# Critique my relatively short poetry readings...if you have a spare axle.



## SevSevens (Aug 5, 2015)

I'm working on sounding more interesting. Please critique my poetry readings if you are into that sort of thing. They are relatively short and sweet.

The first one is...The Sick Rose

Vocaroo | Voice message


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## SevSevens (Aug 5, 2015)

I think this is a better representation of my true capabilities. Please take a gander at this one called The Cavers Of The Grave by William Blake...
Vocaroo | Voice message


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## sweetraglansweater (Jul 31, 2015)

you listen to hip hop or rap or pop, don't you? You can't listen to that stuff an hour before, even hours or a day before going to read poetry like Blake. The poem has its own meter, rhythm which you are breaking with this kind of jarring, modern beat.

Your voice is good sounding and you clearly have emotion. But use the metronome of meter and beat before you place the syntax on a rhyme.


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## SevSevens (Aug 5, 2015)

sweetraglansweater said:


> you listen to hip hop or rap or pop, don't you? You can't listen to that stuff an hour before, even hours or a day before going to read poetry like Blake. The poem has its own meter, rhythm which you are breaking with this kind of jarring, modern beat.
> 
> Your voice is good sounding and you clearly have emotion. But use the metronome of meter and beat before you place the syntax on a rhyme.


Thank you. By any chance can you post an example? I definitely see what you're saying but I would love to hear your sexy voice.


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## sweetraglansweater (Jul 31, 2015)

i sound like a scratchy snatch of nettles split open by the back of a broom


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## SevSevens (Aug 5, 2015)

sweetraglansweater said:


> i sound like a scratchy snatch of nettles split open by the back of a broom


You had me at "scratchy snatch."










Hug me? Close and tight?


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## sweetraglansweater (Jul 31, 2015)

SevSevens said:


> Thank you. By any chance can you post an example? I definitely see what you're saying but I would love to hear your sexy voice.


you're grossing me out but it's wrong to be an implacable critic of things not experienced.

Here


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## SevSevens (Aug 5, 2015)

sweetraglansweater said:


> you're grossing me out but it's wrong to be an implacable critic of things not experienced.
> 
> Here


You have a hot voice. When you said the word lips a certain sort of fire ignited in my bosom and I wanted you to be looking at my lips...

Don't be too flattered though...I'm a relatively handsome man whore. But yes, your voice can inspire lust.

Hopefully you're not offended because I'm going to read another poem later and need good honest feedback.


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## sweetraglansweater (Jul 31, 2015)

SevSevens said:


> You have a hot voice. When you said the word lips a certain sort of fire ignited in my bosom and I wanted you to be looking at my lips...
> 
> Don't be too flattered though...I'm a relatively handsome man whore. But yes, your voice can inspire lust.
> 
> Hopefully you're not offended because I'm going to read another poem later and need good honest feedback.


the lust of a whore is a summer heat in passing; it is not a reflection of permanency or desire, simply a thing that is. One should take the words of a whore as the words of an angel or a demon: with ambivalence.


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## SevSevens (Aug 5, 2015)

sweetraglansweater said:


> the lust of a whore is a summer heat in passing; it is not a reflection of permanency or desire, simply a thing that is. One should take the words of a whore as the words of an angel or a demon: with ambivalence.


we must all take everything with ambivalence. There is no other way to be in a world where the soul can see beyond the eyes and the spirit calls the soul to run even in total darkness.

By the way, what is your favorite relatively short poem?


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## sweetraglansweater (Jul 31, 2015)

They bore a love for each other
which neither had spoken of;
each had cold looks for the other
while being consumed with love.

They parted at last and since then
only in dreams still met;
They had died the Lord knows when,
But they were not aware of it yet.

-Song of Love and Grief
Heinrich Heine
trans. Walter W. Arnot


Ignorant Before The Heavens Of My Life - Poem by Rainer Maria Rilke

Ignorant before the heavens of my life,
I stand and gaze in wonder. Oh the vastness
of the stars. Their rising and descent. How still.
As if I didn't exist. Do I have any
share in this? Have I somehow dispensed with
their pure effect? Does my blood's ebb and flow
change with their changes? Let me put aside
every desire, every relationship
except this one, so that my heart grows used to
its farthest spaces. Better that it live
fully aware, in the terror of its stars, than
as if protected, soothed by what is near. 



This life is a hospital where every patient is possessed with the desire to change beds; one man would like to
suffer in front of the stove, and another believes that he would recover his health beside the window.
It always seems to me that I should feel well in the place where I am not, and this question of removal is one
which I discuss incessantly with my soul.
'Tell me, my soul, poor chilled soul, what do you think of going to live in Lisbon? It must be warm there, and there
you would invigorate yourself like a lizard. This city is on the sea-shore; they say that it is built of marble
and that the people there have such a hatred of vegetation that they uproot all the trees. There you have a landscape
that corresponds to your taste! a landscape made of light and mineral, and liquid to reflect them!'
My soul does not reply.
'Since you are so fond of stillness, coupled with the show of movement, would you like to settle in Holland,
that beatifying country? Perhaps you would find some diversion in that land whose image you have so often admired
in the art galleries. What do you think of Rotterdam, you who love forests of masts, and ships moored at the foot of
houses?'
My soul remains silent.
'Perhaps Batavia attracts you more? There we should find, amongst other things, the spirit of Europe
married to tropical beauty.'
Not a word. Could my soul be dead?
'Is it then that you have reached such a degree of lethargy that you acquiesce in your sickness? If so, let us
flee to lands that are analogues of death. I see how it is, poor soul! We shall pack our trunks for Tornio. Let us go
farther still to the extreme end of the Baltic; or farther still from life, if that is possible; let us settle at the Pole. There
the sun only grazes the earth obliquely, and the slow alternation of light and darkness suppresses variety and
increases monotony, that half-nothingness. There we shall be able to take long baths of darkness, while for our
amusement the aurora borealis shall send us its rose-coloured rays that are like the reflection of Hell's own
fireworks!'
At last my soul explodes, and wisely cries out to me: 'No matter where! No matter where! As long as it's out
of the world!'

Out of the World
-Charles Baudelaire


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## SevSevens (Aug 5, 2015)

sweetraglansweater said:


> They bore a love for each other
> which neither had spoken of;
> each had cold looks for the other
> while being consumed with love.
> ...


You know I'm going to try these out right?

Hopefully I don't butcher them.


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## TheProphetLaLa (Aug 18, 2014)

I love your voice. Sing me a lullaby.


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## SevSevens (Aug 5, 2015)

TheProphetLaLa said:


> I love your voice. Sing me a lullaby.


at some point...since I am leaving for the gym now, either later tonight...or some other night...I will sing you, the song of the man with the broken face.

It is not in me, lady of the rising moon, to be anything but artful in my morose demeanor. Forgive me.

Perhaps on a brighter day, I can make that song a sort of lullaby for Dark Elves, since you remind me of the Empress herself, however, that is no slight, she is a beauty, albeit an almond eyed goddess who seldom soothes but rather inspires a different flame.

A flame of contrition paradoxically doused the light footed folly and jolly of the fool, a rose of a shade of purple, no doubt.


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## sweetraglansweater (Jul 31, 2015)

Emily


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## SevSevens (Aug 5, 2015)

sweetraglansweater said:


> Emily


that was beautiful. Initially, I think you fumbled a bit but after a few seconds it was woven all together masterfully and the initial fumbling added cohesion and coherence to the organic nature of your rhythm in the reading as a whole.

I must say I did not expect that.


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## SevSevens (Aug 5, 2015)

sweetraglansweater said:


> Emily


I tried to emulate the naturalness and subtle vulnerability in your voice...and the conversational tone that some how matched the rhythm.

Songs Love and Grief


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## sweetraglansweater (Jul 31, 2015)

SevSevens said:


> I tried to emulate the naturalness and subtle vulnerability in your voice...and the conversational tone that some how matched the rhythm.
> 
> Songs Love and Grief


thank you- I liked that alot! This reading poetry thing is so much fun. Gawd, I am such an INFP.

Yeah, I fumbled a bit. I kind of get dry in my mouth and then stumble over my tongue during recitation.


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## Hosker (Jan 19, 2011)

Nice and clear, but a bit too dramatic, though the second one was better. There are a couple of points where with the inflections on the rhyme it sounded like you were rapping, which sounded odd.


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## SevSevens (Aug 5, 2015)

Hosker said:


> Nice and clear, but a bit too dramatic, though the second one was better. There are a couple of points where with the inflections on the rhyme it sounded like you were rapping, which sounded odd.


Good too know. I didn't mean to...I guess it's my city accent overriding my suburban accent. Sometimes I think I'm like twenty five villains in one superheroes body.


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