Death Mask

[Keith]

Hi Ella thank you for all your comments, you have helped me a great deal with this and I agree with were you set the focus, all in the edit. Thanks for giving this your time. Keith

Hi, Keith, heartbreaking. Some notes below.

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.
I'm missing the comma after house, then you could semicolon at the end of L2 if you want.
I like the feeling of of the familiar/unknown here.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.
Again, maybe a semicolon after clay, it needs something.
This works for me too, maybe something other than "under", blanketed, masked, something better.


The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.
I'm not sure why Whiskey is upper case, but lovely lines, I'm not sure about the but opening that line.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes Love this, great image.
as he moved around the room to fall fireside, I'm unsure about "fall fireside".
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word. Beautiful.
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.
While these last three lines are sound, I'm not sure you need them, indeed, it would be shocking if the place was anything other.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.
I like the formatting here, it slows and forces the words imitating his speech and expressing the effort it took. I like the hint of a wry smile, or wrinkled nose, at the end.

This touched me, thanks for the read.

---

Ha ha famous in my own lunch time me thinks, thank you for the help and punctuation totally agree with areas of focus so it's time to get on with the edit, it's also good to a second opinion on the speech section and I appreciate that.Thank you for taking the time to review and comment. Keith

Utterly gorgeous Keith, and with that "common touch" you'll be famous for one day

I've avoided reading other comments in order to react in an unbiased way, so I'm sorry if I say the same thing as has been said before (not super sorry though).

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house -- you could consider contracting to I'd, just for the sake of meter
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door, -- outstanding imagery
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk, -- colon or em-dash needed here instead of the comma
stroke is such a gentle word. -- the multiple meanings of stroke work beautifully with these two lines together
The room had kept hold of its memory, -- perhaps consider The room had held onto its memory -- only because the harsh consonant sounds of kept jar me out of the soft reverie here
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister” -- I can hear the desperate pauses, the struggle to breathe around the words that are deliberately chosen as the most important to say.  This is well done.
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand. -- I love this ending.  I really like the fact that there's that edge of absurdity, and the reader could easily assume it was the dog talking instead

---

I share your guilt and it's made worse by the number of replies I had to this, but I will say thank you for the feed back all of which is solid and very helpful and will most certainly be used in the edit, I really appreciate your comments and taking the time. Best Keith

Hey Keith. I haven't offered a legitimate crit here in months. The guilt is overwhelming so I beg you don't mind me trying here. I will try to offer some line by line thoughts.

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house some punctuation needed after house(semi-colon or em dash?)
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks self-seeded
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door, I like that his skeleton answered the door, but do skeletons have faces?
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision I like the idea of bottled but am wrestling with the conjugation
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness agree this is effective
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes I don't like protruded here. Might just be my rusty self. Poked would preserve the alliteration and irk me less. Again, it might just be me.
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word. I love the commentary of this line. Enough that I would consider italicizing stroke for visual emphasis.
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet I think there are a few problems with this line. Veneer is meant to be ornate and cover sins, not be the sin, Also, dust and damp tend to sink in more than creep out. 
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath love this
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She Agree this isn't working. It doesn't look like a "burst". Maybe less is more.
was
my
baby
sister”
I knowcomma I saidcomma and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin(')
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.

I hope some of this helps. I like the sketch. Thanks for the read,
Paul

---

Keith,

Just wanted to add my vote to leanne's suggestion

" you could consider contracting to I'd, just for the sake of meter"

Not for the meter, but it does smooth out the line.

dale

Yes Dale I agree, already pencilled in for the edit. Cheers Keith

---

Thank you Todd I really appreciate this, your comment in S1 is exactly what I was hoping for so I'm very chuffed it comes across this way. I would also like to thank you for the other considered comments and it's good that a theme has appeared and I can easily agree the weaker line, so it's of to the edit shop for me. Thanks again Keith

There's something about your writing I enjoy. It's that ephemeral idea of voice that we all struggle to describe but know when we've encountered it. I get that here. I trust the narrator. Let me engage with your words a bit.

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.--This is an interesting opening. So from this approach, the speaker hasn't been around much lately. You can picture them driving through an old neighborhood. It's an interesting way to engage the past. The themes seem to be around how we deal with our past and the progression of time. There's a bit of regret here and also dealing with change. I think self-seeded might need a hyphen. Though language changes a bit and I don't feel like looking it up. I do like the idea though of things that have surrendered to time. It's a way of showing how we all breakdown. Even before the next strophe, we have the photograph and then have the reality. We have the impermanence of memory. This is a nice way to let your image play against your themes. I also like the last line of the driveway being still black and white. Still is a great word as it marks the age of the photograph. It also implies a foreshadowing of a black and white morality or understanding of events.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,--wonderful line and the next both for the reference to the title, the imagery, and the wordplay with Arthur's skeleton doing the opening.
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.--thumbed works very well with the clay image.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision--meniscus of old age is neat phrasing. I'm thinking of the joint/knee soreness and I get a sense of tortured movement. Bottled his vision makes me think of extreme glasses.
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.--lovely sequence

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes--nice sensory detail
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,--like the simile
stroke is such a gentle word.-favorite line, favorite observation. Versatile word
The room had kept hold of its memory,--love this idea
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet--this feels a bit self-conscious to me. Something simpler perhaps.
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.--this seems like an odd outcome for the two lines above.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.--love this phrasing around speaking--absolutely loved it.
he told me how much he missed my mother.--I think more of a slurred word sequence that gives the sense of speech would be better. That could be run together as one word, spaced differently or done in one word sequences as you've done here I'm indifferent. This shows halting to me but not difficulty. I'd like to see both.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.--Nice slice of life change up at the end.

Very much enjoyed this, Keith.

Best,

Todd

---

Thank you Achebe, you've given me something to think about with your feedback and I appreciate you taking the time to read and comment, I will take them into the edit for consideration. Best Keith

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house ... I find the poem to be wordy and lacking rhythm. Apart from the 'I'd', I'd suggest using enjambment more and end stopped lines less
an old photograph was all I had, .....'photograph' is a strong line-ending word
self seeded plants softened the cracks ....the alliteration is distracting
but the driveway was still black and white. 


Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay ..'its'?
thin lines under cheek bones ..'thumbed deep' here and enjambing?
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision ..'meniscus' has too many syllables here
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes ...too many 'his's and 'he's by this point. Also, the alliteration distracts
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk, ..nice simile
stroke is such a gentle word.
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister” ....nice arrangement
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand. ... I like the additional character of the dog that you've introduced. Helps the storytelling.

Thanks for posting

---

Hi lickitysplit thank you for your considered comments, I plan to do an edit so all will be used and chewed. Much appreciated Keith.

Keith's --
 
I wasn’t sure I would remember the house punctuation here?
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white. Like the photograph? I enjoy the suggestion of fragility (time softens the breaks) that makes me think there has been a divide not resolved. (driveway still black and white)

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets. Gouged and thumbed mirror well.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays. Amazing. Meniscus, whiskey, gruffness all have grit.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word. Really powerful
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember. These lines detract from ‘stroke is such’

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath bending each exhaled breath—pulling me out of the poem. The staccato of his words shows me more effectively.
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand. Did the dog fart? Either way, I like the ambiguity!


Really moving meditation, thanks for this.

---

Hi Zella thank you for reading and commenting, Uncle would be a suitable title as you suggest, the line you question is kind of the fulcrum for the poem so it need to be positioned at a point of balance that allowed the reader to move in a certain direction after the line was introduced. In the edit I plan to break the stanza at this point and strengthen the lines that follow. Best Keith

I quite enjoyed this; it really conveyed many good sensations and had a sweetness about it. I especially loved the twist at the end about the fart, because I could just picture an old geezer saying that just to show he hadn't lost his sense of humor along with great age. Could you entitle it something like,  "Uncle"?

I wasn’t sure I would remember the house
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word.                      (not sure why this line is here)
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.