Thread: This Path is Ends

I am not someone who feels many strong emotions for things. There are few things I am attached too. But in the wake of my final game as coach for my 8th grade football team, after two years with the boys, I have become incredibly sad. I am so very proud of them, and I feel empty knowing tomorrow is our final game together. I wrote this tonight after our final practice. I hope it can mean something to those who read it.

All thoughts and critiques as welcome. Thank you all.

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This Path is Ends

This is so wonderful,SG. I am stunned by the depth of emotion you so elegantly showed--and in subtle ways--your old cracked whistle.Taking some blades of grass from the field,picture calendars . Poignant memories of the time you played on the team...And this line"I let it go too fast"--Oh the regrets we all carry forward..I connected to this poem.I have a feeling you were a wonderful coach--and that you enriched the lives of the young men you coached---most likely--they will NEVER forget you.This is a rich,vibrant poem,with many layers of skill. Thank you for sharing your memories as a coach, I am sure you will be missed. Peace...Jul

All transitions can be painful. The future looks dim, especially when blinded by the brilliance of former glory.

The description of trying to preserve grass, and it's futility, is a very effective metaphor. Also, the image of the whistle graphically paints the scene. The shadow and path references are a bit overdone, but do not detract.

Skillfully executed.

Glass, I know you’re not one prone to the overly visceral but here you’ve proven that you can let in that which is not to be analyzed away. One of your most touching and well crafted pieces.

I chose this path –
this family without complication:

Dear friend, you are reminding of discourse last year! Here, The family we can choose. A perfect lead for what is grounding, loving, in a safe way.

The boys gather in front of the locker room,
and John leads them in our battle cry –
Who are we?
Lancers!
Who are we?

I’m right there with you and the guys. Thanks, for letting me in the locker room. I’m now more clear than ever as to what bonds men in the arena of competition. A kind of bonding, I , as woman, have never experienced with a “group” aimed to win with physical effort. I know of girls into soccer who have this passion but there’s nothing like men bonding these days. Back to the cave men - together they solitarily hunted, quite, in order to seize prey for food while the women bonded in caves.

Thank you, for this crucial inclusion. It came across to me very powerfully.

I touch the whistle around my neck.
It is old steel – cracked in places,
the ball is stuck in between the lips.
It dangles limp around my neck. I cry.
I have not cried in years.

Because of your describing, I see your whistle as kind of an appendage.
And who can bear to let something as important as this go? Tears are to be expected. You’ve managed to move me deeply.

This path is ends –
this path is mine.

I think the above would have more impact if you went something along this line.

A new path begins,
which was once mine.
　
I will leave the field
and go to where I’ll be. This path is mine,
this path is ends –
not many things are happy.

Such a close! “not many things are happy”

“Loss” is implied everywhere. But you’ve not mentioned the word.
This proves of your great ability to show not tell.

Thank you, for a poem which holds a place in my heart.

Laurie

I too am struck by the depth of emotion and how well it's expressed through images and memories. Images like the grass and the whistle are perfect. I can't add more to what has already been said, except my agreement. The fact that we all seem to end up in the same place says that you've succeeded in presenting your message well.

Thank you all. I really appreciate the kind words, and I'm glad the poem has resonated with you.

Cheers,

-Glass

Lots of emotion in this poem, as others have said. I did feel that it was a little lengthy for the subject, and maybe it would have impacted me more if it were shorter. And I wouldn't go so far as to say that a ton of lines need to be removed, but maybe just a few words would do the trick. The first bit, for example:

I chose this path –
this family without complication: (I feel like leaving this up to the poem to describe instead of simply stating it would do wonders.)

on the field in front of the mountain,
while the dusk swept over us
and made shadows of every shape,
I paced away from the throng
and longed to steal some blades of grass –
perhaps to keep them by my side,
pretending not to know
that they’d wither away and become the wind
in some near off time.

You may not agree with this, and that's fine. But I think that it's just a bit too wordy.

It is this path I chose – (We know this already, and I'm not sure how effective the repetition is here because "choosing a path" is such a cliche.)
this path of continual endings. Each season
another lifetime. Each moment
one more leap off the cliff.

I MIGHT recommend cutting this whole thing and rewording it because, as of now, it just sounds a little like a Hallmark card.

The boys gather in front of the locker room,
and John leads them in our battle cry –
Who are we?
Lancers!
Who are we?

Whatever you decide to do, don't cut this. I love the personalization here, and the sentiment is perfect. Not too much. Just enough to make us feel something.

Wasn’t that me, years ago,
leading that cry? Wasn’t it me,
screaming till headache
with my brothers by my side? (The first is implied here, and this is a much stronger line.)
I let it go too fast. I have become regret
for not sinking my feet in the mud
with every step and every jog and every run. (Again, it's implied, and this is so much stronger.)

To me,
the shadows feel like falling (Love that) – the night begins to push them off their stand
until suddenly they mesh into the lightless shapes
of all that existed before.

But I move on through the shapeless field – (I don't like how it went from shapes to shapeless.)
this path was mine, not no one else. This path
is filled with light and dark –

Having a love hate relationship here. I love the colloquial language here. It really personalizes it."Not no one else." Brilliant. But I don't like the whole "this path was mine" thing because it's bringing back the cliche of having a path.

with beginnings and ends. With pictured calendars
now coated in dust; tossed away in dumpsters,
waiting to be carried away by the garbage man.

I touch the whistle around my neck.
It is old steel – cracked in places,
the ball is stuck in between the lips.
It dangles limp around my neck. I cry.
I have not cried in years.

I love, love, love this. This was the part of the poem that really started to impact me. I feel like less in between this in the beginning is going to help that impact because I don't think the build up was strong enough.

This path is ends –
this path is mine. The western night
is pure and cold. The wind will sweep the planes tonight –
the peaks will shift an inch. I will leave the field
and go to where I’ll be. This path is mine,
this path is ends –
not many things are happy.

As you can see, I'm not liking the "this path is mine" deal here. The reason I don't like it is because this poem is clearly personal. We know it's yours without you telling us, so I think that while it probably is making an impact on you to say it, it's not making the same impact on someone outside your situation. But that's an opinion. I'm sure you can find someone who disagrees, but hopefully what I'm saying makes sense. The implication through words is so much stronger than the statement.

I really like this poem, Glass. I think it could be so great with some editing.

Bay

SG - This path is ends is clearly some North American code which doesn't play in the UK. Planes or plains? Trees, flying machines or rolling prairies?

I must own to the fact that I'm not quite keeping up with this poem; it is beautifully written, clearly heartfelt, but sporting poetry is a difficult territory, how to convey the spirit of the sport to an audience who may have no partiality, it has to be a good poem of itself as if the subject is of no consequence. I quote here the first stanza of a poem written by Sir Henry Newbold, and this is no reflection on SG, of a young man leaving England to fight in the Boer War in South Africa, it exhorts him to call upon the spirit engendered in him while playing a team game at school. I think it works even if you have no clue as to the nature of the sport involved.

Vitai Lampada

THERE'S a breathless hush in the Close to-night -
Ten to make and the match to win -
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

Very much appreciated, friends. Really - thank you for the kind reviews.

Angel - Boy, I was worried the path would come off as cliche. Hence my attempt to alter the syntax in places (no bloggs, it's not an Americanism. It's a glassism). I will look to work it out. Thanks again!

Wow, SG, the sadness at what's to come and longing for what is gone is so darn palpable, it hurts. Which means you've done an exemplary job. It is lengthy, perhaps a bit of a trim, but not too much, a few words here and there, because while reading, one is too swept away in the moment to actually notice the length. Quite a few SGisms which I much enjoyed. This line: "this path was mine, not no one else." is awkward, perhaps else's, and perhaps anyone as opposed to no one. Should planes be plains, because I'm thinking there might be some intentional duality there. I very much enjoyed this, love. This is one very moving piece, the emotions of which we can all empathize with, because field or not, we've all felt them.

Best,
Lisa

Originally Posted by Squalid Glass

I am not someone who feels many strong emotions for things.

You and me both. Maybe that's why this was a tough read for me, in two ways. In the first sense, because the emotion is so tangible, it almost makes me uncomfortable (which is good, BTW). In the second sense, I also somehow felt detached, because I can't relate--but that's no fault of your own, just the lack in my own experience.

Anyway, to the poem itself:

I chose this path –
this family without complication:

I almost want to see these words as italicized, sort of like a prologue to the poem, and maybe ellipsis points instead of a semi-colon. I know the ellipsis can be annoying if overused, but I think it would work here. Either that, or cut this bit entirely and just go straight into the poem starting with "on the field in front of the mountain".

on the field in front of the mountain,
while the dusk swept over us
and made shadows of every shape,
I paced away from the throng
and longed to steal some blades of grass –
perhaps to keep them by my side,
pretending not to know
that they’d wither away and become the wind
in some near off time.

This is a really strong beginning. I've got no complaints with this. Well done.

It is this path I chose –
this path of continual endings. Each season
another lifetime. Each moment
one more leap off the cliff.

Hrm. I'm not as certain about this bit. I know that by "season" you mean a sports season, not summer-fall-winter-spring, although it COULD mean that as well. But I'm leaning toward Angel's suggestion that the poem might be better if it was a bit tighter, and I think you could do without this bit entirely. But that's up to you, of course.

The boys gather in front of the locker room,
and John leads them in our battle cry –
Who are we?
Lancers!
Who are we?

I too am in love with this bit. I like how you end it with a second "Who are we?" but not a second "Lancers!" It's as if the memory is already faded a bit. Just beautiful.

Wasn’t that me, years ago,
leading that cry? Wasn’t it me,
screaming till headache
with my brothers by my side?
I let it go too fast. I have become regret
for not sinking my feet in the mud
with every step and every jog and every run.

"I let it go too fast." Yep. I like that.

"I have become regret." Also good - I don't know that I've ever heard anyone say that they ARE regret, but it's powerful.

"With every step and every jog and every run." I think it would read better without the repetition, which strikes me as unnecessary here.

And now these boys will feel it too –
tomorrow starts their first good-bye,
the hands move forward,
the shadows tilt a little more west. To me,
the shadows feel like falling – the night begins to push them off their stand
until suddenly they mesh into the lightless shapes
of all that existed before.

Any particular reason you didn't line break the fifth line? I'm sure there was one, I just can't see what it might be.

Also, I would cut the last line; it's a bit precious.

But I move on through the shapeless field –
this path was mine, not no one else's. This path
is filled with light and dark –
with beginnings and ends. With pictured calendars
now coated in dust; tossed away in dumpsters,
waiting to be carried away by the garbage man.

I agree with Lisa; "else's" reads smoother. Also, I have to respectfully disagree with Angel on "this path was mine" in the second line. Yes, it's cliche, but... I don't know. I think it works, especially with the colloquialism of the words that follow. But that's just my thought. Definitely, though, you can do without the "beginnings and ends" bit. I know what you're trying to say, but having two cliches that close together doesn't work for me. Keep just the first one, if you like, and nix the second.

I touch the whistle around my neck.
It is old steel – cracked in places,
the ball is stuck in between the lips.
It dangles limp around my neck. I cry.
I have not cried in years.

Aw.

This path is ends –
this path is mine. The western night
is pure and cold. The wind will sweep the planes tonight –
the peaks will shift an inch. I will leave the field
and go to where I’ll be. This path is mine,
this path is ends –
not many things are happy.

"Not many things are happy"--too true. I think you don't need the repetition about the path though. In fact, you COULD take out both, as Angel suggests, but I can see you're rather attached to the line, so if it's important to you to keep it in, then cut the first and leave in the second.

Okay! I like this very much. I would love to see any edits you might do as well. Thanks for sharing.

Thank you all for the kind and insightful reviews.

It is so hard to take some suggestions and not others. I think the poem is better now. I know the path image is cliche - I tried to remove most references, but I felt I needed to keep some of them. Hopefully it isn't overdone anymore.

Tried to tighten up the language and focus on just the important things. Please let me know where else this can be improved.

Thanks again.

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This Path is Ends

Wow. That is, for an enormous lack of a better word, impressive. The words roll of each other really well, the image you paint resonates in the reader (basing this off myself, I'm not claiming to be able to read other member's minds), and in general, your poem is well written. Keep on writing!

Ah, this IS much improved, Glass. Not that the original was bad by any means, but I like the way you've tightened this up. Good job.

Thank you both. I'm glad you approve of the edit, Bachelorette.