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Post by laura on Jan 31, 2006 19:27:41 GMT -8
Click, clack, tap,
Like a chant
That beats on
In my mind...
And a glow
On my face:
Pale as fear,
Blank as white...
But now I hear a symphony
Sauntering through the air.
Stronger and swifter, it builds,
Sounding drums and wind-soft strings.
Stimulated, anxious,
My fingers match its rhythm.
My mind so fast, I can’t keep up,
But if I stop, I lose control.
Hands shaking, it’s hard to handle
The speed of imagination.
Exhausted from the sprint, I slow–
Against my will–to a halt.
The once great creator
Is dammed by her own.
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Post by Ramona on Jan 31, 2006 19:35:52 GMT -8
Click, clack, tap,
Seems a bit misplaces, I think. Perhaps the words are too harsh.
Pale as fear,
Very nice simile.
Sauntering through the air.
Awesome personification, I've never heard that before.
My mind so fast, I can’t keep up,
But if I stop, I lose control.
Great imagery here.
The speed of imagination.
A fantastic phrase!
The once great creator
Is dammed by her own.
Perfect, fitting ending, though I think it would've been better if it had been foreshadowed earlier in the poem. And I'm a bit lost on the concept, it's about a composer, correct?
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Post by laura on Jan 31, 2006 19:48:00 GMT -8
It's about a writer, actually.
Click, clack, tap,
Like a chant
That beats on
In my mind...
And a glow
On my face:
Pale as fear,
Blank as white...
This describes when I have writer's block. I'm sitting at my computer staring at the blank white screen. The typing (click, clack, tap), because I'm not inspired, is just a bunch of meaningless drivel. My mind is empty, so that's all I hear and that's all I see.
But now I hear a symphony
Sauntering through the air.
Stronger and swifter, it builds,
Sounding drums and wind-soft strings.
The symphony is inspiration coming on to me. Now that my imagination is triggered, the otherwise boring tapping of the keys sounds musical.
Stimulated, anxious,
My fingers match its rhythm.
My mind so fast, I can’t keep up,
But if I stop, I lose control.
Hands shaking, it’s hard to handle
The speed of imagination.
Now, I'm so inspired that my ideas are coming faster to me than I can type/write them out.
Exhausted from the sprint, I slow–
Against my will–to a halt.
The once great creator
Is dammed by her own.
It's gotten to the point where I've gone so far that my creations/characters have taken over my imagination, have taken over the story themselves, and I'm once again stuck because they've turned my writing in a way that I didn't expect.
Kinda abstract, I guess, but I hope I helped you understand it.
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Post by Ramona on Jan 31, 2006 19:52:30 GMT -8
Oh, OK, I just got thrown off by the symphony analogies.
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Post by cry,crayola. on Jan 31, 2006 19:56:28 GMT -8
the first stanza is very choppy.
as for the rest of the poem, it just needs to flow better. there's not so many descriptions. this is a harsh comparison, but it's like reading a childrens book. ya know, like dick and jane? the words just feel like they need to be connected better.
brilliant idea, though. the third stanza is my favoirite, i think
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Post by laura on Jan 31, 2006 20:00:08 GMT -8
The first stanza's supposed to be choppy. It's like the beat of the tapping computer keys.
As for the rest, yes, methinks it would benefit from some better flow. Thank ye.
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Post by cry,crayola. on Jan 31, 2006 20:04:13 GMT -8
ok, i can see the choppiness needed, but
'that beat's on
in my mind...'
that really really really bugs me to a definate discomfort.
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Post by Robin on Feb 1, 2006 5:06:31 GMT -8
I didn't really enjoy it.
You didn't use analogies and metaphors to their full extent - in other words, you BS'd the whole thing. The original meaning of the poem means nothing if you have it buried in worthless analogies that aren't insightful at all. People don't care what your original idea for something was: all they care about is how it turned out, and this didn't turn out so well. Would people have adored The Mona Lisa half so much if DaVinci hadn't of executed that ambiguous smile so perfectly? Would the munchkins have adored Dorothy if she hadn't of, by chance, mushed the evil witch? She didn't come to Munchkinland to help the munchkins - she was caught in a tornado and carried there. It was only by chance that she liberated the munchkins, but did they care? Heck no. Why should we care about good intentions? They certainly didn't in Jurassic Park:
"But I had good intentions!"
"But they didn't work, you old fart bag."
"Damn."
Besides the not executing your idea properly, I didn't particularly like the style here. It's straightforward to the MAX, like "I hate Jews YOW-za YOW-za YOWZA" straightforward.
In the first stanza, your choppiness doesn't really work for you. If you know how to type quickly, the keys aren't choppy at all. They're very flowing and almost magical. Like a church goer beating himself over the head with his hymn book until he's in a holy trance. I don't know how you type, but most people who pursue the computer seriously type at least 50 gwam. UNless you're typing painfully slow, it's not going to sound like a chant - even if you dop't have any inspiration. It sounds poetic, yeah, but it's about as far from the truth as you can get, and poetry is all about being frank.
"Hands shaking, it’s hard to handle
The speed of imagination."
This line stood out as particularly blunt to me. It's like "No shit, Sherlock?" Don't spoon-feed the readers your ideas. I'm guilty of doing it on several occasions, myself, but that doesn't make it a good or even an acceptable thing to do.
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