Balance and Cruelty

[crows]

The path is frozen:
A ribbon of brittle time
Spools from my city,
Into yours; dodges starlight.

I have loved you,
Hated you,
Believe you me. We met
Over a [field] of murder
On the edge of a straight blade.

I wonder every day,
Even now. For what mistake
We are paying.
The reflections in my gazing bowl
Offer me no nepenthe. But...
When my conviction falters,
Yours is still there
To catch it.

[For F.]

Comments

[forestminstrel.livejournal.com]

"The path is frozen:
A ribbon of brittle time
Spools from my city,
Into yours; dodges starlight."

You set the mood early, which is a good thing. Your language is short and to-the-point, which seems to give sense to meeting someone on a battlefield, where you wouldn't talk much, you'd be short, to-the-point, your sword becomes your tongue and the dance of combat your language. I guess we're arrogant to think we can even express it through words.

The ribbon from the spool is a good consistant image. However, I don't think 'brittle time' works too well. It seems a tad forced. Also, 'dodges starlight', while giving us a good image, seems to also be forced. It might would make more sense if you mention starlight again at a different point in the poem.

"I have loved you,
Hated you,
Believe you me. We met
Over a [field] of murder
On the edge of a straight blade."

Here the poem seems to sink into a more conversational tone. 'Love/hate, believe you me'- these are personal patterns of speech, they are cliche, but not in an indomitable sense. I think they work to give us a voice of the speaker.

I'm puzzled and fascinated with your use of [field]. It seems as if the two people involved used to call it something else, or that they used to otherwise refer to it as something else. It's tantalizing, and teasing. It's a word no reader will ever know.

Naturally, 'On the edge of a straight blade' is my favorite line.


"I wonder every day,
Even now. For what mistake
We are paying.
The reflections in my gazing bowl
Offer me no nepenthe. But...
When my conviction falters,
Yours is still there
To catch it."

You leave us too short. You leave us wanting more, yes, which is always a heavenly thing to inspire in your readers- but we need more substance, more story, more body in this poem or else we'll just leave and possibly muse over it. I feel like the story here has enough dramatic weight to inspire change in the author, yet I feel like you're holding back, maybe, for the sake of seeming short, of only providing us a glimpse. This is a glimpse, but make it brighter, or darker. Give it color. Make us addicted to its color.


Hope this counts as constructive criticism.

Contact me sometime, stranger.
-Brian LeClaire