We are what we have been:

[Ninva]

...

 

[thewrongvine]

You know I would comment if I knew about poetry.

I see there's John again.

 

[Ninva]

?

 

[Fatmankev]

Weird piece, Ninva. Didn't grasp the deeper meaning, although I'm sure you're used to that by now =] If I had to guessat it, like I was back in school or somethin', I'd say that the two folks are the same as the spot of soot, doing nothing but for existing and growing worse with time. I guess they're about as cared for as the spot is, and its all just waiting to be gone. Or something. I'm no poet.

I liked the second passage, especially the last line, "Every word inhaled." Provides great imagery, makes me imagine the newspaper cigarette burning down, the ink melting and coalescing into the smoke swirling past his lips. I see them chapped and cracked, rimmed with stubble, John nothing but a degenerate loser. All from that line.

Later, you start a passage with, "Estranged by such print." I didn't get this - if he felt that way over it, wouldn't he stop smoking on it? I mean, it doesn't really make a whole lot of sense to me why he'd feel that way in the first place. It's a good word, but doesn't seem to fit here, in my opinion, especially given how the poem follows it. I feel like the word is akin to alienated, and the way these people seem I can't imagine a newspaper cigarette making them feel that way, ya know?

I also really liked this piece of prose because of how it presented itself to me. It's definitely a poem, but it has the feel of a story, too, more like the epics of old regardless of its short length. The two lines of dialogue, as insignificant as they seem, add a wholly different feel to the piece that it wouldn't have otherwise. I actually felt like I could picture the people here, as opposed to the regular poetry I hold a mild contempt for due to the lack of connection.

All in all, pretty nice piece. Glad you're still writing now that you're all grown up. Don't give it up.

 

[Ninva]

I really appreciate the feedback, Kev. Glad to hear from you.

I know of only one person who could really dig into my poetry (and make it as readable as a single sentence), and he's in engineering school. He got into Harvard, but then he decided to not pursue the Humanities. It just isn't economical. I haven't heard from him a long time. Actually, I think we lost contact recently. That shows you how much I care, I guess.

After struggling with the Occupy movement, watching a lot of bad stuff happen, and reading a lot of books, I wrote this piece during my first semester in college, which I feel really contains the ethos of the 2012 school semester in Chicago: sitting in the attic, bullshitting philosophy, and smoking. As I reread this poem, I catch the symbolism more and more, and the images really glare at me more than the scene of two young adults smoking. But I'm glad that scene was able to be articulated to you. I think it's either as important or more important than the symbols.

Thanks for reading.