Weather

[Dave]

A poem from Fives November now open for comment: in the original and then modified forms

Weather
original 

Striped glass fills a huge blue void;
rain from a clear solid sky breaks
expectation into lightning shards. 
Clouds smile along, shaped as folds
in a sunfilled down of feathers.

Wet music runs through downcast
reds and yellows perched precariously;
it is streams I hear, a blood rush over
mountain stones in my imagination.
A crow poses on a roof, watches.

The day is full of dull murmurs.
If I look away for a second and back,
the crow is gone, an image imprinted
in reverse, its certainty now doubt,
nature's colours all black mourning.

Modified

weather 

Rain floods from a cold blue void,
its wet music castinets  
through downcast reds and yellows perched precariously
on the verge of winter;

A solitary crow occupies a roof,
watchful of balance and sway.

If I look away for a second and back,
the crow is gone, its image imprinted
in reverse, its certainty now doubt,
nature's colours all black mourning.
 

[skylightgreg]

yes, I think the modified poem works really well.

[Colm Roe]

The modified poem is definitely better.
When I read the original now it's trying too hard, and it lacks the visual/sensual precision you're renowned for. 
Minor crit, L3 could be split... it looks strange. I've an idea that it's due to whatever device you used to upload it.
'Perched on the verge of Winter' is just superb. 

[indar]

I've read a couple of times and have decided you've written two different poems here. Perhaps, as Colm, says the first is a bit overwritten, but gosh, I miss some of the imagery and atmosphere of the first in the second. Could there be a compromise perhaps?

[Mark]

Here's my 2-minute edit for what it's worth - I took the lines I liked, wiped most of the modifiers, juggled a little, added nothing but a single word, and evaded all that crow after-imagery stuff. 


The day is full of murmurs.

Striped glass fills a blue void;
rain from a clear sky breaks
expectation into shards. 

It is streams I hear, a rush over
mountain stones in my imagination,
nature's colours are all black mourning.

A crow poses on a roof, watches.




 

[Dave]

Thanks Mark. Excellent edit

[binx]

The edited version brings a bit of Wallace Stevens to mind (Thirteen Ways...) and a word like 'precariously' is even hard to say aloud so streamlining to a more natural setting without all the commentary is good.  

[Tracy Mitchell]

Late to the party again, I am.

This is an interesting poem--engaging.  It is good to be able to see the versions together. I am not seeing one version completely better than the other, each having their strong points.  

On the whole I prefer the first stanza from the modified version, with some comments.  

Rain floods from a cold blue void,
its wet music castinets  
through downcast reds and yellows perched precariously
on the verge of winter;

L.1 – “huge blue void” in the original version, “cold blue void” in this version.  One too many modifiers, I think–”blue void” stands well on its own.

L.2 - consider deleting the word “its”.  This would untether the “wet music”, in a good way.  L.2 – “castinets >>castanets”.  Love the verbification.

L.3 – delete “precariously”.   Sonically it is a big upgrade, and I think the meaning as well.

------

My preferred follow-on language is from the original, with the first lines jiggered a bit:

Streams, I hear–a blood rush 
over imagined mountain stones.
A crow poses on a roof, watches.

The day is full of dull murmurs.
If I look away for a second and back,
the crow is gone, an image imprinted
in reverse, its certainty now doubt,
nature's colours all black mourning.

So, for whatever this was worth.  Take or toss.

Cheers.

T