Divisions

[Seraphim]

Divisions (quick revision to see if I like it}

After the catastrophe I sat
in strained communion, alone with my father;
nibbling toasted pain de mie,
choking down bottles of inexpensive wine,
and muttering a few prayers
for comfort
in the wake of her passing.

I woke early the next morning,
nestled in a dusty quilt,
scrunched atop my window seat.
The oak outside was lightning-struck
- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.
Nests were void of sparrows;
with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,
I guess it no longer felt like home.


Divisions

After the catastrophe I sat

in strained communion, alone with my father;

nibbling toasted pain de mie,

choking down bottles of inexpensive wine,

and muttering a few prayers

for comfort.

I woke early the next morning,

nestled in a dusty quilt,

scrunched atop my window seat.

The oak outside was lightning-struck

- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.

Its nests were void of sparrows;

with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,

I guess it no longer felt like home.

Original:

Divisions

After the catastrophe I sat
in strained communion with my father.
We nibbled toasted pain de mie,
choked down bottles of inexpensive wine,
and muttered a few prayers
for comfort.

I woke early the next morning,
nestled in a dusty quilt,
scrunched atop my window seat.
The oak outside was lightning-struck
- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.
Its nests were void of sparrows;
with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,
I guess it no longer felt like home.

[Oden Prufrock]

Divisions

After the catastrophe I sat

in strained communion with my father.

We nibbled toasted pain de mie,

choked down bottles of inexpensive wine,

and muttered a few prayers

for comfort.

I woke early the next morning,

nestled in a dusty quilt,

scrunched atop my window seat.

The oak outside was lightning-struck

- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.

It’s nests were void of sparrows;

with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,

I guess it no longer felt like home.

Your introduction of the first detail - the catastrophe - felt too fast-paced and didn’t show instead of tell. A poem you could look at which has a great introduction for catastrophe is ‘Mid-Term Break’ by Seamus Heaney; it’s a good example of a slow pace towards a final reveal. That might not work for your poem since you haven’t specifically named the catastrophe or hinted at what it is, which may detract from the overall impact of the subject matter; the lacking of implications as to what its all about makes it boring. Thr tension of the situation is communicated through the second line but this isn’t expanded upon or implied to tie in with anything else. The concept you begin with should be clearly channeled through something to have an effect on the reader but the poem falls flat in this respect. Being vague is good but it needs to be less general.

 The style of writing is a good way of telling a narrative since you have a prosaic tone to the syntax, but you fail to capitalise on this. Describing events can be a form of poetry in itself yet you focus on describing small details that fail to build up to something profound or intense. The second stanza has the cliche image of a lightning struck tree but due to the Christian terminology of communion and prayer this takes on a powerful meaning. The last line “I guess it no longer felt like home” doesn’t make what ‘it’ is clear enough. Is it the home they live in? Is it the tree? This line could’ve been shortened to only an adjective used on what youre describing. I really like the inclusion of “pain de mie” as it gives a sense of cheapness, context and I’m not sure if you were going for this but it sounds like a pun on the word ‘pain’, reflecting the mood and feeling of catastrophe.

6/10

[Seraphim]

Oden

Thanks for taking the time to provide a nicely worded crit. It's appreciated.

[churinga]

I also worried about catastrophe, I would have preferred what ever happened, a funeral, a death.

'its nests'
I don't think the nests belong to the tree. You could say 'the nests'

'with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort'
you don't need this, the image of the abandoned nests says it all.
.
I think the poem does what it sets out to do, capture a mood and a situation.
I liked everything about it except these few crits.

[Seraphim]

Thanks Churinga. I do tend to over-write sometimes (lol) and my editing process is generally one of deletion. I'll keep these in mind in revision.

[Seraphim]

As Pru pointed out, 'it' refers to both the tree and the childhood home. I generally write with several different layers in mind, and this time I ambitiously tried for two allegories - under the literal - at once. I think the references on the second allegory were too few and too subtle to work. I don't really believe in beating the reader over the head with something, but I also want them to get it. It's a fine line. I'm guessing it didn't work this time.

I also don't generally post first drafts, but I wanted to see where others would go with it.

The idea started when a tree in the back got hit with lightening, displacing the numerous squirrels which lived there. They moved into the rafters of my back porch, which had a thin layer of vinyl lightly stapled to the bottom of the rafters. I looked out one day in time to see a huge nest, squirrels and all, drop through the vinyl and crash on the deck. Talk about some ticked off squirrels. I wonder what that's a metaphor for....

Time to look at editing. I did add one two four changes above, in bold.

[Oden Prufrock]

The

Divisions

After the catastrophe I sat

in strained communion, alone with my father;

nibbling toasted pain de mie,

choking down bottles of inexpensive wine,

and muttering a few prayers

for comfort.

I woke early the next morning,

nestled in a dusty quilt,

scrunched atop my window seat.

The oak outside was lightning-struck

- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.

It’s nests were void of sparrows;

with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,

I guess it no longer felt like home.

Original:

Divisions

After the catastrophe I sat
in strained communion with my father.
We nibbled toasted pain de mie,
choked down bottles of inexpensive wine,
and muttered a few prayers
for comfort.

I woke early the next morning,
nestled in a dusty quilt,
scrunched atop my window seat.
The oak outside was lightning-struck
- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.
It’s nests were void of sparrows;
with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,
I guess it no longer felt like home.

I like how the lightning’s randomness could offer subtle context on the catastrophe as being something out of the blue and intense but just call it something. Could you remove the “I guess” part of the last line? Also trying continuing it for a bit, I don’t like the ending.

7/10

[Seraphim]

A long time ago I had a poem up somewhere, and several people remarked how it had struck a chord because they'd had a similar experience; and each one related their experience. Funny thing is, not only were their experiences of different natures, none of them were along the lines of which  I'd been thinking.  What I took away from that is the opinion people will fill in the blanks in a way which relates to them, if we leave them an opening.  By editing out the unessential, people will personalize the poem. A critiquer won't, as much, but a reader will; and, for my purposes, the nature of the catastrophe is unessential, although there are hints along one thread of possibility. But if someone devises their own, I don't think it interferes with the allegories. By me naming it, it fixes one thing firmly in place and eliminates personal possibilities.

Just my take.

---

Also [I'm hoping] the changes I made in S1 open up other possibilities on the literal level, but clean up some misgivings I had on the allegorical. Originally 'we' ate the bread and drank the wine, but now it doesn't specify that - leaving open the possibility N is the only one eating and drinking.

[Oden Prufrock]

A long time ago I had a poem up somewhere, and several people remarked how it had struck a chord because they'd had a similar experience; and each one related their experience. Funny thing is, not only were their experiences of different natures, none of them were along the lines of which  I'd been thinking.  What I took away from that is the opinion people will fill in the blanks in a way which relates to them, if we leave them an opening.  By editing out the unessential, people will personalize the poem. A critiquer won't, as much, but a reader will; and, for my purposes, the nature of the catastrophe is unessential, although there are hints along one thread of possibility. But if someone devises their own, I don't think it interferes with the allegories. By me naming it, it fixes one thing firmly in place and eliminates personal possibilities.

Just my take.

---

Also [I'm hoping] the changes I made in S1 open up other possibilities on the literal level, but clean up some misgivings I had on the allegorical. Originally 'we' ate the bread and drank the wine, but now it doesn't specify that - leaving open the possibility N is the only one eating and drinking.

If it’s about other people’s experiences being conglomerated into one abstract poem why don’t you write it in thirdperson instead?

[Seraphim]

R

A long time ago I had a poem up somewhere, and several people remarked how it had struck a chord because they'd had a similar experience; and each one related their experience. Funny thing is, not only were their experiences of different natures, none of them were along the lines of which  I'd been thinking.  What I took away from that is the opinion people will fill in the blanks in a way which relates to them, if we leave them an opening.  By editing out the unessential, people will personalize the poem. A critiquer won't, as much, but a reader will; and, for my purposes, the nature of the catastrophe is unessential, although there are hints along one thread of possibility. But if someone devises their own, I don't think it interferes with the allegories. By me naming it, it fixes one thing firmly in place and eliminates personal possibilities.

Just my take.

---

Also [I'm hoping] the changes I made in S1 open up other possibilities on the literal level, but clean up some misgivings I had on the allegorical. Originally 'we' ate the bread and drank the wine, but now it doesn't specify that - leaving open the possibility N is the only one eating and drinking.

If it’s about other people’s experiences being conglomerated into one abstract poem why don’t you write it in thirdperson instead?

First person is more immediate and personal.  Also, the narrator is not omniscient.  The reader only knows what the narrator knows and feels. There is a distance between the reader and the third person figure. The reader only knows about the third person what the narrator knows - and that information maybe incorrect, based possibly on bias and rumor rather than knowledge.

So first person because I want the reader to know what the narrator is experiencing.  If I wanted to show a perception, then I’d go third person.

---

It’s not about the readers experiences being conglomerated into the poem. It’s how other people relate the poem to their own experiences.

---

Since no one’s delved I to the metaphorical, I suppose it’s OK for a spoiler now.

If we look at S1 as being literal, it’s a father and son - but no mother - in the picture. Their relationship is strained. Perhaps the loss of the mother is the catastrophe. Perhaps the father is dying or, perhaps, is already dead, and the son is sitting with the dead, as the practice was called. So when we get to S2, which has a literal and metaphorical meaning: the sparrows’ home has been destroyed, and the narrators home has been destroyed. ‘It no longer feels like home’ works for both, not one or the other.

But let’s suppose S1 also has a metaphor going on. The narrator has a literal physical father, but also a spiritual father, in Christianity. We notice again the feminine aspect of the triune, the Holy Ghost, is not present. Perhaps the loss of the spirit is the precipitating catastrophe, or a side effect of the Father dying or dead. The act of communion is strained and ineffective. However we view the catAstrophe, the son’s relationship with the Father is strained. So now S2 has a second metaphor: the tree as N’s religion, or possibly the church (pillar of the church reference). Similar reference with ‘his eye is on the’ sparrow.

Just a side note, the United Methodist Church is currently in the process of a major split over human sexuality. I did resist the urge to indicate N was gay. Thought that might be too much...

[Oden Prufrock]

R

A long time ago I had a poem up somewhere, and several people remarked how it had struck a chord because they'd had a similar experience; and each one related their experience. Funny thing is, not only were their experiences of different natures, none of them were along the lines of which  I'd been thinking.  What I took away from that is the opinion people will fill in the blanks in a way which relates to them, if we leave them an opening.  By editing out the unessential, people will personalize the poem. A critiquer won't, as much, but a reader will; and, for my purposes, the nature of the catastrophe is unessential, although there are hints along one thread of possibility. But if someone devises their own, I don't think it interferes with the allegories. By me naming it, it fixes one thing firmly in place and eliminates personal possibilities.

Just my take.

---

Also [I'm hoping] the changes I made in S1 open up other possibilities on the literal level, but clean up some misgivings I had on the allegorical. Originally 'we' ate the bread and drank the wine, but now it doesn't specify that - leaving open the possibility N is the only one eating and drinking.

If it’s about other people’s experiences being conglomerated into one abstract poem why don’t you write it in thirdperson instead?

First person is more immediate and personal.  Also, the narrator is not omniscient.  The reader only knows what the narrator knows and feels. There is a distance between the reader and the third person figure. The reader only knows about the third person what the narrator knows - and that information maybe incorrect, based possibly on bias and rumor rather than knowledge.

So first person because I want the reader to know what the narrator is experiencing.  If I wanted to show a perception, then I’d go third person.

---

It’s not about the readers experiences being conglomerated into the poem. It’s how other people relate the poem to their own experiences.

---

Since no one’s delved I to the metaphorical, I suppose it’s OK for a spoiler now.

If we look at S1 as being literal, it’s a father and son - but no mother - in the picture. Their relationship is strained.  Perhaps the loss of the mother is the catastrophe. Perhaps the father is dying or, perhaps, is already dead, and the son is sitting with the dead, as the practice was called. So when we get to S2, which has a literal and metaphorical meaning: the sparrows’ home has been destroyed, and the narrators home has been destroyed. ‘It no longer feels like home’ works for both, not one or the other.

But let’s suppose S1 also has a metaphor going on.  The narrator has a literal physical father, but also a spiritual father, in Christianity. We notice again the feminine aspect of the triune, the Holy Ghost, is not present. Perhaps the loss of the spirit is the precipitating catastrophe, or a side effect of the Father dying or dead.  The act of communion is strained and ineffective. However we view the catAstrophe, the son’s relationship with the Father is strained.  So now S2 has a second metaphor: the tree as N’s religion, or possibly the church (pillar of the church reference). Similar reference with ‘his eye is on the’ sparrow.

Just a side note, the United Methodist Church is currently in the process of a major split over human sexuality.  I did resist the urge to indicate N was gay.  Thought that might be too much...

I like that idea of representing the father’s death through the absence of the spirit. Try rewriting that into it.

[Seraphim]

OK, I'm thinking about it. It could be simply done, but I need to think about all the consequences lol.

---

Not sure I'm completely sold, but thanks for the suggestion.

---

I know the line's cliche-ish and would need revision should I decide to keep it.

---

Rhetorically, I like 'departure' better than 'passing', but that might be construed as a divorce - which would still work...

---

Also a change based on churinga's crit.

[Knot]

.
Hi Seraphim,
not sure the revisions add anything, or are necessary.
The title isn't doing much work.

(Nestled then nests?)

Either bent or askew, not both after lightening-struck.

(Is there a reason for 'toasted' rather than 'buttered'?)

Just food for thought.


in the wake/crumbs


After the catastrophe I sat alone
in strained communion
with my father; chewing toasted pain
de mie, choking down bottles
of an inexpensive wine, mouthling
a few prayers for comfort

I woke early the next morning,
swaddled in a dusty quilt,
scrunched atop my window seat.
The oak outside was lightning-struck
- pillar split to roots, limbs rent.
Sparrows would not return to their nests ;
I imagine it no longer felt like home.


Best, Knot.

.

[one lass]

Divisions (quick revision to see if I like it}

After the catastrophe I sat
in strained communion, alone with my father;
nibbling toasted pain de mie,
choking down bottles of inexpensive wine,
and muttering a few prayers
for comfort
in the wake of her passing.

I woke early the next morning,
nestled in a dusty quilt,
scrunched atop my window seat.
The oak outside was lightning-struck
- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.
Nests were void of sparrows;
with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,
I guess it no longer felt like home.


Divisions

After the catastrophe I sat

in strained communion, alone with my father;

nibbling toasted pain de mie,

choking down bottles of inexpensive wine,

and muttering a few prayers

for comfort.

I woke early the next morning,

nestled in a dusty quilt,

scrunched atop my window seat.

The oak outside was lightning-struck

- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.

Its nests were void of sparrows;

with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,

I guess it no longer felt like home.

Original:

Divisions

After the catastrophe I sat
in strained communion with my father.
We nibbled toasted pain de mie,
choked down bottles of inexpensive wine,
and muttered a few prayers
for comfort.

I woke early the next morning,
nestled in a dusty quilt,
scrunched atop my window seat.
The oak outside was lightning-struck
- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.
Its nests were void of sparrows;
with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,
I guess it no longer felt like home.

Hi.  Read the other critiques first. I'm thinking about that first line too. Looking as well at the bold faced, 'in the wake of her passing'  which I'd consider were I you, for the opening line.
I like 'wake' in this  poem suggesting both an event, a traditional wake, and the suggestion of unwilling, unwanted movement away from 'her' in the liquid moving sense.

How both wakes inevitably end, and we are left with the dusty things, the destroyed and empty things,  spied with new eyes, full of new meaning. that awareness of  things lost.

I agree with doing away with nourishment, shelter and comfort. as mentioned before, the empty nest is more than sufficient in its implication.

"its nests void of sparrows"   a lightning struck tree and that nest....also a calamity, for the sparrows, your metaphor there, for your own loss and its suddenness. I like that. It's deeply lonely and having recently lost my own mother, quite suddenly and dramatically, it speaks to me.   My condolences on your own loss.   lass.

[Seraphim]

Thank you for the comments, Lass. May I mention some words are in bold only to demonstrate they are changes from the previous revision. Makes it easier for the critters to see where the revisions are.

And I’m sorry for the loss of your mother. Sounds like you and she were close.

[one lass]

we were. and in every important way, still are. faith and fairy tales. both were equally important to us , lol.
ah, but I the miss the physical. those mom hugs. irreplaceable.

thanks for any and all particulars, as per finding my way here. very kind very cool. C

[billy]

first off, i'm guessing you want the bolded words to stand out. for me it doesn't work, the words themselves need to do the work and i think they do it well enough without the bold lettering. the last line does little for me but i loved the rest of the poem. the feeling and emotion are strong enough to not be isolated. i made some comments in the poem but they're just minor nit for me. overall i loved the poem and read it a few times .

Divisions (quick revision to see if I like it}

After the catastrophe I sat
in strained communion, alone with my father; no need for alone it reads as your just with him without it.
nibbling toasted pain de mie, lovely
choking down bottles of inexpensive wine,
and muttering a few prayers
for comfort
in the wake of her passing. instead of bold why not put this under a line spacing so it stands out?

I woke early the next morning,
nestled in a dusty quilt,
scrunched atop my window seat. great image which shows a picture to the reader. it suggests to the reader so much
The oak outside was lightning-struck
- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.
Nests were void of sparrows;
with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort, for me the poem ends here
I guess it no longer felt like home. i think this line should go and a better line used for the end something more stark


Divisions

After the catastrophe I sat

in strained communion, alone with my father;

nibbling toasted pain de mie,

choking down bottles of inexpensive wine,

and muttering a few prayers

for comfort.

I woke early the next morning,

nestled in a dusty quilt,

scrunched atop my window seat.

The oak outside was lightning-struck

- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.

Its nests were void of sparrows;

with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,

I guess it no longer felt like home.

Original:

Divisions

After the catastrophe I sat
in strained communion with my father.
We nibbled toasted pain de mie,
choked down bottles of inexpensive wine,
and muttered a few prayers
for comfort.

I woke early the next morning,
nestled in a dusty quilt,
scrunched atop my window seat.
The oak outside was lightning-struck
- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.
Its nests were void of sparrows;
with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,
I guess it no longer felt like home.

[Seraphim]

Thanks for the comments billy. I appreciate seeing it from your POV. You’ve pointed out the areas of ambiguity which are often difficult for the writer to see.



The words in bold were to indicate where I revised from the previous revision. They are not a part of the poem lol.

[ginaparaoan]

This sounds like "underacting" but it was effective! I like it!

Divisions (quick revision to see if I like it}

After the catastrophe I sat
in strained communion, alone with my father;
nibbling toasted pain de mie,
choking down bottles of inexpensive wine,
and muttering a few prayers
for comfort
in the wake of her passing.

I woke early the next morning,
nestled in a dusty quilt,
scrunched atop my window seat.
The oak outside was lightning-struck
- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.
Nests were void of sparrows;
with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,
I guess it no longer felt like home.


Divisions

After the catastrophe I sat

in strained communion, alone with my father;

nibbling toasted pain de mie,

choking down bottles of inexpensive wine,

and muttering a few prayers

for comfort.

I woke early the next morning,

nestled in a dusty quilt,

scrunched atop my window seat.

The oak outside was lightning-struck

- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.

Its nests were void of sparrows;

with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,

I guess it no longer felt like home.

Original:

Divisions

After the catastrophe I sat
in strained communion with my father.
We nibbled toasted pain de mie,
choked down bottles of inexpensive wine,
and muttered a few prayers
for comfort.

I woke early the next morning,
nestled in a dusty quilt,
scrunched atop my window seat.
The oak outside was lightning-struck
- the pillar split to the roots, limbs bent askew.
Its nests were void of sparrows;
with no nourishment, no shelter, no comfort,
I guess it no longer felt like home.

[Seraphim]

Thanks ginaparaon. I’m glad you enjoyed it