Sweet

(03/22/22)

i hate vanilla candles.

they smell of what could have been,

another life,

hope

for another chance.

the smell of the strength i never had,

it chokes,

and strangles,

and steals

my current, my present,

my gift of future.

they are the filthiest of sweet smells,

a horrid.

abstract.

mockery

of who and all

i am not.

the sweetness taunts,

it is unfamiliar,

not like my homely sweetness,

my sweetness is.

it does not try to be sweeter

than it really is.

it is whole in its

bitterness

its pain

its fear.

vanilla itself does not smell

sweet.

Reviews

[JayG]

• i hate vanilla candles.

And a reader who doesn't know you cares that you do because...

I don't say that to be cruel, but because it's a very real question. Readers don't come to poetry hoping to learn things about strangers. They're not looking for facts. They want your words to move them emotionally. So on reading this—the reader's first impression—they will expect it to be followed by a reason for hating it that they can empathize with. But do you involve the reader?

• they smell of what could have been,

Makes no sense. I have such candles, and have experienced their scent often in the past. They smell like vanilla candles, not some abstract that's personal to you. Perhaps for you, they are reminders of events in your life. But unless you provide context as-the-line-is-read, they smell like whatever they suggest to the reader, based on THEIR life. not your intent.

I suppose the line is meaningful to you who have both context and intent driving your response. But you go on and on about the effect of unstated events in your life, as they may relate, in an undefined way—to the scent. But lacking context, for the reader, they're just words in a row, meaning uncertain. So of necessity, my response, when you end with "vanilla itself does not smell sweet," was, "The hell it doesn't."

In your posted work, you're talking TO the reader. That's a nonfiction technique, fact-based and author-centric. Moreover, you're talking about your reaction to events, as if the reader has context. For you, it's deeply meaningful, and perhaps therapeutic, as well. But to an outsider? There's no relevance or resonance because there's no context.

As E. L. Doctorow observed: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.” You're providing your reaction to getting wet.

There's a LOT to writing poetry that's not obvious but is necessary. And we were given none of it in our school days, where we were being readied for employment, in general, with such thigs as nonfiction writing skills. So digging into the tricks of poetry makes a lot of sense.

One really great resource is Mary Oliver's, A Poetry Handbook. You can download a PDF copy here:
https://yes-pdf.com/book/1596

The lady is brilliant, and early on you'll learn why we say we "skipped a stone" and "threw a rock," rather than the other way around.

So...I know this isn't what you hoped to hear, but since we'll not address a problem we don't see as being one, I thought you might want to know.



Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/