I know you will think me a tetchy old pedant but your approach to
punctuation is very irritating and distracts from my read of your work. It
is not just that you seem to adopt, as a matter of personal style, a ' no
punctuation ' approach, you do put some punctuation in but, when you do, it
is not used properly. The end result of this lack of a coherent approach
means that my reading is halting, cross and bewildered and access to your
poetry is hindered in the process. I will not go through your poem with a
red marking pencil because it is not my poem to manhandle in that way.
However as an indication of where you might alter things in the interest of
sense
1. Line 3. no comma between 'holy' and 'and'

2. 'caress this glorious poetry we pull, as a penny, from behind love's ear'
is a better punctuation I think. The image itself goes off half-cock anyway
, since there is no mention of magic or prestidigitation anywhere.

There are others.
I think you must either abandon punctuation altogether ( but don't tell
anyone I said so)or practice it more carefully , Deborah.
One other thing I am unsure about is 'finite tics'.
You have a gentle persuasive poetic voice and obviously feel deeply about
what you write but if others are to have access to your thoughts through
poetry there must be coherence in the communication. I apologise if this
critique feels at all negative, Deborah, it is one man's opinion only and to
be taken or disregarded as you wish. Regards Arthur.

----- Original Message -----
From: "Deborah Russell" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, April 25, 2003 3:59 PM
Subject: New subject, Delicate Pastel


> Delicate Pastel
>
> our dreams are something shining
> beloved as a gentle muse
> we know we are not holy, and yet
> this poetry where you and i
> raid dictionaries of greedy fantasies
> our selfish streak rises, surfaces
> to have, to hold, to swallow within
> inspiring words, our longing
> yearning to be read, to define
> and record loving and hating
> so beautiful, so repulsive
> and more... our words feel
> no style of writing
> no dancing, no chasing,
> no warrior victories
> in dreams of surrender
> into sweet, dear silence
> poetry plunges and swims
> in deep pools, perfumed whispers
> that die in captivity
> and breathe at once,
> so alive, so dead
> somewhere - our voices speak
> we write of love and say aloud
> kiss, hold and caress
> this glorious poetry, we pull
> as a penny, from behind love's ear
> until finite tics announce we are one
> we weep in difficult moments
> evidence love is essential
> to light, hope, possibility -
> your tongue caresses mine
> as though eternity exists
> we give what cannot be given
> something, so difficult as this
> our bodies sweat and tremble
> beneath feelings; knowing
> intimate wanderings
> of tender, timid moments
> that glisten like pearls--
> our delicate pastel,
> a mirror mist, that beads
> our reflection - so beautiful
> we kiss and kiss again
> fingers, hands, arms
> warm and hot and cold, the touch
> this dedication of flesh on flesh
> how desire and pleasure dreams
> and breathes as if, passion
> would commit quiet suicide
> in a single kiss
>
> deborah russell, 2003
>
>
>
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