All Comments on 'The Nearly Silent Still Want to Sing'

by greenmountaineer

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  • 5 Comments
susansnowsusansnowover 5 years ago
Is this?

A revisit of another poem? I've seen it before.

greenmountaineergreenmountaineerover 5 years agoAuthor

An edited version, Susan.

AnonymousAnonymousover 5 years ago
Five stars for intelligence, a thing usually lacking here.

A strange poem, good poem, even very good poem, gm. Fabulous title, wonderful title, which I think is supposed to tell me what the poem is about--old folks home? Alzheimer's facility?

That I have to think a bit about it isn't a fault of the poem itself, or even necessarily of me, but of the context in which the poem appears. My first reading, despite the "non-erotic" label, was that this was a poem about a brothel, or something like it.

I know, stupid. But it is the context in which the poem is presented, I think, that led me to that.

Which is another reason why I would nag you to perhaps consider submitting your poems elsewhere. They are very good and worthy of publication in most any poetry-focused journal. But I also understand why you might not want to do that as well.

Excellent writing, though. Thanks.

This is Tzara, by the way. I'm having trouble with authenticating myself to Lit.

greenmountaineergreenmountaineerover 5 years agoAuthor

Thanks for your kind words, Tzara. I'll submit a poem elsewhere once in a while which usually results in a rejection form letter. That's ok. My primary audience is my beautiful wife and two grown children.

Sometimes experienced poets will post. I enjoy reading them, but what I most enjoy are the fledgling poets who, if they keep their enthusiasm, will continue to polish their poems.

legerdemerlegerdemerover 5 years ago
A gem

I don’t think I have seen this one before. It works beautifully—light where the danger is to fall into sentimentality, yet so moving. Great turn in the third stanza—it has the feel of a modern sonnet, without the constraints.

I am left thinking of my parents (now dead) and their neighbors in assisted living/nursing/rehab homes (and the implicit and guilty thought of “I don’t want to find myself there in 20 years,”) and broke down. Your poem reminds me of John Prine’s “Hello in There,” a song that gets me every time.

Lovely, gm.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.

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