This is otherwise a very good poem. But why 'singing' towards the end? Ideally you want words that are both surprising but apt - not everywhere of course! - but this word seems surprising without being particularly apt. Or am I missing something? You seem to have chosen a vaguely poetic word rather than an incisively accurate word. Ideally every word should pierce the heart rather than cloud the mind.
Thanks, John. I appreciate your incisive close reading and wily commentary. You sound hauntingly like the voice of my inner critic. I do think there's a case to be made for "singing," though. I'm not sure how surprising it is, but I believe it's apt because of the connection between singing, breathing, wind, and sails. Anyway, Eliot to Pound like, I thank you, sir.
It was only a minor quibble. These things do need thinking about. And it's a pity to spoil an other wise good poem.
By the way, learn to cherish that inner critic. She is in fact the Muse, in her sterner aspect. If you obey her in that she'll learn to trust you, and unleash for you all sorts of goodies. And in a never ending supply.
(By the way I don't think you've quite reached the Parnassian heights of Eliot yet. And I I hope am not quite as vain as Pound. Though occasionally I'm almost as irascible.)
The purpose of poetry, “the boat that might today set sail
to take me where it cannot fail.”.
Thanks, Stan -- I like that take on it.
The promise of a new day described impeccably, Jonathan.
Thank you, Rod
There should be a rule that no prosaic title be given to a poem this beautiful.
I don’t know what you poets here are up to these days, but it’s dangerously close to knocking us flat, definitely stunned.
Thanks, Patris, I appreciate your support of all us poets. I'll think about a better title!
Maybe : “Beware this is gorgeous “?
"Warning to the Reader: Hold Onto Your Socks"
Each day brings hope and joy!
Thank you, Monica
Such hope!
"So the sunrise charts my path
and the oracle of days
frees me from the risk of wrath,
assures me of breezy ways
singing my sails towards the sea
to a new world awaiting me."
Thanks, Mark
Nicely crafted.
Thank you, Ron
This is otherwise a very good poem. But why 'singing' towards the end? Ideally you want words that are both surprising but apt - not everywhere of course! - but this word seems surprising without being particularly apt. Or am I missing something? You seem to have chosen a vaguely poetic word rather than an incisively accurate word. Ideally every word should pierce the heart rather than cloud the mind.
Thanks, John. I appreciate your incisive close reading and wily commentary. You sound hauntingly like the voice of my inner critic. I do think there's a case to be made for "singing," though. I'm not sure how surprising it is, but I believe it's apt because of the connection between singing, breathing, wind, and sails. Anyway, Eliot to Pound like, I thank you, sir.
It was only a minor quibble. These things do need thinking about. And it's a pity to spoil an other wise good poem.
By the way, learn to cherish that inner critic. She is in fact the Muse, in her sterner aspect. If you obey her in that she'll learn to trust you, and unleash for you all sorts of goodies. And in a never ending supply.
(By the way I don't think you've quite reached the Parnassian heights of Eliot yet. And I I hope am not quite as vain as Pound. Though occasionally I'm almost as irascible.)
I shared something else from this, Jonathan, but it all rocks. The last stanza is flipping amazing! And my favorite photo of yours yet.
You’re talent is relentless.
Thanks, Sea
So lovely.
Thanks MA