The View From Here

[Dee]

Another exercise that will hopefully lead us to creating a poem, taken from the 'Unseen Poetry and the Creative Process' course on FutureLearn.

1. Enjoy a view.

2. Think of an abstract noun. An idea, a concept that feels very much relevant to you right now.

3. Look at the view and hold the abstract noun in your mind at the same time.

4. Write a few lines about the view you're looking at, describing the concrete world.

5. Write a few lines about your chosen abstract noun.

6. Bundle them together, arrange them this way and that, think about patterns, line breaks... see what happens!

BONUS FOCUS: LINE BREAKS

Where will you put them?

One of the most inspiring thing that's come out of this course for me was studying line breaks. The last word of a line being super important, - and not necessarily the end of a sentence/phrase.

It's amazing how much you can change in a poem just by arranging line breaks differently.

[Dee]

I've chosen a view of the sea, at sunset, in Whitby. My abstract noun is 'identity'.




the message

waves roll darker clouds sink deeper
silence settles broken by a seagull calling
for nothing in particular and i wonder if
she is still a mother if her chicks have fledged

burning streaks score the falling sky
solitude sips slowly into the deserted dunes like runes
like cinderella days tallied on the walls of my cell locked
inside my own head

in the ocean of the pandemic
who am i now tell me
without my choir

twinkling lights from a bold
faraway fishing boat perhaps
are sending me a sign
i try so hard to decipher

search for the meaning like kids
comb the beach for treasure
fossils shells and a heart shaped stone
as the tide is soundlessly slipping away

and the memory of wet sand in my hands
whispers to my aching feet
come walk on me just come and walk on me now

[Moonchime]

I love this poem Dee - great to read the finished product after our forays in surrealism!

Ok so I'm going to follow the guidelines of Future learn for the review.

How does it make you feel?

It feels fresh and windswept and I can feel the presence of the sea throughout, as if I'm standing by the seashore gazing out onto the horizon, with sweeping clouds spanning the sky and prompting my sense of loss and wonder. I can smell the sea.
That wonderful first line "waves roll darker clouds sink deeper" depicts the intensifying night giving a sense of foreboding, of the struggle you express in searching for who you are, once key elements of your life are taken from you; those aspects of yourself that shape your personality, your very being. How do you re-define yourself?
I feel the beauty of the scene, but an aching sadness and frustration at being denied that which makes you feel whole; you try to put it aside, but it in that third verse it feels overwhelming like a wave sweeping over you.

i wonder
if she's still a mother if her chicks have fledged

who am i now tell me
without my choir
[/i][/color]

I see your "search for a sign in the twinkling lights"as an expression of your search for meaning in the present situation; how to make sense of it, to grow from it; a puzzle to be solved; treasure to be found as in the simile of the children beach -combing.

Then the memory of the wet sand brings you back to the present and how good it would feel for your feet to feel it.

Can you identify any patterns in the poem?

The poem is structured into verses of 3 or 4 lines with the two 3 line verses having particular impact.
Verse 3 feels like a sudden cry from the heart and wrenches away from the immediate scene to the "ocean of the pandemic" with that cry/ scream of " who am I now tell me" - the use of the imperative adding to the drama and desperation and breaking from the more gentle observations of the other verses.
A contrast indeed, especially as we move from that crisis to the charming "twinkling lights" and the beach-combing children, exhausted from the emotion of that central question.

In fact that question is so powerful I wonder whether it should stand without the first line of that verse? without that qualifier? And yet...

Throughout the poem there is a lovely use of alliteration - silence settles, streaks score the falling sky solitude sips slowly, the tide is soundlessly slipping away - they all add to the sense of softness of those images in the very sounds they make.
You also have some interesting line breaks that hold the attention and then continue on - calling, wonder and "tallied on the walls of my cell locked
inside my own mind" are all examples of using substantial words that finish a line and then expand in the next one.

The last verse creates an almost tangible sense of wet sand - bringing in the tactile nature of it on the skin and taking us through touch to the moment in the "walk on me now."
I feel the impact of that immediacy in the word "now" and wonder if it should stand alone on a 4th line?

What puzzles are there?
The seagull wondering about her motherhood; how far does a role you play make you who you are and can it cease to be?
What has locked you in the prison of your own mind and what can release you "cinderella" fashion?
Is there any significance of the heart-shaped stone?

The key one though, I think, is what makes you who you are?
What happens when things that have defined you are no longer there?

It's amazing how much there is to dissect when you look closely, how rich the images are and how well you have linked the abstract with the concrete. Thank you for the ride Dee.

[Dee]

My heart literally sang when I read this lovely thoughtful review, Kathy. Most importantly, because it didn’t feel like it was a chore for you. Your review made me feel like you enjoyed digging deeper into the poem and liked what you’ve found. So thank you so much for taking the time to do it, Kathy.

You’ve been pretty much spot on about everything.

In fact that question is so powerful I wonder whether it should stand without the first line of that verse? without that qualifier? And yet...

The last verse creates an almost tangible sense of wet sand - bringing in the tactile nature of it on the skin and taking us through touch to the moment in the "walk on me now."
I feel the impact of that immediacy in the word "now" and wonder if it should stand alone on a 4th line?

I have considered these suggestions, and I see why you thought they might be more impactful that way. But I think I rather like the structure of 4-4-3 4-4-3, with the second three liner somehow providing an answer to the question. Just immerse yourself in whatever you’re doing, and let that define you. Rather than long for what you can’t have right now. Perhaps that should be enough. Perhaps that’s all there is. Perhaps that’s everything.

I feel the line “in the ocean of pandemic“ is rather important there because it gives context to the longing, and also provides a strong link between the scene and the abstract.

Putting ‘walk on me now’ in a line of its own would break the line pattern, unless it would follow a stanza break? Or perhaps just carrying ‘now’ over as a new line after a stanza break? It would certainly drive the point, and the message would definitely be loud as clear. As it is, it certainly feels more subtle.
I’ll think about it. I actually really like both ways.

Regarding the puzzles:

I am beginning to think that your worth as a human, and who you are, is not necessarily defined by your entire skill set and your past. It seems we might be defined simply by what we are actually doing at the time. I’m not a singer or a choir leader when I’m walking on the beach. I’m not a mother when my children don’t need me or occupy my thoughts. Just a human, existing in time and space engaging with the moment.

Like for the past few months I’ve felt like Cinderella, because I was mostly engaging in housechores and not allowed/no time for anything else.

The heart shaped stones are in there because, just like how we try to find meanings and messages in things such as a boat signalling in the distance, we also tend to transfer meaning to finding treasure such as a heartshaped stone. It’s certainly comforting and satisfying, and we might feel like we are slipping a good luck charm or an expression of love inside our pocket.

Thank you again, so much, for this lovely review, Kathy.

Eagerly awaiting your poem!

[Lori]

Posting this prior to reading the above responses and then circling back as to not be overtly influenced regarding first impressions!



Feelings & Puzzles

I’m loving this poem, Dee. I love the visual of that grey North Sea and the skies above at sunset, and the parallels and mystery you’ve called forth with your words.

If the poem were a room

If the poem were a room, all four walls would be laying down and the cool wind would waft through with salt on its edges. The floor would slowly revolve for a 360 degree view – the seen and unseen – the shoreline, the sky, cliffs, buildings of humans, and the hearts within. The sounds would be melding and questioning, and hold the promise of a deeper meaning.

In the first verse, I am on the shoreline as that strange quiet descends and the light changes. The question as to whether the sea gull is “still a mother if her chicks have fledged” was interesting and held a somewhat wistful hue.

I searched for a very scant moment to identify what the concept of “mother” meant to a sea gull. Was it all instinct? Is it even a memory for her now? Does she fly with her children, knowing they are still her children?

This was quickly replaced with the human parallel (which I believe is the evolving point of the poet) and begins the questioning of who one is within our choices and circumstances - from where do our identities arise and to what extent are we defined by these accumulative pillars in a life.

“Mother” is such an all-encompassing word. The poet leads the reader to wonder “What now?” What does it mean to have so much of one’s core changing as children “fledge”? Who am I beyond this immense act of mothering? (Of course, we know it never ends, yet we are changed when the sands of parenting shift.) While living in the moment, perhaps we are not as defined sometimes by these golden threads even though they are a huge part of us.

In verse two, the melancholy deepens along with the sky – with constraints and frustration.

like cinderella days tallied on the walls of my cell locked
inside my own head


Verse three solidifies that thought and this is the verse I think that broke open for me and rained down the basic bent of the poem:

in the ocean of the pandemic
who am i now tell me
without my choir

Who am I now, tell me “without my CHOIR”?

This feels to me to be gloriously literal and figurative at the same time. I loved how this rang so poignant. Who is “my choir”? A choir of voices singing together and making incredible music? The family who make up our lives? The friends who grace us with who they are along the way? Nature even? Talents and passions? Whatever gives a life meaning – whatever and whoever the supporting cast defines the word 'choir' in this instance for me.

I interpret that the poet’s life has changed dramatically in this 'ocean of pandemic' and a part of her 'choir' has been altered or withheld in a lot of ways leading again to pondering, “Who am I beyond this immense support system I’ve created”, knowing it is all beautifully tangled with the parts leading to the sum inextricably. "Who am I when it is challenged and changing?"

Leading to the searching in verses three and four. I’ve had that exact emotion while looking at far-away sea vessels, trying to extract meaning from the vastness and the acceleration of time. That we collectively respond this way feels nearly cellular.

search for the meaning like kids
comb the beach for treasure
fossils shells and a heart shaped stone
as the tide is soundlessly slipping away

and the memory of wet sand in my hands
whispers to my aching feet
come walk on me just come and walk on me now

This beautiful ending, filled with simple touchstones, beckons forward momentum and living in the moment ‘now’ even as the tide slips away soundlessly. It’s wonderfully visceral. I love that the memory ‘whispers’ as though it is the string that holds the poet up – the calm and confident constant thread of strength that has whispered throughout an entire lifetime, and the wet sand is a tactile reminder of the treasured things that keep us moving, striving, enduring, searching, and exploring.

That’s how I see the poem anyway! Ha!

Not to become too wordy, but I love the action in the lines -

waves roll
clouds sink
silence settles
broken

burning streaks score
solitude sips slowly (Question here – is it sips or slips as both work beautifully – I actually do favor sip as it is unexpected.)

into the deserted dunes like runes

(The rhyme is satiating here and I pondered what type of rune you are referring to – lost stories or songs?)

like cinderella days tallied on the walls of my cell locked
inside my own head

(Cinderella days is wonderfully descriptive.)

I want to add that I really like the title a lot - perfectly fits!

Beautiful piece, Mz. A! Thanks so much for sharing your talent and all you are learning with the poetry course, and taking me back to the North Sea.

[Moonchime]

In my poem I used the view onto my back garden with "Fear" as my abstract noun - although to be honest I couldn't stop wandering into Loss and Grief - although they're all connected so I stuck with it.

The View from Here

The garden shimmers
in brittle heat,
while empty chairs full of ghosts
face the sun.

A black veil guards blueberries
against hidden birds, like the Spectre
of Fear that pads
into my room at night

and settles like a jealous lover,
while a thistle fairy floats
into a spider’s web,
a dance captured, crafted

for flight, not fight, only singing
on summer’s sighs.
A cautious caterpillar hiccoughs
along the wall, wondering

if it will ever fly,
and the grass worries
itself brown in the sun’s glare, unflinching
as the mirror that bares
the truth of years.


KK

[Dee]

May I just say before I get to talk about poetry, how the What She Wrote board is beyond precious to me. It always has been, but particularly so these past few months. The gifts and the support we give to one another is priceless. After a particularly shitty day arriving in here to find yet another thoughtful and warm review and a gorgeous new poem is a balm to my soul. Thank you so much, my dear friends.

[Dee]

Mz S, thank you so much for your review. I'm humbled by how long it must have taken you, and I feel so honoured and grateful for cherishing my words so much.
Like Kathy, you too are pretty much spot in with your analysis. You both know me frighteningly and reassuringly too well.

This feels to me to be gloriously literal and figurative at the same time. I loved how this rang so poignant. Who is “my choir”? A choir of voices singing together and making incredible music? The family who make up our lives? The friends who grace us with who they are along the way? Nature even? Talents and passions? Whatever gives a life meaning – whatever and whoever the supporting cast defines the word 'choir' in this instance for me.

Yes, you've totally got it. The question works at a very literal level. My choir... the ones I lead, and the one I sing in. But a Choir is so much more than just a grop of people who sing together. It's breathing, laughing, feeling together, it's all about the human contact and support too, it's about laughter, and Love, and comfort, and friendship, and creating beauty and art together. It seems to me that the more time passes, the more I struggle without it. A couple of nights ago I met up with my alto section of the Choir I sing in, and for one track someone played on their phone, we very, very quietly, literally under our breath, sang along, under the starry night. And I burst into tears. I'm missing singing (and all it entails) with other people so very much, it physically hurts. Yet, we must wait a little longer. Things are beginning to ease, so perhaps it's not that far off when we can recommence.

I find this quite fascinating though, who we are when we can't do what we're good at, what we love doing, for whatever reason. How do dancers, sportmen cope when their age or their injuries stop them? Parents when their children leave home? Painters when their eyesight goes?

Living in the moment is all we can do to find some grounding, and we must explore what joy we can retrieve from the present. Reliving the past and envisaging the future only distracts us from what is actually going on right now.

To answer the questions: it's definitely *sips*

The *dunes* form these somewhat mysterious markings, *like runes", and I was wondering if you're imprisoned in a cell, how you'd be marking the passing days. Some fancy tally carved into the wall. Or perhaps more than just a tally. Perhaps it’s a poem.

[Dee]

Mz K, I’m totally floored by your poem. The last line especially left me completely stunned. I need a little more time and a fresh morning brain for the close reading/detailed review. I’m so looking forward to it.

[Dee]

I'm still somewhat overwhelmed by the intensity and complexity of this little number here, Mz K, but here we go. Diving into a deep read.

The View from Here

The garden shimmers
in brittle heat,
while empty chairs full of ghosts
face the sun.



The garden is somewhat surreal, shimmering in the heat, allowing for seeing things differently, perhaps even seeing things that are not really there. The heat is unpleasant, and slightly unexpectedly: brittle. Perhaps everything is crumbling. Then the first bomb hits in line three. Such a strong visual. Who are these people of the past who are sunbathing in the garden? Friends? Family? People who once lived here before your time? I'm taken by surprise by this totally unexpected turn and wonder how I should feel about these ghosts. They don't seem to mean any harm, revelling in human activities. As ghosts are supposed to feel cold, they're warming themselves in the sun.


A black veil guards blueberries
against hidden birds, like the Spectre
of Fear that pads
into my room at night

Things are turning a little more sinister here with the appearance of a black veil. It's interesting how the veil is there but the birds are not there, they're hidden. The veil is protecting against something that might not even be there at all. Perhaps it's not even necessary. But maybe, if the veil wasn't there, the birds would descend from their hiding places.

Bomb No2 hits with the Spectre of Fear, echoing the surreal appearance of ghosts from the first verse. But this one is obviously a malevolent force that sneaks in, makes its presence known and takes over and wouldn't leave, "like a jealous lover".

I wonder if we should unfold the simile, is there more to it than the black veil? The veil (netting) stops birds from coming to the bush to feed on the blueberries. Fear stops/ holds back happy thoughts/sweet dreams from coming.

and settles like a jealous lover,
while a thistle fairy floats
into a spider’s web,
a dance captured, crafted

The surreal feel continues with a seemingly delightful picture of a thistle fairy floating, but this also turns sour. The little fairy is captured in the spider’s web, who stops the fairy from flying, from dancing, from singing, forcing it to fight to escape, but I have a bad feeling. I love *on summer's sighs* by the way.

for flight, not fight, only singing
on summer’s sighs.
A cautious caterpillar hiccoughs
along the wall, wondering

Another happy-at-first-glance scene with a slow-moving caterpillar, but this is quickly broken by emphasising its strange convulsive movements and the fact it might never live to be a butterfly, and this cautious crawling is all there is...

if it will ever fly,
and the grass worries
itself brown in the sun’s glare, unflinching
as the mirror that bares
the truth of years.

And save the best for last, the final big bombshell is set up with the sight of the drying out grass: "worries itself brown in the sun's glare" - how brilliant an image is that? A fabulous personification that hits home for us humans. What does all the excessive amount of worrying do to us? In the meantime Life goes on with full power, and unaware/uncaring (unflinching is an excellent word-choice here) of the effect it has on us, just like how the sun shrivels up the grass. An unfortunate side effect. New grass will grow in its place. Then you compare this to the resigned sadness one feels when looking into a mirror facing the unfortunate side effects of the years passing... that was again totally unexpected and not gonna lie, hit me real hard.

Regarding patterns: Lovely alliterations throughout. I can see you've had a lot of play here with linebreaks and carrying the reader from one image to the next, with powerful final words and enticing hooks at the end of verses pulling you to the next.
Personification of caterpillar, grass, and a line of supernatural creatures: ghosts, spectre, fairy. A feel of horror: all things lovely turn into something sad, even sinister.

The final verse breaks the four-line pattern of stanzas and this makes the final line even more powerful, which seems to be at the very heart of the poem:

“ the truth of years”

The overwhelming feeling I get from the poem is *unsettled*. Looking around the idyllic summer garden that is full of reminders how all things are transitory, with the exception of the sun itself, that is somehow detached from all creatures it shines on, unsympathetic to their plights. By the end, the *unsettled* feeling becomes *resignation*. This is how it is. The truth. No good fighting it. We can't. Like the thistle fairy couldn't fight its way out of the spider's web. Woven into the summer garden scene there are all these dark thoughts and visions... and sadness... with some acceptance.

Kathy, this poem is astonishingly brilliant. You've totally embraced the lessons learnt and taken it all to another level. So very well done.

[Moonchime]

I cannot thank you enough for such a wonderfully thorough and considered review Mz A - it has given me such joy and warms my heart that you have taken such time and effort. It is also enormously gratifying that you have understood and unpicked so much.

Then the first bomb hits in line three.

I loved this description of my shocks as "bombs" - it's the perfect articulation of the contrast and deeper level that I was trying to depict. As for how you should feel about the ghosts - well you're right they don't mean any harm, as in my mind one of them had not long ago sat in one of those same chairs and enjoyed the sun, but like everything in life, nothing is forever...
Originally I wasn't sure how the chairs were going to fit in the poem - but they were such a definitive presence I couldn't leave them out and actually, they were quite unsettling.

Bomb No2 hits with the Spectre of Fear, echoing the surreal appearance of ghosts from the first verse. But this one is obviously a malevolent force that sneaks in, makes its presence known and takes over and wouldn't leave, "like a jealous lover".

Absolutely - once fear gets a hold on you it won't let you go - it "guards/dominates" you in a possessive way that becomes destructive even though it may have come in a protective guise. All of your suggestions were spot on.

The surreal feel continues with a seemingly delightful picture of a thistle fairy floating, but this also turns sour. The little fairy is captured in the spider’s web, who stops the fairy from flying, from dancing, from singing, forcing it to fight to escape, but I have a bad feeling. I love *on summer's sighs* by the way.

Yes the fairy became a symbol of something whose aim was thwarted, who could never reach the full potential that it was made for. Likewise with the caterpillar; there were so many things that could happen to it before it ever, if ever, got to fly; the fear of never reaching the completeness of who you are meant to be...
Quite honestly you have done such a great job of analysing that I don't think I can add more - the apparently "peaceful" summer scene is far from it once you scratch below the surface and you have described this beautifully.
Reading your review was like travelling through my thought processes and finding vindication - like coming home.

I will post below the second review I received and you will understand how utterly brilliant it was to receive yours. Despite the FL review being positive it missed my point - well - you will see.

[Moonchime]

The more "thorough" of the 2 reviews of my poem from Future Learn, the first review was so short I was grateful for something more than a couple of lines although both reviews took the poem on a superficial level:

How does it make you feel?
I really like this poem. It gives me the feeling of looking out of the window and taking the time to zoom in and pay attention to detail on the most minute areas of a garden in a creative way.

Can you identify any patterns in the poem?
There's is a bit of alliteration in the 4th quatrain with the f sound first: for flight, fight. Then the S sound: singing, summer's sighs. Then the c sound: cautious, caterpillar, hiccoughs. Then finally w: wall and wondering.

What are the puzzles in the poem?
I think the poem was wonderfully written there weren't many puzzles. "unflinching as the mirror that bares the truth of years" was a puzzle to me as I cannot picture what this could mean. The rest of the poem was creatively description and could imagine all of it just perfectly.