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Additional Notes:
Mark H. told me how to re-write this into a sonnet but I could not give up some of the words I liked the best! Thanks anyway...Mark...I know I am hopeless!

This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-08-03 14:32:21
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Marilyn: Per your additional notes: re-writes are sometimes difficult, because of two factors. One, it is hard to "kill your darlings", as a famous writer whose name escapes me once advised; Two, as our beloved poet Rick Barnes has written, sometimes a poem just IS. It has an identity and life of its own. Even with these things in mind, my fingers itch to type suggestions for ever so slight changes because though I think the poem is excellent, it is so close to 'perfection' that it calls out for tightening and trimming - at least to this reader. That said, please know I am a fan of your writing. You have a way of reaching into a reader's heart, whether you write with formal diction, as you have here, or free-wheeling free verse. I think that the immensity of the feelings *behind* the writing of this poem ask for a formal container, and also seek the distance of linguistics of an earlier age. I am uncertain if this works completely in this poem, but nevertheless, it moved and moves me. You show us the anguish from which this poem is born; though "she" speaks to us formally, she reveals her heart and soul. The only changes I will suggest, therefore, are ones of spelling or grammar. I won't touch the 'soul' of this piece, for it is a poem of mourning, and as such deserves the reverence with which it is written. Beyond the dawn a storm doth form And love for you my soul shall mourn All night engulfs me now and light is gone Hence stirring birds shall trill a song In the first two couplets, the speaker addresses one who has gone on, passing out of life into that greater life which we cannot witness. It is as if the very light has gone out of her life, and storm clouds and darkness overwhelm her. Still, she hears the trilling of "stirring birds" which suggest that just out of sight and hearing, she senses the presence of her beloved. (Whither) must I wander to find you again? When land (becalmed) I drift in vain I look for you in melancholy (noonday) Your rune I sing o'er a broomy lea Her spirit is restless, as she seeks to find her loved one; though the storm is over, she continues to "drift in vain." She looks for him in full daylight, at noon, and sings to him over the grassland. She sings a poem or mysterious song to him. It is as if in striving to instill her singing with the melancholy she feels, she believes that he surely will hear her. This poem is deeply affecting, for as one who has lost a beloved one to death, I never lose the thought that somehow, contact is possible. Everything reminds me of the loss. Though this poem is formal, its human sorrow is immensely poignant. Mourning winds whisper among wobbling trees And (brings) pouring showers to billowing seas Wonderful play on words, with "mourning" suggesting "morning" as well. The trees are "wobbling" as if weak with anguish. The "pouring showers" are like a heavy rain of endless tears, enough in quantity to fill the "billowing seas." There is a quality in this poem that is like that of dirges sung by widows of those lost at sea. In the watery element one can find comfort and expression. Only the movement of water seems enough to contain the emotional upheaval of the mourner. Ere the crimson rays of day be done And the storm unfurls o'er slumping sun Even the powerful sun is "slumping" with the intensity of this grief. It is overwhelmed by the "storm" of emotions. The very spirit and life of the mourner seems to withdraw into a nighttime reverie, where the beloved may be embraced in imagination's realm: Erelong I embrace nocturnal fantasy And stay my lifelong quest for thee This poem demonstrates that intense grief creates a "lifelong" yearning in the mourner to once again embrace the one who has gone. The quest will not end, you show us powerfully, though days come and go, storms rage and calm. Beautifully and delicately written, with an air of timelessness. Kudos! Peace to you, Joanne

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