Bob,
Before I responding to your poem I can say that I know Loch Coruisk. I
read part of a novel beside it once, Balzac's Father Goriot. I was
fascinated by the juxtaposition of the made (by people) with the unmade and
irreducible phenomena of nature. From there I went to the top of Gars-bheinn
and Sgurr a Choire Bhig on the Cuillin Ridge, where I listened to
Beethoven's symphonies. I could say more but the last thing you want from
feedback is somebody rambling on about their own experiences. Let's say that
I can empathise with your memories of Loch Coruisk even if my views of it
were from a different angle.
I like the first line of the poem and the way it trawls two pools with one
net. There are rich parallels between the apprehension of approaching death
and the apprehension of approaching a great height. How the word
apprehension is interpreted depends on the individual. Fear of oblivion?
Throw in a bit of anoxia and you might well feel a bit dazed or even
euphoric, in either setting. Then again altitude is associated with
transcendence (or hill tops with heaven) in many cultures. Of course once
you get into heaven thro' beauty (the noumenal thro' the phenomenal ) esp.
in the North West of Scotland, you are getting into Kathleen Raine country
(very like the connection between Huge Ted and animals) and have to make
some kind of a decision whether you're going to ignore it, assimilate it or
react against it.
I'm happy with the way the poem is framed up and how it comes across. It's
tidy, condensed and striking in its connections. I wonder if you could have
made the adjectives work harder. You are not so keen on adjectives. So
that's fair enough, but when you are imparting to a reader the double-vision
of your experience then symbolic adjectives can convey another view of
things with one word; at least loaded adjectives can, those innocent
waters, dangerous waves and so on.
Another thing that's interesting, and interesting only, not a point for
criticism is your choice of lingo. You venture "loch" and "burn" but stay
with "valley" rather than "glen" in L2 and "pass" in the title rather than
"bealach" or "coll". Or was it a coire? Of course the choice can be debated
in terms of local consistency but the debate is irrelevant because the
writer simply chooses the word that feels familiar or appropriate in that
setting to them. I've used words like stream often enough in poems. When a
flow of water had palm trees beside it, and passed through a flat, arid
landscape I didn't feel that it was a burn, whatever any dictionary might
have said.
Please see below for line by line comments with orig below that.
Colin
----- Original Message -----
From: "Bob Cooper" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, September 05, 2003 5:42 PM
Subject: The Pass From Coruisk
Prompted by Colin's poem? One of my side-effects? Maybe... Whatever!
One for C & C:
The Pass From Coruisk
Maybe dying's like this:
EXCELLENT STARTER
in the dazed head of the valley
I KNOW THAT IT'S THE WALKER THAT'S DAZED BUT "DAZED HEAD" IS SUCH A STRONG
CONNECTION THAT IT'S DIFFICULT TO PULL AWAY TO THE INTENDED MEANING.
between the grey-green-grey-green mountains
AT FIRST I DIDN'T LIKE THIS BUT THEN SAW THIS AS QUITE A GOOD WAY OF
CONVEYING THE TESSELLATED SIDE OF A HILL.
nearing where you pass over,
NOT SO SURE OF THIS. IT MAY HAVE BEEN AN ACCURATE DESCRIPTION OF THAT PLACE
BUT IT DOESN'T HAVE MUCH IMPACT FOR THE READER
where heat and the breeze dry sweat
THIS CAN BE CONDENSED, E.G. "WHERE HEAT AND BREEZE DRY SWEAT" OR EVEN "WHERE
THE WARM BREEZE DRIES SWEAT"
and breathing is so difficult.
DELETE "SO"
Not far now. One look back
at the loch's calm surface,
the soft sound of the burn
BIT OF AN INTERJECTION HERE WITH THE SOUND OF THE BURN. NOT SURE WHAT YOUR
POSITION IS ON SENTENCES IN POEMS BUT THE SOUND OF THE BURN IS NOT SOMETHING
SEEN, AS IMPLIED BY THE START OF THE SENTENCE,.
how it holds, gives out its light,
EXCELLENT CAPTURING OF EFFECTS IN THIS LINE
then look up, keep walking.
STRONG ENDING
The Pass From Coruisk
Maybe dying's like this:
in the dazed head of the valley
between the grey-green-grey-green mountains
nearing where you pass over,
where heat and the breeze dry sweat
and breathing is so difficult.
Not far now. One look back
at the loch's calm surface,
the soft sound of the burn
how it holds, gives out its light,
then look up, keep walking.
So where's Coruisk?
Well, if you want to know then type Loch Coruisk into Google and browse for
a wee while. or
www.the-little-gallery.co.uk/Gallery/Prints
has a canny image - but the place is too much for painting and photographs
IMHO! How's it work in a poem, tho?
Bob
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