Frank Ocean

[JamesG]

So this poem was published in some online mag so I probably shouldn't mess with it, but I will of course. 


Frank Ocean

There’s a death factory at the end of our road.
They package up pretty parcels, tied up with a forget-me-not bow.
Yellow boxes arrive, Christmas lights blinking,
in the dead of the morning, in the heat of the night.
Maybe it’s better, this cascade of memory,
unboxed jigsaw puzzles, pieces half missing,
than the cold, hard remaining,
still sharp as a tack, still blunt as a knife.

Alone in my car, a warm hard cocoon,
Frank Ocean singing, no sign of pupation.
Red reptile eyes retreat fast before me,
drifting along the sibilant curve.
Driving to pick up my beautiful son
he still in the fecund of growing;
With a heart full of beats;
I've never seen a dead body before, so he told me,
as we went through the door, to the bed sitting room.

The sluggish procession, a chattering bruise
of grey, blue, and black, unwinds fat before me,
a scar through the fields
you cold in front, me at the back,
warm and listening to Frank Ocean;
Why see the world, when you’ve got the beach?
The blunt, dumb sea water stares back at the crowd
with a bovine, blank look, and the basalt grey fingers
crisscross the horizon, accusing the nonchalant sky.

Willow’s song plays
a song of seduction, a song of redemption.
If only he’d listened, the zealot, the fool.
The Vampire’s kiss, as cold as the sun,
caresses my neck, a whisper forgotten, and
the broken old shaman croaks out his incantation
mic’d up like a failing comedian, on a stage made of clay,
the crowd sidles off; we are all dying here.

[brynmawr1]

So this poem was published in some online mag so I probably shouldn't mess with it, but I will of course. 


Frank Ocean

There’s a death factory at the end of our road.     Good opening
They package up pretty parcels, tied up with a forget-me-not bow.
Yellow boxes arrive, Christmas lights blinking,
in the dead of the morning, in the heat of the night.   These come across as cliche to me
Maybe it’s better, this cascade of memory,   not sure where the memory comes from
unboxed jigsaw puzzles, pieces half missing,
than the cold, hard remaining,    and what 'remaining' is referring to.
still sharp as a tack, still blunt as a knife.    not sure what 'blunt as a knife' means since knives are sharp, generally

Alone in my car, a warm hard cocoon,  need a comma after warm but then that is a lot of commas
Frank Ocean singing, no sign of pupation.   awkward continuation of the cocoon metaphor that doesn't add. not everything needs to be clever.
Red reptile eyes retreat fast before me,  again, reptile doesn't seem right
drifting along the sibilant curve.   I don't think 'hissing' curve works here either
Driving to pick up my beautiful son
he still in the fecund of growing;  fecund also not the right word
With a heart full of beats;   this, I like and the next two lines.  Though 'bed sitting room' is awkward.
I've never seen a dead body before, so he told me,
as we went through the door, to the bed sitting room.

The sluggish procession, a chattering bruise    'A sluggish..." chattering also not the right word
of grey, blue, and black, unwinds fat before me,   'of grey and blue, unwinds...'   it's a rhythm thing for me.  like the 'fat'
a scar through the fields
you cold in front, me at the back,
warm and listening to Frank Ocean;   period here?
Why see the world, when you’ve got the beach?
The blunt, dumb sea water stares back at the crowd   water seems redundant
with a bovine, blank look, and the basalt grey fingers  as does 'blank'.  and basalt has a color. not sure it's grey, but redundant.
crisscross the horizon, accusing the nonchalant sky.  not sure how a sky can be nonchalant

Willow’s song plays   Alright, who's Willow?
a song of seduction, a song of redemption.  like this line and the next
If only he’d listened, the zealot, the fool.   though this line has no context, so loses some of its power.
The Vampire’s kiss, as cold as the sun,   now back to the non-sensical juxtapositions.  Suns are hot so when you write cold as a sun you are just saying it's hot.  Now if you wrote, 'a cold sun' that's different.
caresses my neck, a whisper forgotten, and  forgotten whisper.  otherwise sounds like Yoda speak, also kill the 'and'
the broken old shaman croaks out his incantation
mic’d up like a failing comedian, on a stage made of clay,  like the comedian reference.  no need for comma after; and period after clay.
the crowd sidles off; we are all dying here.  this is a great ending.  The kind of subtle ambiguity that makes for excellent poetry.

Hi James,
What I got from this is a funeral procession, though the first few times i read through none of that was clear to me.  I've made a lot of negative comments but that doesn't mean it's a bad poem, just that there are places where simple tweaks of language could improve it.  Overall, I find the poem too unnecessarily obscure in many places.   Making the language interesting doesn't mean pushing it beyond easy understanding.  The more readers can connect with what is actually happening, the more poignant it will be.
Hope this is helpful,
Take care
bryn

[JamesG]

Hi Bryn,

thanks for taking the time to write such a detailed breakdown. You are right that I am writing about a funeral procession, as the poem was inspired by the death and funeral of a friend's mother, who had passed away in an old people's home, after spending many years suffering from dementia. Your notes are great, though I may not agree with all of them, it is always good to get a fresh eye over one's work. It is probably true that a lot of this may not make a heap of sense to someone not inside my own head, but I try to make art according to Satre's maxim that "you are your life and nothing else"


Frank Ocean

There’s a death factory at the end of our road.     Good opening This references the care home that sits at the end of out road, that is silently visited by ambulances through the week.
They package up pretty parcels, tied up with a forget-me-not bow.
Yellow boxes arrive, Christmas lights blinking,
in the dead of the morning, in the heat of the night.   These come across as cliche to me This flowed out of me but is probably a bit redundant
Maybe it’s better, this cascade of memory,   not sure where the memory comes from This references the onset of dementia, the memory collapsing into itself.
unboxed jigsaw puzzles, pieces half missing,
than the cold, hard remaining,    and what 'remaining' is referring to.
still sharp as a tack, still blunt as a knife.    not sure what 'blunt as a knife' means since knives are sharp, generally I had recently visited my mother, who though is 82 and in poor health, has had no cognitive decline (and is very plain speaking, hence the blunt), and I wondered at the time which is better, awareness or unawareness, as one approaches the end of one's life.

Alone in my car, a warm hard cocoon,  need a comma after warm but then that is a lot of commas I always seem to find punctuation in poetry a little tricky, and over use it I think
Frank Ocean singing, no sign of pupation.   awkward continuation of the cocoon metaphor that doesn't add. not everything needs to be clever. I don't know, I quite like this passage, as it describes the safeness I feel in the car, listening to music, which is something I enjoy very much
Red reptile eyes retreat fast before me,  again, reptile doesn't seem right
drifting along the sibilant curve.   I don't think 'hissing' curve works here either
Driving to pick up my beautiful son
he still in the fecund of growing;  fecund also not the right word I think it is, but I am not using it as an adjective, as would be usual
With a heart full of beats;   this, I like and the next two lines.  Though 'bed sitting room' is awkward. The bed setting room is an oblique reference to Pinter's Bedsitting room, although I think I may have only included it to improve the flow
I've never seen a dead body before, so he told me,
as we went through the door, to the bed sitting room.

The sluggish procession, a chattering bruise    'A sluggish..." chattering also not the right word
of grey, blue, and black, unwinds fat before me,   'of grey and blue, unwinds...'   it's a rhythm thing for me.  like the 'fat'
a scar through the fields
you cold in front, me at the back,
warm and listening to Frank Ocean;   period here? Either that, of the next line should be lower case. I tend to over use semicolons anyway.
Why see the world, when you’ve got the beach?
The blunt, dumb sea water stares back at the crowd   water seems redundant Perhaps, though it is there for rhythm more than anything
with a bovine, blank look, and the basalt grey fingers  as does 'blank'.  and basalt has a color. not sure it's grey, but redundant. I am pretty sure it is grey, though as you say, maybe redundant
crisscross the horizon, accusing the nonchalant sky.  not sure how a sky can be nonchalant I am projecting emotions on to unemotional entity, but I preferred nonchalant to uncaring, but then I might be trying to hard

Willow’s song plays   Alright, who's Willow? This is an allusion to The Wicker Man, and the song that Willow sings in it as she tries to seduce the Policeman, that I was a bit obsessed about at the time
a song of seduction, a song of redemption.  like this line and the next
If only he’d listened, the zealot, the fool.   though this line has no context, so loses some of its power. It has context if you recognize the above reference, as the Policeman's life would have been spared if he had gone to Willow (and lost his virginity). On such moments and decisions are live revolve.
The Vampire’s kiss, as cold as the sun,   now back to the non-sensical juxtapositions.  Suns are hot so when you write cold as a sun you are just saying it's hot.  Now if you wrote, 'a cold sun' that's different. I  think in poetry, we are allowed to make such juxtapositions, no?
caresses my neck, a whisper forgotten, and  forgotten whisper.  otherwise sounds like Yoda speak, also kill the 'and'
the broken old shaman croaks out his incantation
mic’d up like a failing comedian, on a stage made of clay,  like the comedian reference.  no need for comma after; and period after clay. I agree
the crowd sidles off; we are all dying here.  this is a great ending.  The kind of subtle ambiguity that makes for excellent poetry. I also agree ;0)
[/quote]

Cheers,

James

[brynmawr1]

There’s a death factory at the end of our road.     Good opening This references the care home that sits at the end of out road, that is silently visited by ambulances through the week.  And I can see that now that you have explained, but you shouldn't have to.  The reader should get it from the writing, title, etc. 

in the dead of the morning, in the heat of the night.   These come across as cliche to me This flowed out of me but is probably a bit redundant Not redundant.  "Dead" has some resonance, maybe use dead in the next  phrase as well?

Maybe it’s better, this cascade of memory,   not sure where the memory comes from This references the onset of dementia, the memory collapsing into itself. Again, no context to get that.

still sharp as a tack, still blunt as a knife.    not sure what 'blunt as a knife' means since knives are sharp, generally I had recently visited my mother, who though is 82 and in poor health, has had no cognitive decline (and is very plain speaking, hence the blunt), and I wondered at the time which is better, awareness or unawareness, as one approaches the end of one's life.   So, in the right context this is clever and might be on me but, to my reading, this first stanza has no context what so ever.


Frank Ocean singing, no sign of pupation.   awkward continuation of the cocoon metaphor that doesn't add. not everything needs to be clever. I don't know, I quite like this passage, as it describes the safeness I feel in the car, listening to music, which is something I enjoy very much  That I got. i just didn't find it compelling.  Maybe 'no desire for pupation'?

he still in the fecund of growing;  fecund also not the right word I think it is, but I am not using it as an adjective, as would be usual  went over it again. still a no for me.

crisscross the horizon, accusing the nonchalant sky.  not sure how a sky can be nonchalant I am projecting emotions on to unemotional entity, but I preferred nonchalant to uncaring, but then I might be trying to hard  This might be just me, but these sort of things also seem nonsensical to me and need to be done very carefully or are meaningless.

Willow’s song plays   Alright, who's Willow? This is an allusion to The Wicker Man, and the song that Willow sings in it as she tries to seduce the Policeman, that I was a bit obsessed about at the time
a song of seduction, a song of redemption.  like this line and the next
If only he’d listened, the zealot, the fool.   though this line has no context, so loses some of its power. It has context if you recognize the above reference, as the Policeman's life would have been spared if he had gone to Willow (and lost his virginity). On such moments and decisions are live revolve.  Like I said, I like these lines.  now with context I'm not sure how they relate to this poem as i understand it.

The Vampire’s kiss, as cold as the sun,   now back to the non-sensical juxtapositions.  Suns are hot so when you write cold as a sun you are just saying it's hot.  Now if you wrote, 'a cold sun' that's different. I  think in poetry, we are allowed to make such juxtapositions, no?  I would say better to avoid, but I am no expert.  Maybe something to post in a discussion forum.


Cheers,

James
[/quote]
Hi James,
I guess that is the old age question of art.  Do you make it your own, be damned of anyone else, or do you try to connect with any many as possible.  i think the best do both, and it is no small feat, which is why those that do are the best.  There is a lot that happens in this poem.  As far as a funeral poem, it could start at S2.  No need to make anything a secret if want to rework S1.
Take care,
bryn