Diving-a Freediving WIP

per your request for critique, here are my thoughts on this poem:

it is wonderfully plain to see the frank eloquence of honestly frothing from the brim in every word of this poem. so, before i offer any reaction or critical advice, i would start off by saying that you already have everything that one desperately needs in a poem: the blood-tinge of veracity, the heat of real, live, actual feelings from real, live, actual experiences. there is no room for fiction in real poetry, no counter-weight for depth of belief - i truly believe that, and so any improvements to this poem can only aesthetic in nature; the message and the heart and the voice are all yours and need no critique.


I refuse to shed tears
'cause society told me
I'm too fat for love,
that I am less than,
too much, too little, too smart, too stupid,
too weak, too strong, too slow.

the the whole delivery of this reminds me of a sort of Bukowskian objectivity, so i will temper my observations and suggestions with preserving this style in mind. the first three lines are very effective in their straight-laced starkness. i did notice a little confusion on my part matching your refusal in the first line with exactly what society was doing - does society want you to cry because they told you to cry or because they told you you were too fat? i'm assuming the latter, but you might consider a different line break to make this apparent. perhaps:

I refuse to shed tears
'cause society told me I'm too fat for love,

i'm not sure i like the "that I am less than" line, or really, any of the following lines in this strophe. in looking at all the things society is telling you, i felt that, as a flat list, they seemed to have blunted the forceful impact of the first characteristic society has foisted on you. "I'm too fat for love" says so much about so many things, that you should probably consider refining or even expanding this line rather than burden the strophe with additional adjectives that have diminishing returns in terms of impact and message. here's just a quick example of what i was thinking:

I refuse to shed tears
'cause society told me I'm too fat,
too much, too smart
too stupid for love.

this is just a quick example. i actually like "too fat for love", and i like the way you say "for love" as opposed to "to love", like love, itself, has decided this, and you have no say in the matter. again, the strophe is not bad as it is, it just has an amazing salvo to begin with and then diminishes the explosion by adding minor observations afterwards. another idea might be to save the strongest line for the end. here's an example:

I refuse to shed tears
'cause society told me that I am less than,
too much, too little, too smart, too stupid,
too weak, too strong, too slow,
that I am too fat for love.

this example could use some work, but it illustrates how ending the strophe strong might have a greater impact on the reader than opening it that way. this is a matter of opinion, but i wanted to point it out.

Alone, I wipe my eyes,
and I go on living. I go on loving.

I go on loving and losing,
and learning that life is sharp,
is double-edged like a biblical sword,
is poised and pointed
at the valves of my heart.

there is an easy, smooth, conversational-yet-silky way that these lines and words are laid out. i am loathe to have you consider messing with them, except maybe just a few tweaks here and there to clean up some little unnecessary pauses, articles, and prepositions:

I go on loving and losing
and learning life is sharp,
that it is double-edged, a biblical sword,
poised and pointed
at the valves of my heart.

it is possible that "valves of my heart" might be a bit obvious, but in keeping with the non-fanciful language you've consistently employed throughout the piece, i can't find too much fault with it.

My heart, with its mollusk valves,
and my eyes with their tentacles,
and my ears with their gills,
the Eustachian tubes in which
I have to equalize pressure when I'm freediving,
and love is just like freediving.
You jump or fall into something deeper than
you are tall, where you can't breathe
and reason does not escape your lips,
and you have to figure out how to walk
and swim through the thick substance of dizziness,
carry the weight and the pressure and the buoyance.
Love is like that.

"My heart, with its mollusk valves," wow. that's freakin' killer, right there. i don't know that i like the somewhat consistent way you've duplicated nouns at the end and beginning of adjacent strophes - knowing you, i see this as purposeful in both style and thought-flow and i can't say it's bad - i just don't really like it. but especially here, because this opening line is so brilliant and image-laden, that its repetition from the end of the preceding strophe might be interfering with its spotlight. sometimes, word/idea repetition can effectively enhance or accentuate an idea. but you don't need that here, your "mollusk valves" is self-accentuating. i would go back and figure out a way to get rid of "the valves of my heart" from the previous strophe - perhaps find a synonym for heart, because you have to keep the first line here just like it is.

And so is trying to figure out what you're meant to do,
walking past beggars on the street, or even begging yourself,
begging for something, a sign, a divine
reason to point you in the right direction.
All that pressure that hasn't dispersed or equalized,
only gets worse until you rise,
and then you get the Bends 'cause you climbed
too fast in love and bet too many things on the chance
that you would win.

the first two lines instantly conjure up the old beat poet ideals - trying to find salvation and elucidation out amongst the blithering, despicable mass of people, and seeing yourself in them. it has both a narrative quality as well as a figurative or conceptual element. i definitely like it. you start the third line with “begging” again, which continues the sort of conversational feel to this poem. it’s ok, but you might consider trading off conversationality for more poetic diction. a simple trip to the thesaurus might help. even going further into the origin of the need to beg, the implications of why this image is important beyond just for the thing which is being begged. don’t be afraid to diverge or tangent in order to look underneath your first word choice. especially if you find that you are repeating words. perhaps it is not just begging that is important to the poem, to your quest, to your self-image. perhaps it is the idea of the beggar, the persona of someone that lacks, someone that is, at once, both needy and defiant. beggars would seem to be reliant upon society for survival, but it’s not so simple as that, is it? the beggar doesn’t play by the rules, for whatever reason. the beggar is on the fringe of humanity, isolated in their own refusal to conform. they are a dichotomy. maybe you could explore your relation to this or similar idea?

you do, of course, follow “begging” with things that are to be begged: “a sign, a divine reason . . .” this is another opportunity to look for the crux of what you’re trying to reveal. why are you not going in “the right direction”? what kind of “sign” might you encounter? how will you know the sign is the right one? there is much left unsaid here, and it leaves the reader with the idea that you are not ready to explore this, that you are satisfied (and, thus, the reader should be satisfied) with not knowing why there is no direction, and why this idea is associated with a beggar, and who or what and/or why is a sign needed, if not even forthcoming?

i must admit to being impressed with the “All that pressure that hasn't dispersed or equalized, only gets worse until you rise,” line. it flows well. i think you could keep the equalized/rise rhyme, while exploring other options for “pressure”, “dispersed”, and “equalized”. these are somewhat vague concepts that the reader is forced to go back and try to marry with begging, signs, direction, etc. there is not a literal connection, except maybe that having no direction or being considered a beggar (a pariah?) causes pressure. but why leave the reader with the burden of making this assumption? it could be spelled out, letting the reader follow along the story of how this pressure formed and where it is destined to go. i really loved “and then you get the Bends 'cause you climbed too fast in love”. it stands on its own merits because of your unique way of relating physics and biology with emotion and relationships. i would just end the line there, and move the idea of betting “too many things on the chance that you would win” to a new idea, a new strophe. again, i see the plain admission here that has so much potential - i look at it as a prompt inside your own poem. what have you bet on? that climbing to the peak where love sits like a wise zen mountain man is worth the peril? or is it a mountain made of your struggles and suffering and the top is the metaphorical end? perhaps it is a false mountain, inverted, and you’re really climbing out of a hole, into some perceived freedom from suffering? back to the beggar: doesn’t he/she already have freedom? but they are not loved? maybe that’s the key - they beg for love, and you pass them on the streets, yourself a beggar, looking for handouts. as a reader, i’m looking to reconcile all these important images. they are at least as important as the metre and form and such. of course, opportunities to clarify or even to deepen poetic abstraction do not necessarily make a better poem, or the poem you want. i’m just throwing out ideas to consider.

But you can't win in life till you lose,
and society tries to make rules
about what you lose, saying to lose
weight, to lose your boyfriend,
to lose at sports if you're a girl,
to lose your parents,
and your principles,
and your dreams.

while i consider the ideas you espouse here to be germain and important to the poem, they feel rushed and blunt. i really like the study in loss: weight, boyfriend, sports, parents, principals and dreams. they do all share a sisterhood with one another, to be sure. and these things you should/can lose logically and emotionally follow the previous strophe, where you were speaking of what could be won. the point is intriguing: that we are defined by loss, either by what will be lost against our will, or what we should want to lose. loss seems to define an opening within us, which we either fill with something we think we want (love of someone else) or with something terrible (unfulfilled desire, ruined self-image.) so, maybe the beggar is an agent of loss? they are defined by what they have ostensibly lost: monetary solvency, dignity, companionship (though, objectively, being homeless or a beggar doesn’t really mean one has no companions, does it?) so, we are all beggars because of our loss-filled existence. and we become defined by what we try to fill into this loss. and we are challenged by the results; will it create more loss, will it set us back, will it get worse? i think this strophe is the touchstone that reveals what this whole poem/idea/feeling is about. and it is the least poetic, in terms of presentation. that’s usually a sign that it’s more about what needs to be said, rather than how to say it. you, more than anyone i know, has the capability to turn the deep reality of what you feel and know about yourself into poetry. if you are really interested in editing this poem, i would spend most of my time on this strophe.

Your dreams of going up, up the bean stalk
and finding that you can walk among giants, like Odysseus,
that you can defeat sea monsters and raise
hurricanes with your voice,
hurricanes of change.

again, you return to the climbing motif. and now, you give a glimpse of what might happen if and when you arrive: “walk among giants”. so, you are not only a beggar, fallen off the mountain, but you are also small, as compared with the beings that have ascended this barrier. Odysseus . . . i like to throw in Greek and Roman mythology into my poetry on occasion, and i suppose it works here. i think you sort of bolster the reference with the lines about defeating sea monsters and raising hurricanes with your voice. but what is more interesting to me is the last line here: “hurricanes of change”. i like this because of the implications - it’s not just that you indicate that you are unable to scale the bean stalk, it’s more to the fact that you are unable to spur change. this is a new characteristic to the crux of the poem that could also be further explored. you climb, you beg, you seek to enact or to fill loss because you want change. and now, you’re ready to settle for a hurricane. this is the type of apocalyptic imagery that the best poets are famous for - but it’s sort of left out here, trailing the end of this strophe with little hope of greater context. sometimes, when you are unhappy with a poem, you need to be your own psychologist. you need to perform word association. the hurricane must be dealt with.

Society wants you to lose the power of your voice,
the power of change.
To lose hope, when hope is already hard to hold
because you're drowning, caught in a riptide
of metaphors and statistics.
You're caught in debts, in bills, in money-related things
that circle you like sharks when you're down.
Your blood runs in the water, because life hurts, and love
cut you, and so you run, too, because the sharks circle
and you have to keep going.

And so we all keep going as long as we can.

this strophe starts off with a sociopolitical axiom which, besides its obvious truth, feels a bit impersonal. of course, it is very relevant with the theme of the poem and it follows the notions in last strophe perfectly. but it’s like the “you can’t win in life” strophe; it is just naked prose - very strong in ideals, but bereft of emotive or metaphorical energy. to be honest, i don’t like any portion of this part of the poem. i don’t like the shark metaphor, though i do sort of respond to your “blood runs in the water”. i guess i just don’t care for the way you’ve suddenly started editorializing one’s plight, leaving yourself and your previous symbols out to dry. i would stick with the message of the first line: that society wants you to lose your voice, and i would relay this back to the hurricane, the bean stalk, the beggar. you’ve widened the scope and, in the process, impersonalized the poem to a large degree here. the line” And so we all keep going . . .” is a bit of a throw-away line. of course we do - but why? blood in the water, sharks circling, and so we keep going? why would those situations make it obvious that we should continue. bring on the hurricane - they don’t like sharks, do they?

So I keep going, even though society tells me
I'm fat, poor, and ugly, even though
I'm single and unwanted,
even though I'm queer and outcast,
even though I'm a little bit broken,
because I'm a survivor of heartbreak
and shark attacks
and naked wounds.

this strophe is more personal, and thus, more relatable to the meat of the poem. but it’s very plain spoken and even though this is mostly the style of diction you’ve chosen for this poem, i feel it could still be improved. i think plainness in poetry requires a greater emphasis on relevance, on honesty, and on the deep extension of transcendental or emotional metaphor. but all i really cared about when i read this strophe was the shocking analysis that you’re “fat, poor, and ugly”. that’s really all i would keep here. and again, i would explore their relevance. this goes back to loss - these things symbolize your lack of something; acceptance, being loved, feeling secure. and these are the things you have in common with the beggar. and this is why the mountain, the bean stalk are so hard to climb. this is why it would help to be a greek hero or a giant. and about being unwanted: is this really a state of being? like i said, this feels like defining oneself by the lack of something - the recurring theme of loss. how will you change this? will you be wanted when the sharks abate? will you be wanted when you are no longer fat and ugly? and will they want you because you “lack” those traits? i feel like there’s strong commonality here that is just waiting for both cohesion and a little more poetic treatment.

I keep freediving,
because I believe in love, and giants,
and magic, and beanstalks,
and one day, like Odysseus, I can outsmart monsters
and return home
to find love and faithfulness.
“freediving”, here, seems to imply that you are purposely (or at least, habitually) flying off the mountain. you are, in fact, defining yourself by the process of falling, which is like another form of loss, isn’t it? you lack foundation (i.e. direction). the footing is lost, the direction is lost, and you are prey for gravity. i like this word, freediving. i think its context in this poem could be strengthened, but even as is, comes off as a powerful symbol for how you see yourself. I still wonder about Odysseus, here. he did wander, but was he lost? didn’t he always have a direction, even though the monsters stood in his path? he wanted to “return home”. that is a path, a direction, is it not? are you freediving in the attempt to scale your way back home? or didn’t you start at the bottom of this structure, this obstacle? maybe you can freedive back home? perhaps the journey is a cycle? my observations and questions are meant to convey my belief that there are unexplored ideas, under-developed concepts, and unnamed conditions in this poem. now, most all poems have some sense of having unfinished ideas. they are, as you know, a drop of water in the proverbial sea - while they have a far flung origin and an eventual conclusion, that is not their purpose. poems are a snapshot of a moment in time, space, feeling. the best poems, in my opinion, are the ones that most accurately or dramatically or transcendentally shape and shade this moment. i think this poem does well to contain the snapshot of a feeling, but the edges are a bit fuzzy and, at times, unrefined. that doesn’t make it a bad poem in the least. i hope some of this helps.