparing the first four line stanza poem to this, I am sure this is going in the right direction.... F.L i have tried to remove the obvious references to the Swan's sorrow etc, but think i have still managed to potray her unhappiness? I think, for now, i will let this settle, as i dont want to blur all original intent. But i am glad where this poem took me, and the hopeful improvement is has found.




Swan

Fanning open her wings
She holds no patience for those
who taunt with loud screams and stones.
The flap of wings slapping air
startles them, they move on,
turning attentions
to a burnt out cavern-tree.

Where the reeds
and their shadows sway
she drifts,
plucking fish from torpid water.
The lethargy of her bowing neck
like an old man bending.

In the cool pocket
of the rivers bank
she watches a world
that lacks the stun
of her own white glamour
where fat rats tightrope rust-crusted wires
and insects kamikaze
in endless throbbing droves.

unfolding her question-mark neck,
she peets at the ghost that glides beneath,
mirroring her every move.
Who never stops staring back
at those perfect black lonely eyes.