Author Topic: Lit Crit Thread  (Read 2068 times)

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

Offline Outboundlight

  • Renegade Anarchist Folk Hero
  • Global Moderator
  • Machinae Prime
  • *****
  • Posts: 7752
  • Karma: 152
  • Gender: Male
  • Rogue World Asylum Seeker
    • No Art Films
Lit Crit Thread
« on: February 07, 2008, 02:41:49 am »
All this talk of poetry in Dragonsoul's thread has got me thinking that we should have a literary criticism thread. The rules are as follows.

1) Only post writing after you have given a crit to at least one other piece
2) No slagging stuff off. All criticism must be constructive
3) Bring beer.

Since I've been critting my ass off over in the other poetry thread, I'll go first.



This is a poem I wrote about South Belfast (where I live) when I thought I was going to be moving away. I was doing my final uni exams at the time and it seemed kind of like the end of an era.

South Belfast Sunrise

Here's to full nights and broken glass,
to narrow streets and open doors.
Here's to long summers and warm grass,
to early mornings and cold floors.

Here's to the South Belfast sunrise,
which all of us have seen so rarely.
Here's to blotched and bloodshot eyes,
to Henry Morgan and Sailor Jerry.

Here's to rooms of strange vibrations,
to the musicians, kings and mimes.
Here's to ambiguous relations,
to strangers that can make us smile.

Here's to the South Belfast sunrise,
and the few that ever shared it with me.
Here's to our days of awkward lies,
to our nights of frantic subtle purity.

Here's to wasted ink and silver,
here's to vanished spoken words.
Here's to those that will remember,
The pointless, brilliant and absurd.

So here's to the South Belfast sunrise,
to walking blindly down that road,
to the image burnt behind my eyes,
of reds and blues and pinks and golds.

Offline Jack Lupino

  • Worst Dude
  • Moderator
  • Machinae Prime
  • ***
  • Posts: 12939
  • Karma: 62
  • Gender: Female
Re: Lit Crit Thread
« Reply #1 on: February 07, 2008, 02:48:07 am »
I brought beer.

Allright. PJ looks really good!

Here's mine.




For their lust and conviction they fade away
To say their condition will only deteriorate
They printed their marks upon the sky
They print as you glare through the night



-

All for now, drinkin beers..


Offline Viherminttu

  • Moderator
  • Sr. Member
  • ***
  • Posts: 1860
  • Karma: 26
  • Gender: Female
Re: Lit Crit Thread
« Reply #2 on: February 07, 2008, 08:42:32 am »
Crap PJ. That's really nice. Well written. It flows together nicely, and the imagery is not too powerful.

I guess I should post one of mine. I don't really write poetry, I write prose. I've only got a few recent pieces. Some are quite long, so I won't post them (that, and some of its fairly erotic). This one is fairly old, so if you crit it, I doubt I'll go and change it unless it really bugs me! ;)


++ Her Own (2005)

Blue moonlight filtered down between the clouds, casting shadows on the tops of buildings on its way down, before being drowned out by the harsh electric beam cast by the streetlights lining the filthy street. Cars coated with grime, their harsh engines growling as they rattled down the asphalt, cast their yellow headlights on piles of trash as the sky opened and a torrent of water fell from the sky. Gutters filled and roared into drains, the filthy water taking its cargo of trash into the sewers.

A lone figure walked unhindered by the warm rain, droplets rolling down shoulder length ebony hair and joining the river on the pavement. Boots, with heels 3 inches high, stepped through the torrent easily; the buckles clinking with each long stride. A black leather dress fitted closely - from the figure’s full, milky white breasts to her thighs. Her face was obscured but a silver chain peeked out from behind the shield of hair, a tiny vial hung around her throat.

The Watcher gasped softly and the ethereal figure came to a halt, her face turning slowly to pierce the darkness and falling rain with eyes that were not human. Pupil-less and richly blue they found our Watcher without a seconds hesitation. Nostrils flaring, The Watcher pressed himself back against the wall and tried to close his eyes, but she had him in her telepathic grasp and unable to tear his eyes from hers, he relented and stared into those sapphire depths.

Step by step she drew closer, The Watcher trembling as her breath stirred on his face. Not human, not human!, his mind screamed over and over. He tried to cry out, but his throat locked, and her hand was gently tipping his chin up to her face. Her lips were on his, caressing and suckling as gently as a lover. His tongue sought hers, and she reciprocated hungrily. Lust surging through their bodies, he utters a cry of soft ecstasy as her mouth trails down his neck, her tongue tracing tiny circles on the warm, rosy flesh.

It was a sudden burst of pain, followed by a swell of warm pleasure that made The Watcher’s vision swim as he stared up into the clouds, their dark masses rolling away and taking the torrent of water with them. A glimpse of an azure moon and his vision darkened with a swoon of bliss as she took him for her own.


<WereVolvo> moar sid! new album sux! music vid sux! machinae are sellouts! where i find crappack lulz? when is page getting updated? gief moar free songs plx. zomg plz come to the US/UK/Mars/Alpha Centauri! when r u guyz gonna do a tour? i think u shuld come to this festival it wuld be gr8!

Lysix

  • Guest
Re: Lit Crit Thread
« Reply #3 on: February 07, 2008, 01:01:38 pm »
everyones work here is really well written and thought out. especially dims!
glad to see we got a proper lit thread going at last [:

Offline Viherminttu

  • Moderator
  • Sr. Member
  • ***
  • Posts: 1860
  • Karma: 26
  • Gender: Female
Re: Lit Crit Thread
« Reply #4 on: February 07, 2008, 02:10:25 pm »
Literature is one of my passions, to be honest. I did English Literature in high school and loved every moment of it. My writing took a back seat for a few years, but I'm starting to write a lot more lately. I've got a few more lines until I finish my second ever song. :D I'm not sure if I'll post it or not. I wrote it for more therapeutic reasons than to present as polished work.
<WereVolvo> moar sid! new album sux! music vid sux! machinae are sellouts! where i find crappack lulz? when is page getting updated? gief moar free songs plx. zomg plz come to the US/UK/Mars/Alpha Centauri! when r u guyz gonna do a tour? i think u shuld come to this festival it wuld be gr8!

Offline Torp v2.0

  • Global Moderator
  • Machinae Prime
  • *****
  • Posts: 5736
  • Karma: 143
  • Gender: Male
  • Happiness is Mandatory!
    • My homepage
Re: Lit Crit Thread
« Reply #5 on: February 08, 2008, 04:04:35 am »
I had always expected a thread like this to show up in the media section, if it ever showed up.

VT: Your poem is really great. I didn't read your introduction at first, about how you were expecting to be moving away soon when you wrote it, but I really got the feeling that the poem was about, as you said, the end of an era. I was thinking more a farewell to youth, to the freedom and the carefreeness and the fumbling mistakes of a young life.

Dim: I'm not sure about what to say about yours. It feels a tad bit too "generic vampire story", with the goth cliche and everything. Not badly written, just an overused subject. Then again, I have an entire volume of some of the best vampire short stories written in my bookshelf (The Mammoth Book of Vampires, edited by Stephen Jones, whom I consider a great man among horror editors), as well as a good deal of other horror, so I've been exposed to a deal of them.

I'm not much of a writer myself, but I suppose I could post the only fiction piece of an acceptable quality I have available (I can give you some well-written non-fiction, if you want, but an article about why a male tax would be bad might not be of the greatest interest). I wrote this a couple of years ago, living in a small and claustrophobic little place. The story was inspired by the room (in fact, the first paragraph is an amalgamation of several mornings in that room), though it metamorphosed as I wrote it into...

The Dream

Quote
Opening my eyes, red numbers glow in my face. They're supposed to mean something, yet I am unable to get their meaning. I try to collect my thoughts, make a coherent picture of the world, but all I can do is focus on the cold, yellow ceiling. Try to sit up, try to break the focus. Halfway up now, yet I find it impossible to gather strenght enough to finish. It feels like minutes passes, as I sit half-erect, staring straight up. In the end, my will succumbs, and I fall backwards into the soft waters of the mattress.

In the dream, I am trapped. Yellow brick walls grow up around me, high, but above them ; the sky, dark with clouds. Yet it is a way out. Trying to find a grip, trying to climb up, there's none.

I awake as the alarm clock rings. Once again, the yellow ceiling stares down at me, and it takes a few moments for me to realize I'm in my room, awake. Sunlight comes from the window, yet it cannot dispel the sterility and coldness of the room. It's a reflection of my life. Cold and sterile, meaningless. Skipping breakfast, I go straight for school.

My focus is slipping. The teachers droning sounds like porridge slowly running from a ladle into a platter, and I find myself in the brick prison again, with no way out. Wait. There's a pickaxe here. I smash it into a wall. Hit after hit, crumbles fall out, a hole opens up, and I look through. It's no longer as dark, the clouds dispersing. Joy and hope fills me, and these feelings are kept as the class ends, and I dreamily step into the school cafe. I order myself some coffee, and sit down at an empty table. As in my dream, the sky is now partially clouded. It seems like it might rain later. No matter, I've got my umbrella. A girl asks me if the chair by my table is occupied. I answer her, no, just take it. To my surprise, she sits down here, asking me for my name. We end up talking for some time, before she finishes her drink and has to leave for her next class. Me, I have to do the same.


The next day, we meet again, at the same spot. I seem to interest her, and in the end we agree to meet after school. The remaining classes are, unsurprisingly, slow, but finally, I get to leave, get to meet my girl. We meet at a pizza place, have a snack together. The pizza is really good, yet it isn't what is on my mind.
The last few days, the dream has recurred. It always seems to start off the same place as I left it last time, and everytime I manage to pry out another brick, and see more of the sky, clearer and clearer. I've met my girl every day. She gives me hope. She gives me joy. And today I asked her out on a real date. I got a yes. As I walk home, I notice the strange sky. On one side, the sky is cloudfree, and the sun shines down on me. On my left, however, the sky is dark, and it seems to be raining in the distance.

The opening is almost big enough now. Strange how that dream seems to be the only one I've had since I met her. Well, it is much better than my previous nightmares, so I do not care. As for the date, it went well, and so did many more. We are now officially a couple. My life seems to have taken a complete turn since that day. Life is, for once, good, I think to myself as I undress and go to bed. She comes as well, snuggling up close to me, and in my arms she falls asleep.

I find myself in the dream. Salvation is near. The sky is so amazingly blue, the sun shines from somewhere behind me, and in the distance I see my girl. Another strike, dislodging a last brick. I've made it! The wall is crumbling, falling down! Freedom, at last! Too late I realize the wall is falling inwards...
« Last Edit: February 08, 2008, 04:07:02 am by Torp v2.0 »
...why Torp was picked over you... HE'S JUST BETTER THAN YOU IN EVERY RESPECT. -SomethingGood
<Radicz0r> Torp is well prepared for universal destruction

[03:18:49] <WereVolvo> ARCTIC
[03:18:51] <WereVolvo> not arctic

Offline Torp v2.0

  • Global Moderator
  • Machinae Prime
  • *****
  • Posts: 5736
  • Karma: 143
  • Gender: Male
  • Happiness is Mandatory!
    • My homepage
Re: Lit Crit Thread
« Reply #6 on: February 12, 2008, 01:01:30 am »
Did this thread die in its infancy? I like this thread already, it's nice and interesting. Don't let it die!  :(

(and, of course, I want Outbondlight and guys to crit my piece)
...why Torp was picked over you... HE'S JUST BETTER THAN YOU IN EVERY RESPECT. -SomethingGood
<Radicz0r> Torp is well prepared for universal destruction

[03:18:49] <WereVolvo> ARCTIC
[03:18:51] <WereVolvo> not arctic

Offline Outboundlight

  • Renegade Anarchist Folk Hero
  • Global Moderator
  • Machinae Prime
  • *****
  • Posts: 7752
  • Karma: 152
  • Gender: Male
  • Rogue World Asylum Seeker
    • No Art Films
Re: Lit Crit Thread
« Reply #7 on: February 16, 2008, 09:50:27 pm »
I'm disapointed that this seems to have died in my short abscence :( I'll be back tomorrow with some decent crit for Dim and Torp to get the ball rolling again

Offline Torp v2.0

  • Global Moderator
  • Machinae Prime
  • *****
  • Posts: 5736
  • Karma: 143
  • Gender: Male
  • Happiness is Mandatory!
    • My homepage
Re: Lit Crit Thread
« Reply #8 on: February 17, 2008, 01:50:08 am »
Yeah, it sucks. I like the thread, though, so I'll help keep it alive by promising to come with some constructive critisism on every piece posted in it*.

*given that I don't die before the thread, or get otherwise lost from the forums.
...why Torp was picked over you... HE'S JUST BETTER THAN YOU IN EVERY RESPECT. -SomethingGood
<Radicz0r> Torp is well prepared for universal destruction

[03:18:49] <WereVolvo> ARCTIC
[03:18:51] <WereVolvo> not arctic

Offline Valentine Revolution

  • Sr. Member
  • ****
  • Posts: 1020
  • Karma: 37
  • Gender: Female
    • Twitter
Re: Lit Crit Thread
« Reply #9 on: March 03, 2008, 11:40:37 am »
Dead threads make me sad :( Here, you can rip apart the poem I wrote for uni that I forgot to hand in >< I've not written for years so I know its not all that good.

The Weight of Water

As I stood watching the blood being spilled,
I met a red-haired boy who told me a story,
Of the writer and the poet who had given him life.

The writer was a boy barely turning to man,
Childish innocence meeting adult desires,
Calling for that voice to quiet his own.
The poet was a girl clinging to childhood,
For whom adult life was both burden and curse.
Lost in normalcy and longing for more.

And the writer and the poet met he said,
A circle completed by souls intertwined.
Something that called to both from within.

From that love they created a world,
Shaping the land and its people from laughter's echoes.
A world to connect them both for all time.
And so the writer gifted his youth to the poet,
And in return she gave him her hope.
Hands gripped together on that warm sunlit day.

A silence brought me crashing to earth,
The red-haired boy's gaze was lost in the mist.
He drew in a breath and continued his tale.

The poet was promised to another he said,
And the writer knew that they should part for the best,
And where love had once been reality rushed in.
The poet broke, she pleaded and cried.
The writer had stolen her heart you see,
And that summer became awash with her tears.

The world they created had crumbled to dust,
And the people they birthed now lingered alone.
Without their creators they lay forgotten and lost.

The sounds of war came rushing back to me then.
Collecting myself I looked up from my tears.
The boy had gone with no sign he'd been there.
At my feet lay a small note which read:
“Once you are grown, find that writer of your own,
Let that poet inside you love on.”