I learned a valuable lesson- listening is not the way to enjoy your poetry. Luckily I read it first, had I listened first I would have spoiled it by laughing. AI has a lot to learn. I hope it never does.
I’ve no idea where the switch is but I won’t ever listen again. As well as the train smash, it’s like watching a movie after reading a book. Never good enough.
Apparently, you can’t switch it off, but you can change the voice. So maybe in about five years I will have worked out how to do that. Yes, I recommend just not clicking that button!
Actually, I suppose it’s best to leave it on – it’s more accessible to have somebody read the audio. I would do it myself but I really don’t have that kind of energy!
I love the en dashes, but almost wonder if they would land better as periods. And the lines that contain them could be combined with the line above them to alternate the flow and and create one long thought with a crash at the end. I know the dashes are meant to convey the girl's feverish delirium (very well conveyed!), but hmmm. Maybe if I read it on paper and the words were uneven and jumbled and blotched from sweating palms.
Your style is your own, but I think cutting some of the paragraph and section breaks would help the poem land a lot harder, not unlike the dying rabbit you describe so vividly.
Also - "My father’s gait entered me through his shoulder" is one of the best single lines I've read in a while. It made me stop reading the poem for a second in order to slow down. That's the moment when you grabbed my attention and inspired this comment.
I think that’s an interesting idea, but I’m quite happy with the dashes! The reason being, that a full-stop finishes a sentence. But this night has never finished happening because my fever has never finished happening – I’m still in a fever now because my immune system runs out of control with chronic illness. There’s no stopping it. No end. So the dashes are loadbearing here, and they carry meaning for me. I often think there are ways of making writing land harder, but I will usually only be tempted to do that if it feels ‘true’ to me on some level.
My attention and alertness are constantly dissolving and coming back again, and for me the best way to express that is by cutting off in places where it has genuinely faded. I do like the idea of longer sentences that crash, but not more full-stops. I think that if I was going to present this as a ‘finished’ piece of prose I’d probably cut it by quite a lot though.
Thank you for the feedback though; I appreciate it. Hopefully this explains why I’m attached to the dashes 😆
Chronic illnesses are rough. I've got at least one friend with one. I can see how the dashes would be meaningful for you -- no end, no closure, no time of genuine rest, only the occasional respite from the disease.
Thanks for the reply, and definitely keep on being true to yourself. :)
“That night has never finished happening” is a masterclass in a first line. Much like your mother’s hands, this piece never hurries. It kills and it blooms x
A room, if seated still and long enough, will begin to warp one's contours, for the better or for the worse. Who knows whether it'd be day or night when one, at last, opens the door?
Great choice for a photo. I've gotta say, this is one epic piece of work. I absolutely love the way you break from scene to scene to create this greater story that is sorta haunting, but really touching in the end.
This evokes memories that, with each reminder, warp and dissolve into something that is ultimately more of a dream – not a reconstruction of reality, but rather an artifact referring to a single feeling, a specific taste, smell, detail... very nicely written, as always.
Holly, I keep going back to that April image — the wood, the bare wood and the pear tree. I’d like you to read me here (you might laugh) — it might be because I am so terrible at remembering names of flora and fauna in different languages, but I thought you were writing about a peach tree, so the whole text kept losing its meaning in a way. But thinking about it now, maybe I just projected something warmer onto the peach. Pear is cooler and more austere — it slides apart so cleanly.
I will hold onto the “blossomed on bare wood” image though. Blossom before leaf — pear does this. Bloom on bare. Fire in cold.
That makes sense – (would I ever laugh at you?! ;-)) I actually don’t think I’ve ever seen a peach tree. I don’t know if they can grow in England! Yes, peaches would be much warmer & more vibrant!
Reminded me of Tarkovsky writing about Mirror and that’s why I thought instinctively about Mirror for a still:
“Somewhere here there is an echo of the image of the lyrical hero incarnate in literature, and of course in poetry; he is absent from view, but what he thinks, how “he thinks, and what he thinks about build up a graphic and clearly-defined picture of him. This subsequently became the starting-point of Mirror.
The way to this poetic logic, however, is fraught with adversity. Opposition awaits you at every turn, despite the fact that the principle in question is quite as legitimate as that of the logic of literature or dramaturgy; it is simply that a different component becomes the main element in the construction. One is reminded here of that sad dictum of Hermann Hesse: 'A poet is something you are allowed to be, but not allowed to become.'”
This is very interesting and possible I don’t grasp all of it completely. Perhaps that when you actually try to follow feeling and image rather than plot/logic, society pushes back? I also like that bit about the mirror – the idea that we can learn about something basically from their inner life.
The description of a room changing when someone is frightened, with objects holding their positions carefully, is incredibly vivid.
Thank you. Whenever I have a fever, the objects seem so ‘present’ – it’s quite a trip – the water glass watching me, etc 😆
Photo: Martin Masson on Unsplash (edited)
Beautiful.
I learned a valuable lesson- listening is not the way to enjoy your poetry. Luckily I read it first, had I listened first I would have spoiled it by laughing. AI has a lot to learn. I hope it never does.
ARGH! Am I able to switch these AI things off?! Because I’ve had a couple of messages talking about my voice, which is obviously not my voice 😆
I’ve no idea where the switch is but I won’t ever listen again. As well as the train smash, it’s like watching a movie after reading a book. Never good enough.
Apparently, you can’t switch it off, but you can change the voice. So maybe in about five years I will have worked out how to do that. Yes, I recommend just not clicking that button!
Actually, I suppose it’s best to leave it on – it’s more accessible to have somebody read the audio. I would do it myself but I really don’t have that kind of energy!
I love the en dashes, but almost wonder if they would land better as periods. And the lines that contain them could be combined with the line above them to alternate the flow and and create one long thought with a crash at the end. I know the dashes are meant to convey the girl's feverish delirium (very well conveyed!), but hmmm. Maybe if I read it on paper and the words were uneven and jumbled and blotched from sweating palms.
Your style is your own, but I think cutting some of the paragraph and section breaks would help the poem land a lot harder, not unlike the dying rabbit you describe so vividly.
Also - "My father’s gait entered me through his shoulder" is one of the best single lines I've read in a while. It made me stop reading the poem for a second in order to slow down. That's the moment when you grabbed my attention and inspired this comment.
I think that’s an interesting idea, but I’m quite happy with the dashes! The reason being, that a full-stop finishes a sentence. But this night has never finished happening because my fever has never finished happening – I’m still in a fever now because my immune system runs out of control with chronic illness. There’s no stopping it. No end. So the dashes are loadbearing here, and they carry meaning for me. I often think there are ways of making writing land harder, but I will usually only be tempted to do that if it feels ‘true’ to me on some level.
My attention and alertness are constantly dissolving and coming back again, and for me the best way to express that is by cutting off in places where it has genuinely faded. I do like the idea of longer sentences that crash, but not more full-stops. I think that if I was going to present this as a ‘finished’ piece of prose I’d probably cut it by quite a lot though.
Thank you for the feedback though; I appreciate it. Hopefully this explains why I’m attached to the dashes 😆
Chronic illnesses are rough. I've got at least one friend with one. I can see how the dashes would be meaningful for you -- no end, no closure, no time of genuine rest, only the occasional respite from the disease.
Thanks for the reply, and definitely keep on being true to yourself. :)
Thank you ☺️
Just wow, you transport me to places my mind had forgotten, they stir the body into remembering 🙏🖤
I’m glad, thank you Simone, I do love it when writing bypasses the mind to the body! 🫶🏻
🙏🏼✍🏻💙
“That night has never finished happening” is a masterclass in a first line. Much like your mother’s hands, this piece never hurries. It kills and it blooms x
You write comments like poetry. I’m here for it <3
Thank you.
A room, if seated still and long enough, will begin to warp one's contours, for the better or for the worse. Who knows whether it'd be day or night when one, at last, opens the door?
‘A room, if seated still and long enough, will begin to warp one's contours’ – absolutely. It’s an interesting process (among other things!)
"I have learned how a room changes when someone in it is frightened; objects hold their positions carefully. My mother’s hands never hurried."
Oh man, chills!
Thank you Apra! :-)
Gonna have to read this one several times to fully unpack it, but the first go-around was so visceral and fantastic
Thank you Yardena! 🩶
Great choice for a photo. I've gotta say, this is one epic piece of work. I absolutely love the way you break from scene to scene to create this greater story that is sorta haunting, but really touching in the end.
Thank you Michael! I was aiming for a little haunting, so I’m glad that came across :-)
This evokes memories that, with each reminder, warp and dissolve into something that is ultimately more of a dream – not a reconstruction of reality, but rather an artifact referring to a single feeling, a specific taste, smell, detail... very nicely written, as always.
Absolutely… more of a dream and referring to a feeling rather than reality – spot on. Thank you Michal :-)
Was only awesome.
:-)
There is so much beauty and nostalgia in this, Holly. Your writing transports me. Brilliant as always! 🤍🤍
Thank you very much Rea 🩶
Holly, I keep going back to that April image — the wood, the bare wood and the pear tree. I’d like you to read me here (you might laugh) — it might be because I am so terrible at remembering names of flora and fauna in different languages, but I thought you were writing about a peach tree, so the whole text kept losing its meaning in a way. But thinking about it now, maybe I just projected something warmer onto the peach. Pear is cooler and more austere — it slides apart so cleanly.
I will hold onto the “blossomed on bare wood” image though. Blossom before leaf — pear does this. Bloom on bare. Fire in cold.
That makes sense – (would I ever laugh at you?! ;-)) I actually don’t think I’ve ever seen a peach tree. I don’t know if they can grow in England! Yes, peaches would be much warmer & more vibrant!
Reminded me of Tarkovsky writing about Mirror and that’s why I thought instinctively about Mirror for a still:
“Somewhere here there is an echo of the image of the lyrical hero incarnate in literature, and of course in poetry; he is absent from view, but what he thinks, how “he thinks, and what he thinks about build up a graphic and clearly-defined picture of him. This subsequently became the starting-point of Mirror.
The way to this poetic logic, however, is fraught with adversity. Opposition awaits you at every turn, despite the fact that the principle in question is quite as legitimate as that of the logic of literature or dramaturgy; it is simply that a different component becomes the main element in the construction. One is reminded here of that sad dictum of Hermann Hesse: 'A poet is something you are allowed to be, but not allowed to become.'”
Andrei Tarkovsky - “Sculpting In Time”
This is very interesting and possible I don’t grasp all of it completely. Perhaps that when you actually try to follow feeling and image rather than plot/logic, society pushes back? I also like that bit about the mirror – the idea that we can learn about something basically from their inner life.
So compelling .. I remember detection but thank gd I don’t enter back inside them, or don’t want to Amazing writing thank you
Thank you!
This line,
"My father’s gait entered me through his shoulder."
I felt this as if I was the one being carried, wow.
Thank you Jennifer! I’m glad you felt it because I thought initially it might be a bit too odd :)