This Poem was Submitted By: Sandra J Kelley On Date: 2003-11-12 16:44:38 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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A Fragment

He is afraid it will be good. Each day, chained to his chair, He types pages of his novel, A story he is telling to no one. At the end of the day he presses delete. Freed from his motion control system He began by erasing himself; The top half of his lip, A chunk of his wrist, The tip of his right ear. the stories,      faster than I can write them, are being erased. After the words have filled up the air,              How will we breath.

Copyright © November 2003 Sandra J Kelley


This Poem was Critiqued By: Erzahl Leo M. Espino On Date: 2003-12-07 17:27:27
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.72727
Hi Sandra, There is always a mystery behind your writings, and this one is no exception. “He is afraid it will be good. Each day, chained to his chair, He types pages of his novel, A story he is telling to no one. At the end of the day he presses delete.“ --- Here, you are the second person observing a writer doing his work. Using the phrase “he presses delete” made us think that he is using a “computer” in writing. Sometimes we are all like that, afraid whenever good things come along our way. We are afraid it might be just temporary and that the fall from the top is hard to bear. “Freed from his motion control system He began by erasing himself; The top half of his lip, A chunk of his wrist, The tip of his right ear.” --- The words and images here can be interpreted as someone who is physically ill. You picture the writer as someone with special needs. “the stories, faster than I can write them, are being erased. After the words have filled up the air, How will we breath.” --- Here, you are the writer who writes an “author’s life”. Something like a reporter or biographer of an interesting but dying man. The line “How will we breath” is an ironic question that caters the unfinished life story of a dying man. Wow, I hope I was able to interpret this right! Would really like to know what is the real story behind this entry. Again, you never seize to attract my attention with your work’s profundity. Yes Sandra, you always write with short but intriguing poems, just like what your title say, “A Fragment”! Thanks for the share! As always, Erzahl :)


This Poem was Critiqued By: Elaine Marie Phalen On Date: 2003-12-03 14:14:33
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.91304
Hi Sandra: This is a poem that rings (type-clicks?) with truth. The fear of failure can sometimes pale beside the terror of success. A goal that needs to be achieved is a motivator; a goal accomplished is a reward but can also become a liability. The achiever then has something to live up to, and possibly no further "carrot" to pursue. He is afraid it will be good. [Indeed, and possibly it will ... which is the problem] Each day, chained to his chair, [Effective metaphor to show the restrictive pressure of anxiety] He types pages of his novel, A story he is telling to no one. [If nobody knows, then there is no commitment and it's easier to stop] At the end of the day he presses delete. [Deletion may suggests removal of tension as well as destruction of the manuscript] The middle strophe then shifts to the writer whose self-confidence seems to be dissolving with every word. I like the way you describe his "removal" in visual terms, like the erasure of an art work. Freed from his motion control system He began by erasing himself; [Why not "begins"? Everything else is present tense.] The top half of his lip, [Thus, his voice is muted but not obliterated, so he can write again] A chunk of his wrist, [His typing ability will be hindered, another excuse] The tip of his right ear. [He can be less attentive to either criticism, or encouragement] the stories, faster than I can write them, are being erased. Surprising shift to first person; we now realize that the speaker has been reflecting on his writer persona, distancing himself from it. Authorial voice is fading quickly. The real-life individual intrudes with a comment. There's a sense of futility here, as if he knows that he'll never really complete the work-in-progress because it is a case of one step forward, two steps back, over and over. He also knows that this is a great loss, as the untold tales are worth sharing. After the words have filled up the air, How will we breath.[?] [sp: breathe] The closing links the two perspectives ["we"]: speaker and frustrated alter ego. Ultimately, he may feel himself choking on his own repressed creativity. This is a haunting conclusion. The poem appears deceptively simple but because of the dual perspective, it isn't. It reminds me of Margaret Atwood's work, in fact. She was, of course, a poet long before her novels began to be written ... but unlike this character, she was willing to unleash them and take the risk. I like Atwood's style and you share some similar elements. Excellent, and much enjoyed. Brenda
This Poem was Critiqued By: Jordan Brendez Bandojo On Date: 2003-11-26 11:11:02
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.76000
Hi Sandra, This poem reflects to me as a sad one. I feel the writer's contemplation of his own thoughts and writings as you described in your first line "He is afraid it will be good." There seems to be a restraint in the influx of his ideas because it may appear tasteless to others and his effort is impeded "At the end of the day he presses delete." I like the way your words here. It is a little abstract but I can see it's reinforcing the tone. I idea is timely for me because it connotes technology like pressing the delete button on the keyboard when things go wrong. Just a thought. The sadness is carried out effectively especially in the second stanza. Your choice of words and descriptions are undeniably precise and appropriate to carry on the tone. I can really see the implication of technology in your ideas as you associate motion control system bringing me into the world of computers. Thus, originality is manifested. The visual is contretize with "top half of his lip", "chunk of his wrist" and "tip of his right ear". A mysteriouly reflective ending you have here: After the words have filled up the air, How will we breath. A little comment on "breath"---I think it should be a verb "breathe". Overall, you have carried out the tone effectively and it is a merit on your poem. Thanks for sharing, Sandra.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2003-11-21 08:07:40
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.64000
Remembering the days when indeed the rods came one after the other.....faster then a speeding bullet so they say....mom used to say be careful what you say to her or you will become her next poem........are you speaking of your muse here or a dear friend or perhaps the other you? It does not matter for it is good.....like the style, the word flow, the images you project with the flare of your pen over and over you do this......nice job poet.....erasing stories faster then you can write them does tell me this is not only you but the inner you as well........thanks for posting, for sharing with us what is given to you and for just being an active part of this link. Be safe, God Bless, Claire
This Poem was Critiqued By: Jane A Day On Date: 2003-11-20 13:59:50
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Dear Sandra, I really like this narrative that turns surreal and yet real for the pinch. I see in the end a love one dying and taking all his stories with him. I love the turn for the third person to the I to the we. Great images of his disappearance. I wonder if the language of the upper section could be richer--more inviting--by adding snippets--just playful peeks--of what is being erased. That would balance the language of me. Thank you so much, Jane
This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2003-11-19 22:29:19
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
SJK- Without a doubt, one of my favorites here on TPL in some time. Very clever use of a common action to make one stop and think. Tom.
This Poem was Critiqued By: April Rose Ochinang Claessens On Date: 2003-11-18 03:31:18
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.00000
nice poem sandra. i just noticed something wrong with the last part.maybe its a typographical error...the line that says: After the words have filled up the air, How will we BREATH. isnt the last word suppose to be "BREATHE" because its a verb? please dont fret coz honestly, i like your work.i desire to read more of them soon.this one has touched my emotions. i feel for the persona of the poem.it is a sad, sad thing that happened here.you were able to express the sadness effectively.i felt it especially at the first part, i.e., He is afraid it will be good. Each day, chained to his chair, He types pages of his novel, A story he is telling to no one. At the end of the day he presses delete. this is the part where i had to heave a deep sigh because really, i felt it.this is because (again)you were able to express the sadness very effectively.good job! april
This Poem was Critiqued By: Sean Donaghy On Date: 2003-11-13 14:37:25
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.85714
Sandra - Your mystery writer of the first stanza piques my interest. Is he your favorite writer? Your muse? An alter ego? Whatever - he is obscure and certainly strangely strange in that he "deletes" his days work, consigning it to the ether rather than someone's interested eyes. The second stanza blows me away! The images you've created are absolutely amazing! I still can't figure out who the mystery writer is but I sure like the way you tell his story! Thanks for the effort! Sean
This Poem was Critiqued By: Annette L Cowling On Date: 2003-11-13 07:07:32
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.00000
Sandra - I get the feeling from this poem that the writer is devoted to his craft. He is writing for the satifaction of utilizing the skill he was born with. The words going up into the air is a very moving part. I like the unique idea of writing for the sake of writing and not looking for any return. This is an idea I have not seen before. Keep up the good work! Annette
This Poem was Critiqued By: Irene E Fraley On Date: 2003-11-12 17:38:50
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
This is somewhat abstract to me, but it reads well, has a tone of shadows and fear. I thought of the disoriented, dislocated multi-imaged thinking of a schizophrenic. This could be the way he sees himself as he writes in his head or on paper a story to try and tell who he is, and he is losing the battle and parts of himself. It is my history that causes me to read this poem this way, and perhaps you have a totaly different meaning in mind, so forgive me if I'm in outer space on this one. The tone of the poem is so well done. The feeling that a person is dissapearing in front of us due to what? I also thought of Alzheimer's disease in which a person is lost bit by bit. So very sad. I liked the poem and it reads well out loud. I weish I knew what it was that creates this shadow tone. Good writing! Rene
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