(final revision)

He careened the blahbeige Chevy
through an essing curve, country high,
so he could screech those scrawny
needtoodamnmuchworkfor brakes.

His heart hammered, pounded roaring
o o o’s, outsonaring the sleeping owls.
He eyed lightning, toked his last wet joint
and flicked the roach to steaming concrete.

Sipsey River seeped just summer-sick around
slick boulders left of put-in, right of
Alabamafying bush – clapping yellow
soybeans low to purple stalking slash

of drying thistles.  Green was all
worn thin.  Lush had turned to near
leaf-fall.  He was wilder than his perfect
hands could ever indicate.

She had watched as he’d ease curves
in common wood in buildings.
Ropes slung lasso loose from his canoe.
The trip had made her tilt to him

a wooing, moaning mammal.
He saw her as excess baggage,
could not shake her weird appeal.
Maybe he could drown her when

the river flowed feet deeper.
They both slid the boat from cartop,
launched its metal rudder midway
down from red clay creekside

into river’s long street, creeping.  She drug
fingers in the water.  Bottom stones looked
like mudpuppies.  Poison snakes
dripped corkscrewed from the arching

oaks and skimmed across the water top,
viperous shadows cast along the bottom.
Single leaves fell from the branches, little yellow
leafy johnboats, turning them from blast

of August furnace to the mouth
of mindless Lethe.

(first revision minus Chapter heading)

He careened the blahbeige Chevy
through an essing curve, country high,
just so he could screech those scrawny
need-too-damn-much-work-for brakes.

His heart hammered, pounded roaring
o o o’s, outsonaring the sleeping owls.
He eyed thunder, toked his last wet joint
and flicked it to the steaming concrete.

Sipsey River seeped just summer-sick around
slick boulders left of put-in, right of
Alabamafying bush – clapping yellow
soybeans low to purple stalking slash

of drying thistles.  Green was all
worn thin.  Lush had turned to near
leaf-fall.  He was wilder than his sculpture
hands could ever indicate.

She had watched as he’d ease curves
of common wood in buildings.
Ropes slung lasso loose from his canoe.
The trip had made her tilt to him,

like a wooing, moaning mammal.
He saw her as excess baggage,
could not shake her weird appeal.
Maybe he could drown her when

the river flowed feet deeper.
They both slid the boat from cartop,
launched its metal rudder midway
down from red clay creekside

into river’s long street, creeping.  She drug
fingers in the water.  Bottom stones looked
like mudpuppies.  Poison snakes
dripped corkscrewed from the arching

oaks and skimmed across the water top,
their languid viperous shadows cast
along the bottom.  Single leaves
fell from the branches, little yellow

leafy johnboats, turning them from blast
of August furnace to the mouth of mindless Lethe.


(original)

Chapter 1

He careened the bleebeige Chevy
through an essing curve, country wildhighs,
just so he could screech those scrawny ancient
need-work brakes.  His heart always hammered.
Like an inflight hummingbird’s.  Pounding
roaring o’s o’s o’s, outsonaring the sleeping owls.
Redeyeing closing thunderclaps, he toked
his last wet joint.  Flicked it to the steaming
concrete curb.

Sipsey River seeped all summer-sick around
slick boulders left of put-in, right of
Alabamafying bush – clapping yellow
soybeans low to purple stalking slash
of drying thistles.  Greeny growth was all
worn thin.  Lush had turned to near
leaf-fall.  He was wilder than his shapely
hands would ever indicate.  She had watched
as he’d ease curves of common wood to buildings.

Ropes slung lasso loose from his canoe.
She was all sexed up today.
The trip had made her tilt to him,
like a wooing, moaning mammal.
He saw her as excess baggage.  He could
not shake out her weird appeal.
Maybe he could drown her when
the river flowed feet deeper.
They both slid the boat from cartop,

launched its metal rudder midway
down from slick redclaey creekside
into river’s longstreet, creeping.  She drug
fingers in the water.  Bottom stones looked
like mudpuppies.  Poison water snakes
dripped corkscrewed from the arching
oaks and skimmed across the water top,
their languid viperous shadows cast
along the bottom.  Single leaves

fell from the branches, little yellow
leafy johnboats.

Hi Cherryl

I like this a lot, particularly the sound of it. I've marked some minor nits/queries below:

rucieree wrote:

Chapter 1 why Chapter 1? Is this part of a larger work? If so, Chapter still seems unusual to me. He careened the bleebeige Chevy bleebeige? through an essing curve, country wildhighs, just so he could screech those scrawny ancient need-work brakes.  His heart always hammered. Like an inflight hummingbird’s.  Pounding I don't feel the simile of his heart to a hummingbird's works - the hummingbird's heartbeat would be too rapid and light roaring o’s o’s o’s, outsonaring the sleeping owls. I'm not getting what's making the o sound and don't think the plural should have an apostrophe Redeyeing closing thunderclaps, he toked his last wet joint.  Flicked it to the steaming concrete curb. Sipsey River seeped all summer-sick around slick boulders left of put-in, right of love these two lines Alabamafying bush – clapping yellow soybeans low to purple stalking slash of drying thistles.  Greeny growth was all worn thin.  Lush had turned to near leaf-fall.  He was wilder than his shapely shapely doesn't feel like the right word to me hands would ever indicate.  She had watched as he’d ease curves of common wood to buildings. Ropes slung lasso loose from his canoe. She was all sexed up today. I don't think this line is necessary as the next two say it much better The trip had made her tilt to him, like a wooing, moaning mammal. He saw her as excess baggage.  He could not shake out her weird appeal. Maybe he could drown her when the river flowed feet deeper. They both slid the boat from cartop, launched its metal rudder midway down from slick redclaey creekside redclaey? into river’s longstreet, creeping.  She drug fingers in the water.  Bottom stones looked like mudpuppies.  Poison water snakes dripped corkscrewed from the arching oaks and skimmed across the water top, their languid viperous shadows cast along the bottom.  Single leaves fell from the branches, little yellow leafy johnboats.

A very atmospheric poem, thanks for posting.

Amanda

Amanda:

Thanks for your comments.  They are on the mark.  This is definitely a work in progress and does, in fact, have more chapters.  How many has yet to be determined.

I wanted to get some impressions down first, so some of those funky adjectives and too, too phrases will have to go in my next version.

I appreciate your time with this.

rucieree

Hi, Cherryl. Well, this got me Googling some stuff. Okay, I am now AI and ready to proceed.

My instinct would be to leave out the 'He' at the start because it seems too neat for a rock and rolling Beat thing like this. I Googled 'blahbeige', and I see it exists, but it's feckin horrible. What is 'country high' attached to here? It's kind of a defining relative clause, but what is it defining, the careening or the curve or the he? And what is 'essing'? I think I can sort of get with it but it's slowing me down and making me question. Maybe that's just me. I'd lose the 'just' at the start of L3 too, as it's unnecessary and is also a cliché in any poem of this kind. 'Just' is always a dodgy word in this kind of stuff because it seems to imitate a sense of argot. I don't like the hyphenated thing in L4 either because it suggests a clichéd Stephen King kind of down-homey characterization. I'm sounding excessively negative here, and I actually like quite a lot of this, but these are my feelings as I read through.

I think the punctuation starts to present difficulties after a while, and I think you could lose it altogether in this poem. Otherwise it comes across like a wild ride trying to be very polite along the way, which makes it rather less convincing and throws up the suggestion of artifice. You're also in danger of getting too fond of this ride and this poem to the point where you get intoxicated by it and write things like 'he eyed thunder', which is nonsense and is very extreme Tell. I'm not sure that 'toked' is quite the right word there either, as 'toke' is a drag or a pull, not a completion or an entire consumption of a whole joint, which seems to be the suggestion here. Where is this concrete? That seems out of the environmental character of the poem.

Sipsey River seeped just summer-sick around
slick boulders left of put-in, right of
Alabamafying bush – clapping yellow
soybeans low to purple stalking slash

I'd watch it with losing articles like this 'to purple stalking slash'. It can seem like an unnatural eye on the poeticks... I'm trying to check how the read sounds as I go here, and it makes up for some of this, but at times it veers away from the fine line to one side or the other, either too much or too little, and I keep coming back to finding it a little over-excited at the same time as being a little over-controlled. Seems like two very distinct people are at work on this one, and they don't always entirely agree with each other.

of drying thistles.  Green was all
worn thin.  Lush had turned to near
leaf-fall.  He was wilder than his sculpture
hands could ever indicate.

This hands thing attempts something but doesn't make it. There's no way that 'sculpture hands' is either relevant or revealing here. This is an example of an underwritten overwrite. It's a neat-sounding sentence that suggests some sort of insight but isn't actually developed anywhere near enough to actually give any insight, and actually falls apart when looked at closely. 'Indicate' is a poor word too.

She had watched as he’d ease curves
of common wood in buildings.
Ropes slung lasso loose from his canoe.
The trip had made her tilt to him, -- lose this superfluous comma!

'Eased'?

like a wooing, moaning mammal.
He saw her as excess baggage,
could not shake her weird appeal.
Maybe he could drown her when

This and the end of the last strophe are better in their enjambed complexes. But you don't want the 'like' in there because you don't want this to be a simile. It's not just a simile, it's a reality and you should use 'as' to make that option clear.

the river flowed feet deeper.
They both slid the boat from cartop,
launched its metal rudder midway
down from red clay creekside

Why no article before 'cartop'? It seems ugly to me. Maybe there's a growing tendency to lose articles in US English or something, in which case it's my problem.

into river’s long street, creeping.  She drug
fingers in the water.  Bottom stones looked
like mudpuppies.  Poison snakes
dripped corkscrewed from the arching

'River's long street' is either another awkward loss of article or is a retro-reference to a particular strand of mid-20th century poetry that attempted to almost reify active nouns like this. I feel like it's a step too far to do it with 'river' because 'river' just doesn't have the same expansive personality as the usual words this is done with, such as 'night' or whatever.

oaks and skimmed across the water top,
their languid viperous shadows cast
along the bottom.  Single leaves
fell from the branches, little yellow

This may be fussy, but I don't think I've ever seen an arched oak tree. I like the sudden stab of obvious fiction with the poisonous snakes. You can't use 'languid' in this poem. You can't. No need to make an adjective out of 'viper' either. Just 'viper' would do it slicker and Beatier. And then what on earth does 'single leaves' mean? Either there is one of them or there are more than one. That's a very peculiar little linguistic dissonance.

leafy johnboats, turning them from blast
of August furnace to the mouth of mindless Lethe.

Another missing article before 'blast'. Really grates for me. 'Leafy johnboats' is excellent. Then another missing article before 'August', which in this instance adds the extra confounding conflation of the adjectival 'august'. 'Lethe' is always going to be problematic like any myth reference. And 'mindless Lethe' takes us into outer Tell. Now I want to know why it's mindless. You've told me it is but you haven't shown me in any way. Plus mythics are like gods -- they all mean different things to different people.

Okay, I know that was a lot of objections. Sorry about that. My overall take here is that this is very nearly a really effective poem, but it just seems to sabotage itself too avidly and too repeatedly. I would try to talk it down a little and make it a bit smaller and a bit more cohesive and accurate. It seems to want to be too many things at the moment.

Hope I made some sense in there.

Steve.

Hey Cheryll

How are you?  So wonderful to read  this amazing poem today.

The revision is great, although I prefer the ending of the original.

Also, I sort of feel that I want to scatter a few articles, I don't believe this is
an oversight by you (you're too careful for that) - so I'm going to trust you.

Love the slippery ssssssssssss running through this.  Man, I enjoyed the whole
thing.

Much lerv

Zoe

Steve:

You're sure you LIKE this poem?  

As a general rule, the lack of articles is a stylistic thing of mine that, as a rule, drives some readers nuts.  I can't help it.  I hate articles.  They often waste space and perfectly good syllables.  I've tried writing with articles as they are suggested to me, but often times what I end up with is something that sounds nothing like me, means nothing like what I want something to mean.  Tried it.  Works sometimes, but rarely.

As far as things like the "sssing" curve, the concrete, the "purple stalking slash," the arching oak, and the single leaves, they are realities.  We have a lot of essing curves along county highways in the mountains in the woods in the south.  We also have man-high thistles that grow where other weeds don't along roadsides especially in summer.  The oaks certainly do arch here, as do other trees at creeksides, to better get the benefit of the moisture.  The leaves drop one-by-one into the water sometimes.  I didn't want to say "some leaves" or "one-by-one."

The whole joint may well have been consumed by this gentleman.  It wouldn't have been unusual.  I guess I could say roach or that he took a hit.  I'll have to check.

You're right about the eyeing the thunder.  I thought I could slip that past.  The hands thing I can't get right.  He is meant to have beautiful hands despite the fact that he is a carpenter.  The juxtaposition is what I'm going for.

The rest, well, what can I say.

I love your candor and appreciate your comments.

I gave you a few changes, but it's already starting to feel overworked to me.

rucieree

I was over-nouned if there would be a word, and adjectives abound I had to think to much... it might be my age and parkinism something struck me about how it was over- described I may be in over my head in thinking about it this way, it just struck me no reflection on the poets ability to write it was very interesting and surely took a lot of work and study, some spelling nits no big deal...$$$   I'm ready for my beating next time around on mine...

                                                                                       Goeszon



_____________________________________________
Diabolus facit, ut id facerem!-The devil made me do it!

No beating from me.  I appreciate your reading this and your comments.

rucieree

Thank you I was holding my breath... my mother got it into my head that if you don't have something good to say don't say nothing at all etc it wasn't like I didn't have something nice to say your piece struck me in my uneducated mind thanks...

                                                                                        Goeszon

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Long ago a man of the world was defined as a man who in every serious crisis is invariably wrong.-Author unknown