SUBJECT>Re: Sonnet 73 POSTER>Jessica A.C. Snyder EMAIL>hautepoet@hotmail.com DATE>1111643947 IP_ADDRESS>az-yuma-cuda1s-201.losaca.adelphia.net PASSWORD>aaiSrkYixZ5ro PREVIOUS>85311 NEXT> 85397 IMAGE> LINKNAME> LINKURL>

: Sonnet 73

: In necessary sleep I, unaware
: of how my hair would thicken and then thin,

The "thicken and then thin" has me curious--is this some part of a medical condition? What does it refer to? Thinning, I get...it's the thickening bit that has me feeling thickheaded. Also, the first line sets me up to expect a tightly woven poem. The second line does not deliver--perhaps it's the "of how" and "and then" that are not necesary other than for metric purposes. Or, it could just be that the "thicken and then thin" is a tad bit of a tongue tripper, if not a niftily euphonic one.

: how soon the recent novelty of air
: would come on schedule as oxygen,

The idea here is good, but air isn't really a "novelty" unless one is being sarcastic, and I don't think you wan't sarcasm here. I suggest a reevaluation of wordchoice there. I think you could want to convey that what was once freely and unconciously partaken of is now provided by the steady pumping of a machine, right? Well, you have alot of space here that could easily be filled by a more strongly iambic statement--one whose more noticable rhythm would echo/enhance the rhythmic pumping of the oxygen. It might not be easy to pull off without going overboard, but you're capable.

: lay dreaming nothing, what I now can't dream.

The "dreaming nothing" is a bit trite & uninteresting--like the reply "Nothing" to the question "Whatcha doin?"--it seems to be words for when you don't have anything worth mentioning. Does that make sense? Followed by "what I now can't dream" it is downright awkward and confusing (yet while still managing to seem as if it is trying to sound lofty).

: How can it be you'll cede your daily trip,
: who cares for me and cares for me? It seems

I like the repetition here--it gives a sense of the seemingly unending task, and the tirelessness that care demands.

: ...It seems
: impossible you'll let them stop the drip.

Considering the more vegetative state implied by the dreaming nothing/can't dream, who is putting forth the opinion here? The rest of the narration has been rather passive, so it was less noticable that the person austensibly on life support of some kind, was talking/thinking. SO, is this where you begin to imply that there really IS something there, even if unseen or unrecognized by others, that IS really and truly alive?

: But we have loved as by a living will
: to which just one revision has been made,
: so as to testify that two can still
: face unity and nothing, though afraid.

The diction here is rather antiquated. I am actually a fan of higher or antiquated diction (telling a poet never to use it is like telling a painter not to use blue, as it is "so yesterday", IMO), but it must be consistently held throughout a poem not to seem like something used to keep the rhyme-scheme alive. I often wrestle with this myself, so your use doesn't bug me so much as ring a familiar warning bell.
: In light whereof, we'll let them pull the plug,
: and trust one heart will tolerate the tug.
I actually really like this couplet. Yes, "pull the plug" is a tired cliche, and "heart" is unforgivably trite in a poem referencing love, BUT, you have given these an actual medical frame of reference, which sort of brings them back from the only-an-ameteur scrap heap. Nifty.