Transitions

[Suzanne]

Transitions


I might have seen an hourglass
while inhaling
dusty sunlight in a musty room
sometime when I was young.
Or I've seen myself holding one

in a movie clip, transposing myself
with some dark-eyed female
on an adventure, thin white blouse
buttoned loosely at the elbow,
her slender shadow mimicking
the slow tipping of her head
as her eyes follow the roll

of the weighted glass, grains
beginning to tumble onto themselves,
her wrist bending like a swan
to place it back into its stand
and she waits, poised,
to turn it again.








....................
The Silica Years


I might have seen an hourglass
while inhaling
dusty sunlight in a musty room
sometime when I was young.
Or I've seen myself holding one

in a movie clip, transposing myself
with some dark-eyed female
on an adventure, thin white blouse
buttoned loosely at the elbow,
her slender shadow mimicking
the slow tipping of her head
as her eyes follow the roll
of the weighted glass, the grains

beginning to tumble onto themselves,
her wrist bending like a swan
to place it back into its stand
and she waits, poised,
to turn it around again. But

the graceful fluidity contained
within an hourglass
will remain a second-hand memory
as I wait for this to end
and turn time around again.







-----------Original----
I might have seen an hourglass
while inhaling
dusty sunlight in a musty room
sometime when I was young.
Or I've seen myself holding one

in a movie clip, transposing myself
with some dark-eyed female
on an adventure, thin white blouse
buttoned loosely at the elbow,
her slender shadow mimicking
the slow tipping of her head
as her eyes follow the roll

of the weighted glass, grains
beginning to tumble onto themselves,
her wrist bending like a swan
to place it back into its stand
and she waits, poised,
to turn it again. But

the graceful fluidity of time
contained within an hourglass
will remain
a second hand memory
while I'm being buried daily
under these sacks of concrete.

......
removed.

Breathing is challenging
when the silica is slow to settle,
minutes hang lazy like fog
between exhaling the dust.
.

[brianedwards]

Oh! So nearly excellent Suzy. That ending needs a serious rethink. "sacks of concrete" is just so damn ugly - visually, sonically . . . actually, couldn't this end at "again"?

You're really hitting your stride at the moment. Finally!!!!



B.

[Vincent Turner]

The Silica Years

I might have seen an hourglass
while inhaling
dusty sunlight in a musty room
sometime when I was young.
Or I've seen myself holding one

HI Suzanne. The stanza above, to me is controlled, well paced, and read well. It's an intriguing opening and there is a nice line break leading onto the second stanza.


in a movie clip, transposing myself
with some dark-eyed female
on an adventure, thin white blouse
buttoned loosely at the elbow,
her slender shadow mimicking
the slow tipping of her head
as her eyes follow the roll
of the weighted glass, grains
beginning to tumble onto themselves,
her wrist bending like a swan
to place it back into its stand
and she waits, poised,
to turn it again. But

For me this is where it all gets a bit lost to the image. There is lots going on here, which is not bad thing, but I found myself wanting to take a break, lines and words merged into each other, and I really had to read and read again to make out what was going on. So for me it could do with some basic trimming.

Quite a few "hers" in here as well, which is something I always struggle with when writing in third person, what else to call "her" but "her" or she. I can imagine you writing this stanza, head full of ideas, image clear as day in your head, then desperate to get the whole thing on page. maybe I am wrong but that's the impression I get when reading.


the graceful fluidity of time
contained within an hourglass
will remain
a second hand memory
while I'm being buried daily
under these sacks of concrete.

This stanza seems to return to the pace of the opening, which for me is far more effective, I am allowed to linger over each word and do not feel rushed.
I don't mind the last line as much as Brian, but in truth I am sure you could better it.

Always a pleasure to read your work

Best Regards

Vincent

.

[Suzanne]

Thank you Brian and Vincent. Here is an edit. Must I change the ending? Why? Suzanne

[BenJohnson]

Thank you Brian and Vincent. Here is an edit. Must I change the ending? Why? Suzanne

There is no must but I agree you should. At the moment the experience is akin to listening to a gentle rendition of Satie ending with the pianist thumping a few loud discords. The sacks of concrete are very strong images and say exactly what you intend but after a poem of such lightness the ending doesn't work for me although I can see the effect you are going for.

[Suzanne]

Is it the image or the abruptness?

[calico]

Sorry to butt in. For me it's both the image and the abruptness.
Hard to know, but even this:

while I'm being buried daily
under these concrete sacks

improves it for me, as ending on the word 'concrete' just has this neutralising effect - I know you probably wanted to establish that lightness and then destroy it, and I'm all for that, but something must be wrong and it must be the sonics. Visually the impact of being whacked with sandbags is fine. In fact how about the word 'sandbags' somewhere, somehow. If you want to use that image, it is a more economical word.

[Suzanne]

Thanks for that. It's helpful. After sleeping on it, I am ready to step up to try to be more subtle as I whack the reader in the head. Lol.

Maybe i'll figure out something today.

A question, that first verse I added, is it worth keeping? Or doesn't it add anything?

Nice to have you around.
Suzanne

[calico]

I don't know. I don't think it needs it, and the original begins more lightly and flows better. I may have to have a closer look later when not so full of caffeine.

[brianedwards]

I vote No on the new first stanza. Also agree with Megan's suggestion of "sandbags"

B.

[Vincent Turner]

I agree, ditch the first stanza, for me it adds nothing, and takes away the appeal of the poem, which was made by the opening verse.

Best Regards

Vincent