Revisions:

[MsJacquiiC]

Well GUYS - hmmmm. - I tried a bit of revising for this piece I'm not quite sure what you'll think about it - but please: ALL CRITIQUES welcome. The piece has a bit of a different "shape" to it - I'm not quite sure what to think of it myself LOL - but anyway - here 'tis:


Where Is The Joy?

Seven fields of golden-hewn wheat
graces the shoulder of this one dirt street
in Jackson, Tennessee. Seven sewn fields
laden heavily with buckwheat,
sitting just Heavenly above the rocky turmoil
of Hell's unredeemed cotton: Those fields...

They yield
a various cacophony straight from the
daybed splendor of earth (a soil
so very soul-rich)

And the labor and the toil
of harvests' birth is blood of the dust:
Unkempt and raggedy cells
holding the bones that were first
laid down to rest splendidly; Like old
Negro slaves
and their chil'ren of plantation daze,
and their Ma'Maw, Great PaPaw and Cousin Sadie...
All of 'em simply longed hard, working
for the zest of joy, of retribution, of restitution
and of life. Attentively they served those foul folks;
The whole while their old Negro smiles
ironically frowned foully with strife.

(They looked upon that ole o’ seer’s beaming face
and his beating-stick of ill-fated hate
with that same-old tired Negro smile, the one
full of knowing spiritual faith.)

Did that ole "mista-massa sir"
give a damn about those two million Nigras
overcoming the slaving-fields till their dying day.
And far beyond that... Those same nigras
(with bleeding hands that still cultivate the U.S. of A)
on death beds splintered of broken down hay.
Could "mista-massa sir" have cared?

Would he have known where is the joy?
Where is the retribution?,
the restitution?,
the life?

Would he now tell?

Copyright © 2006 Jacquii Cooke

to view original posting CLICK HERE

[alanmdouglas]

Dear Jacquii,

Mainly puncts, caps, if you agree repost, then I will look at the meaning - cuz somewhere in there I got a little lost !

Well done on getting to it, a powerful piece indeed.

Love
Alan

Where Is The Joy?

Seven fields of golden-hewn wheat
graces the shoulder of this one dirt street - grace singular !
in Jackson, Tennessee. Seven sewn fields - sOwn !
laden heavily with buckwheat,
sitting just Heavenly above the rocky turmoil
of Hell's unredeemed cotton: Those fields... - no cap those or heaven/hell
- also, can you leave out the "just"?

They yield - no cap, sentence continues
a various cacophony straight from the - drop various - cacoph sez it all
daybed splendor of earth (a soil
so very soul-rich) - daybed sp of a soul-rich soil - more concise

And the labor and the toil
of harvests' birth is blood of the dust:
Unkempt and raggedy cells - no cap U
holding the bones that were first
laid down to rest splendidly; Like old - no cap L - I think a comma after rest ?
Negro slaves
and their chil'ren of plantation daze,
and their Ma'Maw, Great PaPaw and Cousin Sadie...
All of 'em simply longed hard, working - no cap A
for the zest of joy, of retribution, of restitution
and of life. Attentively they served those foul folks;
The whole while their old Negro smiles - no cap T
ironically frowned foully with strife.

(They looked upon that ole o’ seer’s beaming face - Don't think the brackets add ?
and his beating-stick of ill-fated hate
with that same-old tired Negro smile, the one
full of knowing spiritual faith.)

Did that ole "mista-massa sir"
give a damn about those two million Nigras
overcoming the slaving-fields till their dying day ? - needs ?-mark
And far beyond that... Those same nigras - no cap T
(with bleeding hands that THAT ARE still cultivatING the U.S. of A)
on death beds splintered of broken down hay.
Could "mista-massa sir" have cared?

Would he have known where is the joy,
Where is the retribution, - no cap W, and commas + one ?-mark are better
the restitution;
the life?

Would he now tell?

[MsJacquiiC]

but "wheat" is plural as well as singular - thus wheat can grace OR wheat graces - right?

Anyway - thanx for the suggestions - I thought the piece was taking on a different shape - I may get to revision #2 in the next year or so

Thanx again ALAN.

Jacquii.

Some attention to line breaks might well advance this developing work:

Seven fields of golden-hewn wheat
grace the shoulder of this one dirt street
in Jackson, Tennessee.
Seven sewn fields of buckwheat,
sitting above the rocky turmoil
as the unredeemed cotton of hell.

They yield a various cacophony
straight from the daybed splendor
of the earth .

(and so on, aiming for complete thoughts when possible, before breaking)
The dramatic impact gains from the brief cutting. If you like my suggestions,
apply them to the rest of the poem.

[MsJacquiiC]

Thanx very much SYNCHRO for the suggestions.
I have already completed revision #2 - It can be seen HERE

Nice suggestions though - I look forward to your comments on Where Is The Joy? **Revision #2**

Jacquii.