Feedback on a poem please?

Question

The Son, the Father, and the Game

In the mornings his father played him The Beatles
And it was as if he tapped hit tiny toddler toes against the edges of his miniature world.
Lining his crib were plush basketballs and baseballs
That he clung to with sleepy fingers.
Some nights when Dad watched the Red Sox
He would bring The Boy downstairs and hold him
Until the game was over. He would take The Boy back
Upstairs and gently tuck him in.

A few years later, The Boy would watch his father
As he ate large bowls of ice cream and cussed when an error was made in the game on TV.
He saw this and wished to be that age because it was way easier than being seven,
An idea that he clung to with anxious fingers.
Some nights, though, dad would give in to The Boy
And let him stay up late and eat as much ice cream as he could
While they watched baseball. But when the game was over
It was straight to bed for The Boy.

A short amount of time after that, The Boy began dating
And leaving the house on love-struck mission that left the father alone to watch the Red Sox.
When The Boy came home, he would ask, uninterested, how the game went,
A ritual he clung onto with monotonous fingers.
Some nights The Boy would stay at home and watch the game,
But he would argue with his father about anything and everything.
When they finished fighting, they’d sit in silence until the game was over
And then they went their separate ways.

During The Boys college years he would gather his friends
And they would happily watch a game The Boy was taught by his father to love.
They would all congregate an hour before the game started
A meeting he held onto with fond fingers.
Some nights The Boy would escape the crowd to call his father when good plays were made
And they would talk about the game and life, sometimes for hours on end.
They would ask how one another was and make small talk, but when the game was over
They would hang up and both go to bed.

Long after The Boy had graduated and he was no long just a boy,
His father died and a funeral was held on the edge of the town in which The Boy grew up.
The Boy stood by the casket and remembered the games and conversations,
Memories he held onto with salty fingers.
That night The Boy would find himself in the familiar living room of his childhood
Where he and his father would go to escape life and to watch the Red Sox play.
He turned on the game and watched it in its entirety, but when it ended
He shut off the TV and slept on the same couch his father had lied on.

When The Boy became The Father and had his own boy,
He lined the crib with plush baseballs and basketballs. When his son grew older they stayed up late
And ate ice cream together into the late parts of the night.
A tradition he clung onto with paternal fingers.
On the later nights when his son went out on dates, The Father stayed watched alone
And when they fought The Father took to silence and let the game mend the situation.
They would sit in the living room in complete silence until the game was over
And the Father and his son both went to bed.

Answer 1

It is sad to say that though there is some real poetics at work in your poem, one of the main drawbacks in it is that it is not authentic. Now, before you take offense, what I mean by authentic refers to the concept that there is nothing new to be known today, nothing can be original because all the high principle concepts have been figured out and discussed. Your poem discusses at least one of the high principles of life, but the narrative aspect of the poem is taking its cue from lyrics coming from songwriters like Billy Joel whose poetry includes such narratives as the boy and the father both at odds and together in their similarities. The issue of emerging similarities in personality between parent and offspring evolving from one generation to the next is a popular one, athough it has lost some of the luster because of the decline in interest in folk songs, etc..

So, what I am trying to get at here is that you need to find a way to make this narrative your own, authentic perspective on the issues you want to discuss in your poetry struggle. There are many ways to do that. One of the main elements of writing poetry is the choice of words, and I find your choice of words, on the one hand, poignant in a couple of instances, on the other, you seem to just let the same old same old word do the job for ya. And, when you do that you have stopped trying to authenticate your vision. Think of the tale as belonging to you, one you have experienced. Then ask yourself how you would have responded, what words would you have chosen , when these events overtook your life with the father. I don't get that from the boy in your poetic tale. Or the father for instance, beyond feeling that they both are acting stereotypically like anyone else in their shoes. Text moves from story to poetry when stereotype is gone from the text, and individuality takes a hand in characterization process of writing.

Now, I realize you are intentionally trying to create a tension between familiarity and abstractions of fathers and sons, but don't take repetition so seriously, and try to drop all the "the"s in the storyline. Try changing tense here and there to change the pace for the reader. Make the reader wonder if the characters are responding to now or then. Create a demonstration of time passing rather than telling us time is passing. Look, for instance, at the word "plush" in the line about lining the crib. Would this narrator who is not you (I presume) use the term? Would the boy or the father? Your personifications are powerful, but interrupted by your obvious lack of interest in choosing words and where those words go. Use some dramatic emphases with dashes and commas, etc., i.e., "The Father stayed---watched alone," making the two events seperate from one another.

These kinds of interruptions with your powerful personifications reduce the poetic element of your narration to pretentious emulations of others work, like Billy Joel, etal.. No authenticity. I guess what I'm really saying is that you have to make this poem yours. If you can do that by spending more time in the struggle with choosing words, the payoff is the kind of phenomena you are looking for in this poem.

I hope it helps.

cc ryder
utopianwizard

Answer 2

To be technical, this is more a "prose dreamscape" than a poem. It is prose, broken up into variable length lines. Poetry is much more than line breaks and punctuation.

Also, typos and lost words hurt any written form of communication, but they destroy a dreamscape.

What you could do is make this into a very interesting short story ... perhaps you come back from your father's funeral. You sit in his old living room, the little trinkets there speak to you about this timeline of experience.

Answer 3

The cycle of life and how important it is to spend time with your family - any kind of time even if it was only bed time.

But I think the main theme here is that relationships might be full of ups and downs and between this father and son and all of the disagreements and separations ... they shared a common bond of the love they had for baseball and for that they loved eachother.

Answer 4

Is nice, liked it very much. Is a very beautiful way of honoring a relationship. To b honest is not the best written poem, but a little revising can make it into an amazing one. (Really!)

I love they shared RED SOX games!!!!!

Answer 5

Great imagery. I don't think you need to be so literal about when things happen, though (like "a few years later"). Also the past tense of lie is lay, not lied.

Cheers!

Answer 6

the word's used to describe "Fathers Love" was to escape life.
You're poem has touched upon a truth, well said.yet a sad reality of how we learn by what we live.and yet do not know. thank you for sharing .

Answer 7

I'd say I'm very sorry for your loss but it's very evident your father taught you something very very special

Answer 8

Wow. Love the symbolism. And don't worry what the others said, you'll revise it -YOU WROTE IT- and it will be so tres bein polished. ;)

Answer 9

i think it is very long but very good kepp writing poems like this 1

Answer 10

Too long but interesting.