Sta.sh
- 238,900 miles away
the Earth gleams in the darkness.
A cat's eye, opalescent blue
flecked with terra verdant,
fifty-two cream colors
of cloud.
Under a heavy lid of night,
it glares. Angry.
Baleful.
As if to say to the Sun:
I was dreaming
of all the fish
in my seas.
As if to ask why
it had to be woken.
ii.
Thoughts are protozoan here;
with glass-thin skin
transparent as the first lie
he ever told as a child.
No,
I didn't steal that candy bar.
He can see the mechanics,
the workings,
the insides.
They divide like dreams,
impossibly smoothly,
Whole and unbroken
as they tear apart. If
he could stretch far enough,
he could pop his home planet
like soap bubble.
Even now,
he's too small
to make much
of a difference.
iii.
238,900 miles away,
there is a small click.
A tiny latch
catching
as his 14-year-old daughter
slides her seatbelt
into place.
She's learning how to drive,
and how to feel a new kind of terror.
Haunting thought
of collision. Of bone
or brick breaking,
of sound
and of silence, of making
an impact.
The inaudible humming
of her hands
buzzing like bee's wings
fills the old car
with all the foreshadowing she needs.
iv.
238,900 miles away,
he stands
in a sea of spent gunpowder,
rolling America
underneath his fingertips.
He thinks he would not notice
if New York City
vaporized. If dull Missouri
finally vanished.
He should recognize the foreshadowing.
His life is a movie,
after all.
v.
Telephone lines
run as far as love
sometimes.
Run faster than life
some others.
vi.
Nightmare
of gravity. He is denied
the basic dignity
of dropping the phone.
It hangs there,
suspended,
like his thoughts,
out of order.
He puts on his helmet,
fills a fishbowl
with tears. 238,900 miles away,
the Earth looks on, impassive,
the great eye gleaming on
without so much
as a blink.
!
First off, you have a beautiful tribute here. It is so expressive and full of emotion, of longing, and unanswerable questions. But there's a great problem with your enjambment and stanza structure. It's too choppy.
i.
238,900 miles away (this is a good beginning, to emphasize the space and distance you start with a number of miles as if to pull the reader out of their world and into yours instead)
the Earth gleams in the darkness. (you might want to consider combining this line-
A cat's eye, opalescent blue, -with-
flecked with terra verdant -these lines)
and fifty-two cream colors (beautiful image here)
of cloud. Under a heavy lid of night,
it glares. Angry.
Baleful. (The sudden shift also works very well.)
My first impression of your piece is that it is very ethereal and rather foreboding. The choppiness of the lines makes it a little hard to read though and because of the lengthening of the stanzas due to this it becomes unable to naturally pace itself in my mind. Because it basically reads like:
238,900 miles away,/ the Earth gleams in the darkness./ A cat's eye, opalescent blue,/ flecked with terra verdant/ and fifty-two cream colors/ of cloud. Under a heavy lid of night,/ it glares. Angry./ Baleful.
At first it's nice, but the diminishing length is reduced in effectiveness because the separation between "fifty-two cream colors" and "cloud" cut off the rhythm at "Under a heavy lid of night".
I would try enjambing like:
238,900 miles away
the Earth gleams in the darkness.
A cat's eye, opalescent blue,
flecked with terra verdant
and fifty-two cream colors
of cloud.
Under a heavy lid of night,
it glares. Angry
And baleful.
By separating the ideas, the shift should become more effective and as such have a more musical progression. It feels natural too, less closeted and stuffed than if it were just one stanza.
As if to say (Buildup here)
to the Sun (that gets cut short)
I was dreaming (Buildup again)
of all the fish (Diminish)
in my seas. (Diminish)
As if to ask why (Buildup to a question)
it had to be woken. (Natural response)
I'm very uncertain about your beginning two lines in this stanza. They feel purposeful, but it just doesn't read right. Until the ending, I have this incredible fear that it'll degenerate into some faux-Zen, atmospheric piece that composes lines that build up and cut themselves off only to start building again to some, obviously-nonexistent climax. But your ending, with its subtle diminishing of tone and severity, creates such a temple-like silence that it almost makes up for the close-cut lines.
Still though, I think it should be restructured:
As if to say to the Sun:
I was dreaming
of all the fish
in my seas.
As if to ask why
it had to be woken.
Even without being cut off, that sudden pause between "say" and "to the Sun" is still there because we naturally pause at "sss" and "tu". So in my opinion, I think the piece is better off if you combine both lines one and two.
ii.
Thoughts are protozoan here;
skin glass-thin, (confusing, are you saying that thoughts are like skin that's glass-thin or like thin skin-glass etc.)
transparent
as the first lie (What an astonishingly beautiful metaphor...)
he ever told as a child
No,
I didn't steal that candy bar. (Jeesus, that line's as normal as cake but sheer as ice and sweet tea. Chilling and harrowingly sweet)
He can see the mechanics, (Buildup)
the workings, (Buildup)
the insides. (Rest)
They divide like dreams, (Buildup)
impossibly smoothly, (Too wordy with the repetition of the "ly" sound)
Whole and unbroken (Oh, gosh...)
as they tear apart. If (Separate, definitely)
he could stretch far enough,
he could pop his home planet
like soap bubble. (The feeling of being so small and tiny in comparison to the universe just shines here, but feels unclear, almost obscured by the bunched-up diction)
Even now, (You shouldn't separate such important thoughts like that)
he's too small
to make much
of a difference.
I suggest:
Thoughts are protozoan here;
skin, glass-thin,
transparent
as the first lie
he ever told as a child:
“No,”
“I didn't steal that candy bar.”
He can see the mechanics,
the workings,
the insides.
They divide like dreams,
impossibly smooth.
Whole and unbroken
as they tear apart.
If ever
he could stretch far enough,
he could place a finger to the sky,
pop his home planet
with a touch like soap bubbles.
But even now,
he's too small
to make much of a difference.
iii.
238,900 miles away, (A nice way to join this with the rest of the piece)
there is a small click. (The emphasis on distance here, as if watching from a very small window thousands of miles away,very good)
A tiny latch
catching (pay attention to the tense here)
as his 14-year-old daughter
slides her seatbelt
into place. (getting choppy)
She's learning
how to drive,
and terrified (choppy)
of the thought (choppy, the effect you want, segmented and fearful thinking, is not fully in place)
of collision,
of bone
or brick breaking,
of sound
and of silence,
of making
an impact.
The inaudible humming
of her hands
buzzing like bee's wings
fills the old car
with all the foreshadowing
she needs.
I suggest:
238,900 miles away,
there is a small click.
A tiny latch catching
as his 14-year-old daughter
slides her seatbelt
into place.
She's learning how to drive,
and she’s terrified
the thought
of collision,
of bone and brick breaking,
of sound
and of silence,
of making
an unwanted impact.
The inaudible humming of her hands
buzzing like bee's wings
fills the old car
with all the foreshadowing she needs.
iv.
238,900 miles away,
he stands
in a sea of spent gunpowder,
rolling America
underneath his fingertips.
He thinks he would not notice
if New York City
vaporized
if dull Missouri
finally vanished.
He should recognize
the foreshadowing.
His life is a movie,
after all.
What a difficult stanza. The ideas here are very ambiguous, so I assume that here is where you chose to dump all the uncertainties and answer-less questions. Questions about the need of death, of seeing life as something that can be taken from you and made into something else entirely, about the way fame and importance have a way of distorting "self" (making you see your life and identity as something in-genuine).
I suggest:
238,900 miles away,
he stands
in a sea of spent gunpowder,
rolling America
underneath his fingertips.
He thinks
he would not notice if
New York City vaporized,
if dull Missouri
finally vanished into the dead
heat.
He should recognize, after all,
the foreshadowing. His life
is made into a movie,
after all,
his living, like these thoughts,
is glazed over from the dying.
v.
Telephone lines
run as far as love
some times.
Run faster than life
some others.
Nearly perfect stanza, but you seem to have a very disjointed way of uniting your language. There is just soo much you could do with it!
I would change only:
Telephone lines
run as far as love
sometimes.
Run faster than life
on some others.
vi.
Nightmare
of gravity. He is denied
the basic dignity
of dropping the phone.
It hangs
suspended,
like his thoughts
out of order.
He puts on his helmet,
fills a fishbowl
with tears. 238,900 miles away,
the Earth looks on, impassive,
the great eye gleaming on
without so much
as a blink.
A very sudden and sad ending. I was hoping you would go back to the daughter instead of ending with his total departure and disconnection with the world. Where is the hope, here? Where is the love? Where is the sense that a life was lived, taken away by death (and fame), and reclaimed by those who understand that injustice? Why would you end with such total desolation?
It's a sad thing, death. It encompasses so much more than just the ceasing of biological function. It also holds within itself the loss of identity and form. Of purpose and belonging. It is the theft of life that makes a death all the more heartbreaking. So why? Why would you end such a beautiful piece like this? Without hope?
I recommend for improvement:
Nightmare
of gravity. He is denied
the basic dignity
of dropping the phone.
It hangs
suspended,
like his thoughts
out of order.
He puts on his helmet,
fills a fishbowl
with tears. 238,900, (two hundred
thirty-eight thousand
nine-hundred) miles away,
the Earth looks on, impassive,
the great eye, gleaming on;
without so much
as a blink.
For ease of access:
238,900 miles away
the Earth gleams in the darkness.
A cat's eye, opalescent blue,
flecked with terra verdant
and fifty-two cream colors
of cloud.
Under a heavy lid of night,
it glares. Angry
And baleful.
As if to say to the Sun:
I was dreaming
of all the fish
in my seas.
As if to ask why
it had to be woken.
Thoughts are protozoan here;
skin, glass-thin,
transparent
as the first lie
he ever told as a child:
“No,”
“I didn't steal that candy bar.”
He can see the mechanics,
the workings,
the insides.
They divide like dreams,
impossibly smooth.
Whole and unbroken
as they tear apart.
If ever
he could stretch far enough,
he could place a finger to the sky,
pop his home planet
with a touch like soap bubbles.
But even now,
he's too small
to make much of a difference.
238,900 miles away,
there is a small click.
A tiny latch catching
as his 14-year-old daughter
slides her seatbelt
into place.
She's learning how to drive,
and she’s terrified
the thought
of collision,
of bone and brick breaking,
of sound
and of silence,
of making
an unwanted impact.
The inaudible humming of her hands
buzzing like bee's wings
fills the old car
with all the foreshadowing she needs.
238,900 miles away,
he stands
in a sea of spent gunpowder,
rolling America
underneath his fingertips.
He thinks
he would not notice if
New York City vaporized,
if dull Missouri
finally vanished into the dead
heat.
He should recognize, after all,
the foreshadowing. His life
is made into a movie,
after all,
his living, like these thoughts,
is glazed over from the dying.
Telephone lines
run as far as love
sometimes.
Run faster than life
on some others.
Nightmare
of gravity. He is denied
the basic dignity
of dropping the phone.
It hangs
suspended,
like his thoughts
out of order.
He puts on his helmet,
fills a fishbowl
with tears. 238,900, (two hundred
thirty-eight thousand
nine-hundred) miles away,
the Earth looks on, impassive,
the great eye, gleaming on;
without so much
as a blink.
Now that that's been said. I must honestly say, I loved this piece. Loved it. The feeling it gives me after reading is one of insignificance compared with the vastness of the universe.
This man, viewing his planet from so far away, completely powerless, looking at things as if through glass.
I think this is what happened: he was viewing the earth from space, at the same time his daughter started her driving lessons, she was terrified, he was reflecting, you mentioned "foreshadowing" in both their passages. Then, something happens (does his daughter crash?) He gets the phone call, it's bad news, he cries and looks on, powerless.
How'd I do?
Anyways, The thing I love most about this piece has to be the descriptors you used. Nothing overly complicated or fancy, but simple and easy to visualize.
"The Earth gleams.. a cat's eye, opalescent" What a great setup, it's so easy to see that indifferent, cruel earth, staring back at him. Gleaming in the sky.
"If he could stretch.. he could pop his home planet like [a] soap bubble. Even now, he's to small to make... a difference" This is probably my favorite line, as it sums up to me the main theme of the whole poem. The theme of being insignificant. Your life is nearly meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Perfectly written but nuanced.
Overall, I cant stop loving this piece, it looks to me like you carefully planned and thought out each section, every word and phrase. But it still has a very natural flow, I can read it without any words snagging, catching me in the wrong way. Everything fits into a rhythm. And the main themes of the piece shine through.
Beautiful, astute, amazing, don't ever stop writing. I beg you.
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