Revisions
Here is my dad’s response to my critiques in the last post.
N1
Here is a revision of Designer’s Brew based on your comments, followed by the original version, including some changes I made. The original words are in parenthesis.
DESIGNER’S BREW
This distillery mind of mine is active again,
taking grains of things seen, heard and felt,
brewing something new, some spirit substance
ample in head, bitter to the tongue,
placing it on the bar to be sampled by
God-knows-who. “Not my taste,”
some say, rejecting out of hand that which rose from fiery logs, curled through
narrow tubes settling in the collecting vat
of experience, was then bottled, capped, distributed,
stocked openly, my name on it. Some shrug,
desiring something with vintage attached,
unwilling to drink my less subtle,
harsher ale. Some prefer lighter sustenance.
But there are those who will smack their lips,
nod appreciatively consuming my designer’s brew.
Those discerning, exuberant connoisseurs
are the audience I ferment for.
Here’s the earlier version.
DESIGNER’S BREW
This distillery mind of mine
is active again, taking grans
of things seen and heard,
brewing something new, some spirit
substance ample in head, bitter
to tongue, placing it on
the bar to be sampled
by God-knows-who. It’s
not my tast, some may say
rejecting out of hand
that which rose from fiery
logs, curled through narrow tubes,
settling in the collecting vat
of experience, was bottled, capped,
distributed, stocked openly, my name
on it. Some shrug, desiring
something with vintage attached,
unwilling to drink my less subtle,
harsher ale. Some prefer lighter
sustenance. But tehre are those
who smack their lips, nod
appreciatively consuming my desigher’s brew.
Those discerning, exuberant (geniuses) connoisseurs
are the audience I (froth) ferment for.
I’m still not sure whether I want the poem to be in stanzas or with the new line breaks I have in the later version. I appreciated your comments, as you may have noticed by the changes I made in the poem.
N2
Here is the revision I made to Night, as per your comment, although I’m not sure it makes the poem better. I don’t think it makes it worse, though, so you tell me which version you like, the old one or the one with the added line.
NIGHT
Untorn and yet not whole,
this mothcloth sky, unpatched by cloud,
pounds forth its heavy fist of focus,
feeding imagination.
Clear sharp lines of trees
loom large and more than tree,
waiting for dawn to change their mien
to something not sheer line and black,
something more a tree.
P.S. Mein was a typo. I always intended it to be mien.
N3
I’m really happy you like PITY. Incidentally, I submitted NIGHT and PITY to the West Side Books Poetry Contest here in Denver. I think of them as my best short poems.
N4
I agree that GRIEF should be exactly the size it is. I might also call your attention to the F alliteration in the last stanza. There is another F word that I was hoping “fickle wings” might evoke in the reader’s mind.
N5
I’m also glad you like this poem. It is actually an old one that I wrote either while I was in college or during my 1957 sojourn in New York. Below is the original version, which was written (as should be obvious) in imitation of e.e. cummings. I like the newer version better, although there are some things left less to the imagination in the original.
IN ONE PACK-
AGE, THE WORLD
in one pack-
age, the world,
wrapped and
rib-
b
o
n
e
d
(on the corner)
waiting.
will i do? i asked,
he'd-
less of the
(heaven's warning thunder-)
c
l
a
p
.
she re-
g(u)ard-
ed me
(dis-
d
a
i
n
-
fully.
i
shrunk.
sorry, i mum-
bled, stum-
bling on
my way.
wait,
said she,
you
(
y
e
t
)
may
do.
I still like the original version. There’s something alluring about its explicitness and it is even clearer as to the profession of the woman, who is rib-boned as was Eve. the main change I had to make from one version to the other as far as the actual words was concerned, was the use of “shrank,” for “shrunk,” because the sexual connotation was not necessary in the later version. I think the newer version works extremely well and is, as you said, “mysterious,” which is something the original could never be called. The changes from “wait, said she, you yet may do” to “wait, she said, you may do yet” were suggested by Sheila on the basis of the original being archaic and breaking the mood of the newer version.
N6
Here is what I came up with re your suggestions.
TRAPPED
This desert of my mind
cracks like a dry lake
crisscrossed with hexagons of thought,
each one separated by unbridgeable
crevasses, doomed to remain
within its borders until
some far day in which
merciful clouds blotting out the sun,
pouring rain like mourner’s tears,
shall melt those remorseless rims.
N7
I will pull this poem out of the Stanford batch and look for a substitute since I think it will benefit from being put aside for later review. You’re right, it can be made much better. As for the name of the town, however, it is spelled Canon and pronounced Canyon.
N8
I have a feeling that MY FATHER will become a longer poem at a later time. However, that poem will be very difficult to write. I think this one is complete as-is, though, and will use it. Just the facts, Jonathan.
N9
The 10-line stanza was a typo. the last stanza should begin
I’m totally undisturbed…
See if that makes it read better for you. I have no objection to making it all one stanza but I think it works quite well in 5-line stanzas. In reality, I had originally written the poem in six-line stanzas of six words each line. At Sheila’s suggestion, I condensed it into five word lines and ultimately to five line stanzas with some lines shorter than 5 words per line when it worked better that way. I thought this was an interesting technical challenge to hone my skills.
N10
Thanks for the “yes” on PICTURE OF MY WIFE, although I’d like to have you elaborate on that just out of ego gratification. It was written in one burst as I just finished dusting her picture.
N11
I will work on this poem, which seems difficult to break into stanzas since it is a single sentence and I think should be a single sentences, since it is a single life. If you have any specific ideas, I’d like to hear them. I’m sure, though, that I couldn’t simply break this poem into even-lined stanzas and I’m afraid breaking it into unsymmetrical stanzas might hurt the cloth I’m trying to weave here. I’ve had Sheila and Jake York suggest at different times that I should lengthen the poem and have responded each time by doing so. Although I’m sure there is ample room for expanding this person’s life further, I’m not convinced that I can do so in a single sentence and for some stubborn reason, I want to hold it to that. You can take a shot at breaking it into stanzas that make sense to you and get back to me with it, but I only have about a week to get this stuff ready for submission. Also, all those words you had rouble with were typos. Barble should be Marble, Pieta should have an accent, but I let it go, thinking an editor would put it in, since I don’t know how to put it in Word. Enbrace should be Embrace. You’ve got a good eye, Jonathan.
N12
I’ll bow to your impressions here. I wrote this a long time ago and like the image, but it’s quite possible that it doesn’t stand on its own. There are a number of poems I can look at to include in this submission, including the one about my mother’s death, the one about your mother and me splitting up and the one about you and me in New York. As of now, I have 10 poems, since I’ve just eliminated two of them re your comments. That’s 10 pages. I can go to 15 pages. I’ve not included Marketplace since that would probably run 6-7 pages in itself and I’ve also not included Prince of Bums, since that would go at least 2, maybe 3 pages. I like them both buty think I should hold them out until a later time.
I hope you can find something to applaud in my latest revisions. Let’s see if we can’t get to final takes on these and look at what else to add, if anything.
Thanks for your comments and also for the wonderful picture of three generations you just sent me.
Love,
Pop
Stanford University creative writing fellowship
In Fall of 2002, my father had hit a stride, returning with verve to his writing, especially poetry. He became inspired enough to submit for a Stanford University poetry fellowship. He did me the great honor of asking for my critique of the poems he was to submit.
Here is his “statement of plan” as submitted for the application:
Having put my 67th birthday behind me, I try to keep my plans realistic and achievable. I’ve come back to writing after a hiatus of 33 years, having abandoned the enterprise after the failure of my first marriage in 1969, to begin writing again six years after the demise of my second wife in 1996, chiefly as a way to express my grief. Now, poetic ideas assault me daily and I’ve been asked by several people whom I love and admire to not abandon the pursuit again. I don’t think I could if I wanted to.
Yet, the time away from writing and critical reading of poetry has put me at a disadvantage. I’ve succumbed to economy of expression so completely my poetry often does not realize its potential and I often opt to shorten my expression from lack of understanding how to more fully develop my ideas. It is in this realm I can most benefit from a Stanford fellowship. I’ve deprived myself of the companionship of other writers and the stimulation of instructors for a long time. Further development of my skills as a poet should prove of value to the Stanford University fellowship program as well as to me, individually.
Thanks for your consideration,
Norman Pearl
Here are the poems he asked me to critique, along with my commentary.
Prostate cancer & Herpes virus mutants
P.J. Cozzi
University of New South Wales
St. George Hospital
Department of Surgery
Pitney Clinical Science Bldg.
Sydeney, NSW 2217, Australia
Dear Mr. Cozzi,
I have just come across an article concerning a study which appeared in Prostate magazine concerning two Herpes Simple Virus mutants, G207 and NV1020. You were cited as the contact person for this report.
I am a patient with prostate cancer, Gleason 9, which was diagnosed in January, 2002. I have been on hormone suppression therapy with Lupron and Casodex since February. At first, the therapy worked, lowering my PSA from a high of 24.5 at diagnosis to a low of 2.3 in May. My PSA level has increased to 5.6, 7.7, and 8.7 in September. I also have minimal bone metastases to my shoulders and hips, bilaterally. According to my oncologist, this has not changed since January. I’ve been informed that I have 12-27 months to live.
I’m very interested in your viruses and would like to be a sugject in any study you may be conducting so long as I will be a recipient of one or the other virus.
I would like to have a copy of the paper concerning these viruses to show my oncologist if that is possible. I would appreciate your help in my situation as I prefer not to bow out of existence quite yet. You may reache me at my e-mail address cited above.
Yours truly,
Norman Pearl
Dec. 14, 2002, 5:00 a.m.
The probability that I will not live to see my 70th birthday is attempting to get through to me. I turned 67 on July 8, 2002. I was diagnosed with prostate cancer in January. Gleason’s 9 on a scale of 10 with metastases to the bones, albeit not extensive. I started on hormone suppression therapy which seemed to be working until several weeks ago when my PSA began to rise again. Wednesday (Dec. 11) I met my new doctor for the second time, my “oncologist.” According to him, I have a year to 27 months of breathing left. He’s a bit casual about things, told me I could stop taking the androgen suppression pill I’ve been taking since it wasn’t life-prolonging and I’d feel better without it. He also suggested that I not take my next injection of Lupron, the testosterone suppressant that apparently is life-prolonging, again so I could feel better. Those two drugs have been making me feel weaker, since they suppress the masculinity in me, leading to loss of muscle mass, feelings of weakness, etc. At least they haven’t led to a growth of breasts, which is one of the things that could occur. I’ve also gained 23 lbs since starting on the therapy, which is another side effect of the drugs. The weight gain has created a problem with my breathing in that by belly is pressing up on my lungs which are already inefficient due to the slight emphysema I have from smoking, even though I gave up that habit in 1979. Things do catch up with you, don’t they?
At any rate, I’m still trying to come to grips with this new reality. The doctor who diagnosed me told me in January that I had anywhere from two to 10 years, depending on my response to therapy. Naturally, I decided for the 10 years scenario and my initial response to the hormone suppression regime seemed to bear that optimistic picture out. Of course, I’m going to fight as well as I can to keep going longer than the 27 months I’m now looking at. I’m contemplating coffee enemas, since I know they helped Mary Lou with her colon cancer — although she decided to take them too late to save her. I’m planning to read several books on nutrition to find an optimal diet. There are some supplements I’ll probably try. Hopefully, going off the medications — that is, doing intermittent therapy, three months on, three months off, will give me enough energy to do some exercising to help get the weight off and make breathing easier for me. I’ll still bowl four days a week, as I’ve been doing, since that’s the major part of my social life, but that’s not enough exercise to get me in some kind of physical shape to fight this thing. I may be lazy and prone not to follow through on things, but I’m also not going to give in to this thing. I think it’s prudent, though, to get things in order. I’ll have to make some calls, get addresses of the people I’m going to leave my meager inheritance to and put together a will of sorts. Hopefully, I’ll go this afternoon and get the enema kit so I can start on those things. That’s it for now.
Words of My Father 