Crits?

18 posts / 0 new

Topic locked

Sat, 2004-12-11 23:24

Crits?

I've had to write a piece for uni, changing whitsun weddings from a poem, to a dialogue between a 5 year old child and a poet.I had to keep to the structural fact, and just adapt it... I'm unsure, and it has to be in on Tuesday.
If anyones's got the time or the inclination, could you let me know what you reckon? The original poem, for those who might not be aware of it, can be seen here -
Bear in mind that i'm NOT a prose writer so this is difficult for me... cheers.

Whitsun Weddings

“The train was late leaving the station… I wonder why?” said the poet, half to himself, half to the small girl sitting opposite him.
The small girl looked up from her drawing, and stared at him.
“Is it late?” she said. “It looks like day”
“It’s not as though the train is full. And it is day, you are right.”
“Train is empty” said the child, arranging her crayons on the table in between the two of them.
“They look like a fence” said the poet, tapping his pen against his chin.
“A crayon fence” said the child, pleased with the image.
“Would you mind if I opened the windows?” asked the poet.
“My seat is hot” stated the child, leaning back with a “poufff” noise, and looking out of the window.
“I tell you what” said the poet. “Why don’t you draw me some pictures of what you see out of the window, and I will read my book. If I get time, I will write a poem. When we get to London, we can swap our work”

“I can smell fish” said the child, sniffing exaggeratedly. “Can you?”
“I can” said the poet, wrinkling his nose in imitation. “I can see a river too. Perhaps it is loaded with fish, all swimming the same direction as us, without even knowing we are here.”
The child looked at the man as though he was mad.
“Farm now” said the child, picking up a brown crayon, and drawing a circular cow on the page, to go along with the river. Small fish shapes swam on the paper, yellow wax on top of royal blue.
The poet noticed the short shadows under the cows, and wrote a note on some paper, before picking up his book again.
“Hot” said the child, not looking up.
“Yes, hot. The sun is like a demons breath” said the poet, waving his book in front of him like a fan and marvelling at his poetic phrasing.
“Mirrors!” said the child. “How can I draw mirrors? I got no silver pen”
“Not mirrors…” said the poet. “It’s a hothouse. A greenhouse.”
The child picked up a green pen doubtfully.

“This train smells bad” she said.
“Indeed it does” said the poet. “It’s the heat on the cloth child. Who would guess it’s not yet June?” He wrote on his paper, how summer sneaks past spring to surprise us all.
“Look, a bride” said the child, adding a person with yellow hair and a veil to her drawing.
“A bride?” said the poet, surprised. “I didn’t see a bride.” He thinks about how a child can see anything it likes.

“There. Look, a veil” said the child, pointing at the platform. The poet hadn’t noticed the train had stopped, hadn’t heard the noise from the platform.
“A vale?” he said. “Lots of hills… lots of vales.”
“Pretty” said the child, sucking her pink crayon and watching as confetti floated on the breeze.
“Goodness me, you’re right” said the poet. “look at all those high heels. Sit down, we’re off again”
“Bye bye bye bye” waved the child to the people on the platform. They stood, arms raised, waving back.
“They look like a photograph don’t they? Just placed there. Waiting?”
“Photograph” repeated the child, drawing a fat man with a buttonhole bigger than his head.
“That lady had big hair” the child mused, scribbling away at her paper. “Big hair, and too many colours”
“My my, another wedding! Look!” said the poet, and he and the child leaned out of the window, curious.
“Too many colours again” said the child, retreating.
“I don’t know these people, yet it seems I do. Maybe I did. They don’t know me…” said the poet. “So much jewellery!” and the child, drew rings of gold on fat, coloured fingers.

“More people getting on the train” commentated the poet, straining to hear what the wedding parties were talking about. “One wonders where they are going.” He turned to look at the child.
“London” the child said, drawing more dots of confetti.
“what a terrible handbag” whispered the poet, laughing at the absurdity of it all.
“Can you imagine child, all these people – all doing the same thing, all at the same time, and we’re watching them, like a film. Isn’t it like a film? Except when we are watching them, they are watching us.”
“My name is Jessica” said the child, waving to a fat smiling woman wiping her eyes with a big handkerchief. “Are we there yet?”
“Almost” said the poet, closing his book. “The train is going faster isn’t it?” The question was rhetorical, and the child drew a train along the bottom of the picture, and a big sun with a smile in the corner. As the train pulled in, the poet gathered his books.
“I’m sorry, I havent written you a poem” he said, regretfully shaking his head.
“S’ok,” smiled the small girl. “You can have my drawing and remember it all.”

Sat, 2004-12-11 23:43

Hen

I can't get the link to work. Right from the off, the dialogue reminded me of Beckett - in that the characters seem to have a secret purpose to their conversation that makes they're exchanges seem unnatural - like they're talking in spy code, and what they *mean* is not necessarily what the reader hears. I think that's partly because they don't address each other as strangers, yet not as familiars either. At times though, it slipped into a more regular rhythm. Here, in particular, I thought the child sounded like a child, and the poet like a poet: “Mirrors!” said the child. “How can I draw mirrors? I got no silver pen” “Not mirrors…” said the poet. “It’s a hothouse. A greenhouse.” The child picked up a green pen doubtfully. I really liked the carousel of images going past the window, and how quickly they come and go. Some suggestions: "demons breath" --> "demon's breath" "waving his book in front of him like a fan" --> Just "fanning himself with his book"? “I can” said the poet, wrinkling his nose in imitation. “I can see a river too. -- > Perhaps, "Yes," said the poet, wrinkling his nose in imitation. "And I can see a river." Don't really like the poet 'laughing at the absurdity of it all' - too aloof, maybe?

Sat, 2004-12-11 23:53

Liana

Thanks Hen, you're a gem. I actually hoped that the poet would come across as aloof really, as that was the aim - the scoffing at the weddings, the sense of being superior - in the original, the narrator appears dismissive and "better" than those he observes. You are right about the relationship, and you are right with the river line too.

Sat, 2004-12-11 23:56

Liana

Oh, and fanning was the original - but clashed with marvelling. I'm not struck by too many "ings". How about - 'fanning himself with his book, he marvelled at his poetic phrase?'

Sun, 2004-12-12 00:14

Hen

Sounds good to me!

Sun, 2004-12-12 00:16

Liana

Triff. Thanks everso.

Sun, 2004-12-12 10:49

neil_the_auditor

I'd never suggest you couldn't write prose, Liana, this is terrific. Challenging exercise - you have to clearly differentiate between the two characters in dialogue, which you do well. I love the finale - how the poet fails in his promise to write for the child yet the child generously gives him the picture anyway, and with it the inspiration for the poet to write the promised poem, if I read it correctly. Also that the poet pontificates, sometimes absurdly: "One wonders where they are going" to which the child succinctly replies "London", which is surely the correct and obvious answer! Minor point: would anyone call a child "child" in conversation - seems too condescending? or does that perhaps help date the piece in an earlier generation.

Sun, 2004-12-12 13:43

Liana

Thanks Neil - you are indeed correct on the child thing. I didnt want them to be familiar with each other, yet have some connection that builds. I have taken the "child" dialogue out. You two have been a great help - I cant thank you enough. I'll let you know the mark!

Sun, 2004-12-12 18:59

Emma

Gosh, I love the way you've decided on a dialogue that develops the child's visual impressions with that of the poet - particularly in the case of a Larkin piece. His voice is so much that of a critical observer of daily life and a bit, as you suggest, aloof. His visuals always serve his end, never an end in themselves, from what I remember of this poem. (Am being lazy not looking back over the original but read it so often). The child brings the contrast of the here and now - what a clever way of bringing things out. The way she interacts with the characters of the poem is great, shows up his observational position. It's nice that he doesn't produce the poem in the end - is that because you want the child to negate the purpose of the poem, or that the poet should use the drawing to produce a poem later, or that the poet has learned from this child in such a way, to be more present in the moment himself, thus disabling his urge to write about it? I like the ambiguity of that. The child's brief reactions sum up his own thoughts so succinctly, yet without being tarnished by the, perhaps overworking of Larkin's thoughts about what he saw as ugly in society. Larkin's attitudes were part and parcel of his own disappointment in himself I think. That poem beginning 'No one can deny that Arnold is less selfish than I' ( is it entitled 'Arnold'? - can't remember), is critical of marraige as well, from another angle, but Larkin sees himself as no better, both selfish in their own way, just ending up in different circumstances according to the choices we make. Are you giving Larkin a taste of something with immediacy, Liana, here...because you thought he could do with it? Intrigued.

Sun, 2004-12-12 19:08

#10

Liana

gosh, where to start... *smiles* I wanted to translate into dialogue, what I thought happened in the poem. I think (and I might be/often am - wrong) that what is happening in the original Larkin piece is that the narrator fails to connect with what he sees around him. The train journey shows so many things happening all at once - the farm, the people bowling, but mainly the weddings. The narrator finally becomes aware of what is happening around him, intrigued by the weddings which at first he fails to notice. He (imo) does look down on the characters he views, the description of them in the poem is one of some disparagement... garish, parodies of country life. He starts to become aware that everything and everyone he sees, become connected, simply by occupying the same space. If this makes any sense? The third option you offer as to why I wrote this in such a way, is the closest - the child proffers the drawing, of the things that she has connected, and the poet hasn't. She has placed all these things together, and suggests that it will be a way for him to connect and remember. Now, how up my arse do i sound?

Sun, 2004-12-12 19:12

#11

Liana

there - another link to the original, as Hen said he couldnt view it. One of the briefs was to stick as closely as poss to the original - something I think I've failed in.

Sun, 2004-12-12 19:56

#12

Emma

Any university lit course must leave you up your own arse to a certain extent, and I'm sure you'll soon get over it!! I think you are right in that you haven't stayed close to the original, you've developed it more imaginitively and fairly freely, taking your stimulation from the piece. After all, a poem did get written, you've done a bit of time travel and rid the world of a great poem! I think there is a great deal in the poem that is about landscape. Industrial versus rural. There's also an incredible slow build up, due to the quiet and heat and sleepiness of the first part of the journey. He fails to notice the weddings at first because he's been lulled by the brightness of the sun and the heat, so that the shady platforms are just dim places of indiscriminate motion. He's also into a book. He reacts quite emotionally to the looks on the faces of those girls, waving...they look as though they are waving to 'something that survived it' - there's stress and pain there, the effort of life - perhaps exaggerated by his own soporific mood. But then, later, he seems to lose his sympathy as his sensibilities are assaulted by what he sees. 'Jewelry substitutes' - yes it's judgemental - but it's an emotional reaction too...to something he finds deeply offensive. There's lots of sexual stereotyping. Bloody hell - Germaine Greer would love the handbags being gripped tightly and the 'religious wounding' - she wrote about handbags being like wombs! And 'the women' collectively feeling it as a 'happy funeral'. I love the 'each face seemed to define/Just what it saw departing' - the boredom of the children, and the fathers whose reaction is at the edge of success and farce. Then the landscape becomes important again, yet this time it's the time line of marriage spreading out. He sees that they are caught in the moment, and patronisingly claims that 'none/Thought of the others they would never meet.' So he is aloof here, and superior, thinking his own vision longer and more valid perhaps. Then we get metaphors of anonymity, postal districts, being 'aimed'...moving in a trajectory over which they have no control....and he ends with the arrow shower - a negative image of loss. He can never see the results of his experiences develop over time. The 'frail' travelling coincidence - emphasises his view of the frailty of human relations. Gawd - dunno why I've just come out with all this, I'm just back from a late night out and a tiring day, and I'm in a very reflective hazy mood! xx

Sun, 2004-12-12 20:05

#13

Liana

No... exellent analysis, and spot on I believe. It IS a great poem. The end I struggle with when it comes to adaptation - how could a five year old explain these frailties, this rain - the loss? It's an impossibility... this is why I stuck with the supposed exchange with only the child giving. I must stop this... it's most unlike me. *slurps wine*

Sun, 2004-12-12 20:08

#14

Emma

Perhaps she could regret that she won't see the poet again? *Nibbles chocolate coated mint cake*

Sun, 2004-12-12 20:12

#15

Liana

I dont think 5 year olds really feel that though? The reflection really, is that, as part of someone he has observed, she's giving the day TO him. Shoot me someone.

Sun, 2004-12-12 20:20

#16

Emma

Yes, nice idea that - that a child can give a poet a day back. A day to live inside instead of outside. I need therapy. People keep trying to give me days back, and I just don't get them. And unlike Larkin, I can't excuse myself and say it's because I'm a poet.

Sun, 2004-12-12 20:21

#17

Liana

No one gives me days back, the bastards. They just keep running off with them.

Sun, 2004-12-12 20:40

#18

Emma

Yeah? That's very inconsiderate of them, eh? No one can run off with mine, as I keep denying their existence. No one can find my days. They're in the airing cupboard, like my old grandad's cash. One day, a thief will come in the night and steal the bloody lot, and then I'll regret keeping them stashed. Tell me...how did I get here tonight? Is it the mint cake? Bought it in Hebden Bridge - probably laced.

Topic locked