Christina, Sue, Ryfkah, Colin and Bob.
My thanks to you all for your kind read. The last strophe is overly twee and
I will look at that.
I have a confession to make , particularly to Bob and Colin, and that is
that Wildersham Woods is totally fictitious as a place. The events depicted
in the 'broken ballad ' are essentially true and personal to me but the
place is a symbol of how the world appears at different stages of a
relationship involving love.
I called the form a 'broken ballad' in my head while writing it, because it
is caught between the musicality of the opening lines, some of which lingers
in the rest of the strophe, and the sparse modernity of the inset lines,
where others seek to put words to complete an incomplete rhythm.
Sally E commented on sentimentality and she was right in that I was trying
to skate close to the sincerity of our feelings without the cloy that is
unfortunately sometimes there. It worked for three strophes anyway. The '
weep' of the last strophe was  my falldown I think and in this I was seduced
by the rhythmic alliteration of the 'W' sounds of the earlier strophes
which, as I have confessed, was fabricated in the first place. Still again ,
thank you all for the read and time taken to comment. I hope the admission
does not detract from the read. Arthur
----- Original Message -----
From: "Bob Cooper" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Sunday, August 31, 2003 10:32 PM
Subject: Re: New Sub: Wildersham Woods


Hi Arthur,

I'm piggy-backing again!
And this is a fine piece! I can hear it! And I'm enjoying the softness of
its sounds without even saying them!

But not liking the last stanza too much. It seems to say the obviousl a bit
too obviously. It's as if I know what's coming as soon as I'm 2 or 3 words
into its first line - and there's nothing in the following lines that
lingers - nothing stays with me when I've finished (unlike the fine turns of
phrase you've got earlier on, that others have commented on already!).

But the last stanza... I'm playing here... a suggestion!
-- to scrap the last stanza, and the last line of the previous stanza! Then
end the poem with something like: Trees were a roof over us, leaves a bed
under us/ but by the morning the coldest wind blew. (Or something like that
that's more what you want to say!) Something enigmatic that gives the reader
enough space to discover all you're saying.

And, often, like Colin I keep wanting to add small words - fill the lines
with small words that seem to help its gentleness and flowing lyricsism.

And where is Wildersham? It sounds very ruraly southern England to me.
(Sounds like you've been playing away! LOL!!!)

Bob


> >                      Wildersham Woods
> >
> >
> >
> > While I was walking through Wildersham Woods
> >
> >  I met and walked a short way with her.
> >
> >                     Dress billowed and flared
> >
> >                     brown hair bounced
> >
> >                     smile tore ribbons from me
> >
> >  light rippled through the rails of bare branches.
> >
> >  For days I searched for her far head in crowds.
> >
> >
> >
> > I went whistling through Wildersham Woods
> >
> >  held her warm hand in mine, turned my eyes to her
> >
> >                     watched  birds clatter
> >
> >                     through leafing boughs
> >
> >                     blue swathes of bright bells.
> >
> >  The whites of her eyes lit my life
> >
> >  and my nights were dazed with sweet amazements.
> >
> >
> >
> > I went wooing in Wildersham Woods
> >
> >  showed her my dreams and piped her my heart
> >
> >                     laid long to her side
> >
> >                     drew honey from soft combs
> >
> >                     believed in forever.
> >
> >  Trees were a roof over us, leaves a warm bed under us
> >
> >  and we knew all the worldâ?Ts secrets and ways.
> >
> >
> >
> > Now I weep silently through Wildersham Woods
> >
> >  for she has gone, she sleeps in another place?
> >
> >                      Autumn has burned
> >
> >                    branches stripped by winds
> >
> >                     and no birds sing.
> >
> >  A cold wind tumbles the leaves around me
> >
> > whispers of another time and mocks this empty space.
> >
>

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