Recognition

[dyne7]

Recognition

Sometime we borrow things
forgetting where we put them.
You watch your daughter
late at night, when she is
in the deepest stages of sleep.
She shifts. Turns. Repeats.
She wants something to hold on to,
like the former prize fighter
next door who shadow boxes at every gathering,
the effort spent on your high school what is love
assignment when a minute was too much,
the hug you gave your second father when only
a smile was needed,
the amount of shampoo you poured in your spouse’s hair
when only a drop was enough.
Daughter, soap in the hand, clothed light,
it’s all the same to you.
To the youngest, we are like gods,
fully grown, fully human.
The colder it gets, the less we see our shadows,
the reminder—snow angels with her,
and the one snowflake that landed in the middle
of your head, where her moth-wing lips kissed
at the moment of its falling, the line of demarcation,
the separation of all things good and evil in you.
Love is recognition, is what you wrote.
Recognition. Like the look your father gave you
when you asked for a pen to complete the assignment,
like the look your girlfriend gave right before
you asked her to marry you,
when you breathed frost in her ear,
and said her name.

[hillwalker]

There's a lot here to absorb at first reading but the beauty of it is that as soon as we reach the end we want to return and re-read it.

For a while I thought it was going to be a bit too touchy-feely but you managed to sidestep that minefield of mawkishness. Excellent piece.

H

[PrinceMyshkin]

The breathlessness of that ending is so unexpected and so apropos the wonder you display throughout at the quiddity of everything that is. Beautiful poem.

[blank|verse]

This is largely an excellently written poem, dyne, and I think you've done well to re-post it on its own. (I read from the other, longer thread but didn't know where to start my response, to be honest. I certainly think your poems deserve greater attention, and praise, than they have so far received.)

The early mention of a father (I presume, given the later mention of a 'girlfriend') watching over his daughter immediately evokes Coleridge's 'Frost at Midnight', something which is perhaps intentional, given the 'frost in her ear' image in the penultimate line.

I enjoyed the opening gambit (typo: 'Sometimes', line 1?) and introduces casually the 'negative' of the sentiment of the poem: we don't forget where we put things we care about.

I think you've got a good writing style, but feel you just need to control the rhythm and images presented to the reader. For example, the first eight lines of the poem contain two or three stresses, reinforced strongly in line 6 ('She shifts. Turns. Repeats.'); thereafter the lines become longer, breaking the rhythm and making the poem becomes rather prose-like. Also, with the images, maybe a stanza break would help here, but still I found this a bit of a jump:

To the youngest, we are like gods,
fully grown, fully human.
The colder it gets, the less we see our shadows,
Likewise, I got a bit lost reading the lines after the 'prize fighter' had been introduced and felt that could been more controlled.

My main issue is with the nature of the Grand Statement: 'Love is recognition'. I think it's a very bold - perhaps too bold - assertion to make. I think it's introduced at the right point in the poem as the cadence of the poem has been built nicely. At face value, it works well, but the more I think about its sentiment, the weaker I think it is. Is love only recognition? I can name very many more things that I can recognise, but don't love at all, in fact, quite the opposite. And what about companionship, trust, respect... not to mention physical love? It seems quite depressing if the poem is saying that's all love is. Perhaps it would have better to have just presented the images as they stand, or at least to have toned down such a pronouncement.

Anyway, that's just me; that issue aside, I think the positives of the poem, the thoughtful imagination on display here and the quality of the writing, make this one of the better poems on the forum. I look forward to reading more of your poems. :)

[Jack of Hearts]

Like a fireball you burned through here leaving embers on the edges of this reader's consciousness like a beautiful or horrifying dream or a whisper of a memory.






J

[Delta40]

Dyne you are a gifted poet and I relished the handful of memories you awoke within me.