06-17-2014, 11:44 PM
Welcome to the site ChellyM. 
I see a strong poem shrouded in a perhaps some unnecessary opening detail and fan imagery. I think I see what you are doing, i.e., building suspense in a slow Hitchcock style. However, I feel that the buildup, with the fan spinning on and on and that injury, etc. distracts from the potential of the piece. It's also done in a bit of a hemming and hawing/back and forth fashion.
I think the essence of your poem is in the last two strophes. You could use the fan better within those two stanzas to produce a more concise and poignant poem. Not a literal re-write of your work, but as example only, I am suggesting something in this fashion:
The Fan
The fan always made a thumping sound
as it sliced through the air in my room
over the years, but the noise never quenched
the stench of vodka that was greater
than a family’s love, or muffle the sound
of the night’s fists smashing through walls.
The fan spins round, as do my defiant thoughts
that chase and deride me for what I've done
and what I will do, if only I could listen.
Something with this straight-forwardness would carry the piece far. It's your own words. I hope this critique helps with your next edit. See what you think and good luck with it./Chris
I see a strong poem shrouded in a perhaps some unnecessary opening detail and fan imagery. I think I see what you are doing, i.e., building suspense in a slow Hitchcock style. However, I feel that the buildup, with the fan spinning on and on and that injury, etc. distracts from the potential of the piece. It's also done in a bit of a hemming and hawing/back and forth fashion.
I think the essence of your poem is in the last two strophes. You could use the fan better within those two stanzas to produce a more concise and poignant poem. Not a literal re-write of your work, but as example only, I am suggesting something in this fashion:
The Fan
The fan always made a thumping sound
as it sliced through the air in my room
over the years, but the noise never quenched
the stench of vodka that was greater
than a family’s love, or muffle the sound
of the night’s fists smashing through walls.
The fan spins round, as do my defiant thoughts
that chase and deride me for what I've done
and what I will do, if only I could listen.
Something with this straight-forwardness would carry the piece far. It's your own words. I hope this critique helps with your next edit. See what you think and good luck with it./Chris
My new watercolor: 'Nightmare After Christmas'/Chris