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This Poem was Submitted By: Mark Andrew Hislop On Date: 2006-01-24 04:20:37 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Thou Wannabe

How now this prancing life-or-death concern of yours? No fleck of spent metal from your fly-wheel’s a cudgel you can bludgeon your wars into an heirloom with. All's well and good if you can trick slick melancholy into a classic, but a bluff decline in taste, predictable in full before your pen begins its fatal journey, reifies stuffiness: fluffied up into form, it still gives our heads no rest. How irony makes you buy mistake: how one suck on Shakespeare's dugs sparks a blue fury for teeth to chew through to a poem with - gosh - with what? Slobber? Son, you’d be lucky exceeding to bloody your gums with a toothpick.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas H. Smihula On Date: 2006-02-07 06:21:18
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.57143
Another poem that is difficult for this reader to swallow. It felt as if it had to much fluff at least for this reader. I really like the way you format your poems yet the depth is to much for me to handle for I lose the point in reading it. Like the part about the pen begins it fatal journey, melancholy into a classic another well thought out line. Just some thoughts from this reader.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2006-01-31 20:32:22
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.75000
As I once admonished The King: Cough up the hairball. All in all a tightly wound little top. Its prickly point a nice pick for my herring. Who rants better? tew

This Poem was Critiqued By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2006-01-24 17:04:32
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Mark Andrew, Something herein kept pulling me back until I succumbed to a crit. I likely don't understand the piece in toto and this is the time for a few-words response. "Spot on, mate!" Your title has appeal and the 1st sentence reels in the reader like a large swordfish on the end of your line. I like the phrase "if you can trick slick melancholy into a classic". Ditto: "your pen begins its fatal journey" then your playful "bluff" and "stuffiness" and "FLUFFIED" while your theme is noir, your poetics add a light touch. The grammatical errors in lines 2 and 4 bothered me but will not bother another person on TPL/planet. Is the line about the Bard another way of saying "son of a bitch"? If we had categories, I'd place this piece in "EXPERT" or some variation of same. I enjoyed this. Mell Morris

This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2006-01-24 09:33:29
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
MAH, Man, this one makes me laugh. And it is, btw, universal, even if this universe is too close to my portal - how's that for a word redolent of Shakespeare's dug? Let me join your point directly, since I get it (I think) and disagree. A poet, all poets, gotta reach for something. It can be Aunt Sallie's apple pie; or it can be "life-or-death concern[s]." Shit, I love Aunt Sallie's apple pie. But i'd rather fall on my face reaching for some sort of handle on a "life-or-death" concern than write a successful poem on Aunt Sallie's apple pie. One can always eat Aunt Sallie's apple pie. But I find that "life-or-death concern[s}" can mostly only be fulfilled - or at least completed - by poetry; hence the fluffying ups to form, and perhaps inevitable failures. As I said, I'd rather write a failure on a "life-or-death concern." Now, one can, I guess, write a poem about both "life-or-death concern[s]" and Aunt Sallie's apple pie. But when there are things a tad bit "larger" out there, like death, God, the night sky, the sea - the insistence on Aunt Sallie's apple pie as a poetic subject strikes me as a revolutionary choice against nature, against the numinous, against the grand. The choice of poetic subject, and voice/style, gives away a large part of one's spiritual, political, and otherwise hidden "game." I have a sense in which, knowing you, you are talking about yourself. Which, i feel, is unfair. You may be a "Thou Wannabe," but i would criticize much of your work for a rejection of "life-or-death" concerns - man, you're a talented poet, with a rich, penetrating imagination. God gave you that gift for all of us, your brothers and sisters here. Damn it, reach for the answers, relentlessy pursue "life-or-death concern[s]" - give us something immortal, something we can transcend the grave with, or at least take to it. I don't need a poem about Aunt Sallie's apple pie, damn it. As I said, I can eat it. I also have a sense - because i AM a poet who relentlessly pursues "life-or-death concern[s]" - that this could be directed toward me, too. And certain descriptions, shall i say, apply. :) I've personally heard this criticism before, when I was writing bad poetry that WAS a failure, when the end result would have warranted "Son, you'd be lucky exceeding [nice, quaint "classical" formulation, that] to / bloody your gums with a toothpick." But I think i am writing poems that are somewhat successful now pursuing such larger themes. And if not, and you do direct this at me, too, why haven't you told me in critiques that I'm falling on my face, rather than giving me compliments? I only toss this at you 'cause, like you - and, if you haven't noticed, we have certain psychic similarities - i also am beleagured by self doubts. I do not think you blow smoke at me (JCH's recent poem comes to mind, delightfully) or whisper flattering bull in my ear, I trust your honesty and forthrightness, but . . . forgive me, as I said, this comment is fueled by my own self doubts and perpetual self-examination. Anyway, to go back, if I am succeeding somewhat in my writing now, a criticism like this directed at a more poetically immature Mark Steven Scheffer, for example, may have frozen me in my tracks, and prevented a movement toward some meaningful examination of "life-or-death concern[s]." You shouldn't do that to anyone. Ever. Let's all reach for the stars. So, to get back again, I disagree with this. It's wonderful and noble to be a wannabe. All "bes" were wannabes at one time, even that Shakespeare guy. And . . . taste can decline. How can anyone dispute that? True, there are also false beliefs of "decline." And that's an issue for debate. I, for one, look at contemporary tastes, in poetry and everywhere else, and do see a decline: the rejection of the grand, the sublime, etc. I remember one poetry site I frequented where it said, "we don't want any poems about God, death . . . " And they weren't kidding. Anyway, the reminder that one may be "false" in one's belief of decline is always a good thing, as self-examination and questioning of one's positions always are. As to form: I found this well-written, well-executed. Very tightly written, brilliantly searing at times. Which makes the poem, formally as a poem, an unquestioned success. Damn, you got me thinking. And I thank you. MSS

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