Hi Rob,
I agree with what grasshopper's saying about your poem: it does seem to
alternate between plain language and complex thoughts.
I was troubled by: "in its slow, bitter twist of degree." which I found
difficult to grasp.
I, too, was reminded of Robert Service, a guy who was described, on the back
cover of a book I bought so, so, many years ago, as The Kipling of the
Yukon. But he wrote in quatrains and I like the way you've used couplets!
Bob



>From: grasshopper <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Re: New: Jack, his reel
>Date: Mon, 30 Aug 2004 20:15:57 +0100
>
>Dear Rob,
>       This is interesting, but I find the rollicking form, which works
>best with humorous or ironical verse is rather at odds with the 'poetical',
>rather mystical business of the emerald. Some of the phrasing seems
>inappropriate to me eg
>'in its slow, bitter twist of degree.' and 'The next year his voice came
>from thorns in his throat'
>aren't in the same register as :
>'To the left of the door and pinned to the wall' and
>'and there's smoke in his glass and oil in his eyes'.
>
>Kind regards,
>    grasshopper
>
>   ----- Original Message -----
>   From: [log in to unmask]
>   To: [log in to unmask]
>   Sent: Sunday, August 29, 2004 10:36 AM
>   Subject: [THE-WORKS] New: Jack, his reel
>
>
>
>
>
>
>   Jack, his reel
>
>
>   To the left of the door and pinned to the wall
>   is a photo of Jack de la Rue
>
>   and there's smoke in his glass and oil in his eyes
>   and his hand hides the Martinique jewel.
>
>   The next year his voice came from thorns in his throat
>   as he rolled out the tale of his oath:
>
>   he'd promised to love this wild girl from the town
>   'till the bottle delivered them both.
>
>   So he pressed the old emerald into her hands
>   and he told her that it was the sea
>
>   and that it would consume all the stuff of their life
>   in its slow, bitter twist of degree.
>
>   Well she took it and brushed it all over his neck
>   as she spoke through the grid of her hand,
>
>   said "if the old rotting sea has a claim on your blood
>   let it take you right now and be damned."
>
>   the picture's still there but jack sailed to the north
>   and he froze in the hard glassy waste.
>
>   and the Martinique jewel is still hid by his hand
>   with the smoke and the oil in his face.
>
>
>   Rob Yeatman

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