From: user3274@newsgrouper.org.invalid   
      
   mpsilvertone@yahoo-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (HarryLime) posted:   
   > Will Dockery wrote:   
   >> mpsilvertone@yahoo-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (HarryLime) posted:   
   >>> Will-Dockery wrote:   
   >   
   > >> Shattered   
   > >>   
   > >> The seconds have piled up   
   > >> at the floor   
   > >> lost here in some other guy's past   
   > >> lying there   
   > >> with your seconds piled   
   > >> there went by a life   
   > >> untold   
   > >> unasked   
   > >> going by   
   > >> never caused and never traced   
   > >> the future never ever appears here.   
   > >>   
   > >> If some morning I wake   
   > >> here for you   
   > >> trying to find some reason to return   
   > >> if I see things denied   
   > >> I once defined   
   > >> a life just passed me by there   
   > >> slipped through my fingers   
   > >> everything here now is real   
   > >> so wait.   
   > >> That portion of the finish   
   > >> never comes.   
   > >>   
   > >> Now that the lights are going so low   
   > >> the dimming glow   
   > >> falls on my ego   
   > >> now that I'm falling   
   > >> into my morning   
   > >> here I am gazing into those   
   > >> reflector eyes   
   > >> morning light   
   > >> is blasting my head clean too.   
   > >> Morning's clearer   
   > >> I've been forgetting it.   
   > >>   
   > >> Your thoughts seem to stream   
   > >> like a highway   
   > >> dimming lights seem to streak   
   > >> like hitch-hikers.   
   > >> When does this dream end?   
   > >> When do I get on up the road?   
   > >> The light sped out   
   > >> like a fire-fly   
   > >> like gravestones   
   > >> never noticed   
   > >> never seen.   
   > >> Like marbles   
   > >> spilling from shattered minds.   
   > >>   
   > >> -Will Dockery / August 20 1976   
   > >>   
   > >> ***   
   > >> (Published March 1977 in the Carverlite, the Carver High School   
   > >> newspaper, Columbus Georgia)   
   > >>   
   > >> From:   
   > >> https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2023/09/shattered.html?m=1   
   > >>   
   > >> I'll present "Neon Bones" similar to the way I presented this 1977 poem,   
   edited, retyped for 2026 readers.   
   > >>   
   > >> I would strongly suggest using a different editor.   
   > >>   
   > >> Are you busy?   
   > >>   
   > >> While it's nice of you to ask, I am forced to decline.   
      
   It was a wild idea I reckon but I do admit you know your shit when it comes to   
   poetry.   
      
   All flaming and trolling aside for a moment.   
      
   > >> There are two reasons why I'm unable to do so:   
   > >>   
   > >> 1 )  It's impossible to edit a poem when I've no idea what the poem is   
   trying to say.   
   > >> 2 )  There are so many individual passages that don't work, and   
   necessitate a rewrite, that there would be little of your original poem left   
   when I was done.   
   > >>   
   > >> The most I can do at this point, is to point out the problems.   
   > >   
   > > Thanks for the critique, I responded to a couple of your posts below, and   
   will respond to the rest on a point by point basis, since this post is so   
   lengthy.   
   > >   
   > >   
   > >> Shattered   
   > >>   
   > >> The title is good.  It's generic (I'm sure there are many amateur poems   
   out there with this title), but for me that is not a problem.  I use generic   
   titles all the time, as they tend to capture the poem's theme much better than   
   a unique title could.    
    It is also, in your poem, necessary for one to have some inkling as to what   
   the poem is about.  As far as I can make out, the poem is about "losing one's   
   marbles" (i.e., going insane as the result of some form of emotional trauma --   
   perhaps numerous    
   traumas).   
      
   Again, thanks.   
      
   At least I was off to a good start.   
      
   😏   
      
   > > Thanks, I can only think of one other work with the title, and I used the   
   title at least a year before they did.   
   > >   
   > >   
   > > I can't think of any other poem with that title... but that's the point.    
   It's generic and forgettable.  There are probably hundreds of unknown, amateur   
   poets who have used that title in other poetry groups that nobody reads.   
   > >   
   > > How many poems can you think of that have "September" for a title?  Or   
   "October," or "Romance," or "Grief," "Monday," "Loneliness," "Insanity,"   
   "Enchanted," "Summertime," "Death"?   
   > >   
   > > They're simple, yet all-encompassing.  They purport to be the last word on   
   a universal topic.  The poems may be masterpieces, twaddle, or anyplace   
   in-between.   
   > >   
   > > But no one is ever going to remember their generic titles.   
   > >   
   > > And, yes, those are all titles of my own poems (as well as the poems of   
   thousands of other poets).   
   > >   
   > >> The seconds have piled up   
   > >> at the floor   
   > >>   
   > >> I believe that I've pointed out in the past that seconds do not pile up   
   *at* the floor.  They pile up (metaphorically, of course) *on* the floor.  A   
   grammatical flaw of that magnitude is the sort that would cause PJR's   
   proverbial "experienced    
   readers" to stop reading.   
   > >>   
   > >> "The seconds" is also wrong.  If "the seconds" is simply referring to   
   increments of time, it should be "Seconds have piled up on the floor."   
   > >>   
   > >> If "the seconds" refers to some specific seconds (as the use of "the"   
   implies), you would need to tell us *what* sort of seconds they are.  Here is   
   an example of what I mean" "The seconds of our affair replay themselves in my   
   memory."   
   > >>   
   > >> When used to indicate specificity, the use of "the" requires an   
   explanatory "of."   
   > >>   
   > >> In addition, you fail to address *why* the seconds feel as though they're   
   piled on the floor (or what this metaphor even implies).  When you think about   
   it (and poetry is an art form that *requires* the reader to examine it in   
   detail), we don't know    
   where seconds are supposed to go once they pass.  One could argue (and I think   
   this may actually be your point) that when measuring time with hourglass, the   
   grains of sand (representing seconds) pile up on the floor (or the base of the   
   hourglass).   
   > >>   
   > >> If so, the entire passage/metaphor is unwieldy for the sake of   
   unwieldiness.   
   > >>   
   > >> "Seconds pile up" would be all that you would need to say in order to   
   adequately express the concept.  "Time passes slowly," "each moment seems an   
   eternity," and dozens of other common expressions are more than sufficient to   
   get your idea across.   
   > >>   
   > >> Placing the spent seconds specifically on the floor, indicates that the   
   floor holds some special significance to the poem.  Which, AFAICS, is not the   
   case.   
   > >>   
   > >> lost here in some other guy's past   
   > >> lying there   
   > >> with your seconds piled   
   > >>   
   > >> This passage is highly problematic for several reasons.   
   > >>   
   > >> The first line requires a subject and verb: "I AM lost here in some other   
   guy's past."  Added the subject and verb not only turns a sentence fragment   
   into a complete sentence, but it *tells* the reader what the lines are   
   referring to.   
   > >>   
   > >> The use of "here" is at odds with the content.  The speaker opens the   
   poem in the present tense ("The seconds have"), so "here" (which denotes the   
   "here and now") would be at odds with "some other guy's past."  The correct   
   way to write this is "    
   lost in some other guy's past."   
   > >>   
   > >> But if the speaker (or someone he's speaking of) is lost in "some other   
   guy's past," the "other guy" whose past the speaker is lost in, should be   
   identified at some point in the narrative.   
   > >>   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
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