philip,
lovely to read this on a sunny october morning. :)
some observations for you below:
Sons of the Surf
Proud as a damson - Finistral Bay
high on lawns and Michaelmas daisy ***am i reading this wrong, or would a
comma after "daisy" help?***
her links and shales stiff with valerian
and ancient youths, expectant
as new-laid mothers. *** i find "new-laid mothers" quite original ***
Surf is not up - there are tales though
ebbing, dreams for the tongue ***lovely ***
honed and waxed and sun-turned
versions of office block waves
tsunamis of the third, maybe fourth, kind
tunnels through foam
tunnels through time
tunnels home.
*** i found "maybe fourth" a bit awkward; it seems to weaken the 4 lines
which, apart from that, read wonderfully; the repetition of "tunnels" works
for me, it manages to bring this alive for me; oh - another nit, is there a
different, maybe more "precise" word for "kind"? ***
The tellerman dips his voice
paddling the tale of the cool death
of one who downed in undercurrent
and, no surface attainable,
had scratched on his Malabu
the fingernail epitaph
*** not too crazy about "the cool death"; would this work if you contracted
to "the tale of one who downed ..."? i like "fingernail epitaph" ***
sonofabitch
Skylarks pounder the cliffwalk air *** the contrast between "sonofabitch"
and "skylark" works for me ***
while unbuttoned boys dig like zips
in the firm flesh of wet sand, and squeal.
Then to the camper vans, dim lights
damp sleeping bags
fruit, fruit salad.
*** IMO this poem ends after "squeals", this seemed anti-climactic in a way
... as if you were trying to wrap it up somehow ***
i hope this is useful in some way,
best wishes,
michi
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