Reviews

Link: My Beloved Sister by Deil Grist.

Hi there! Golden Vision here, and welcome to your WRITE review. I can’t say I’ve seen much poemfic around, so good on you for giving it a go. In any case, let’s get started.

Tonight I tremble in our castle ruin

Amid the shards and scars of our battle,

Burdened by thoughts of three hundred more years

Without you, stained by cold guilt and hot tears.

Starting off, I certainly like the imagery of the first two lines. “Castle ruin” and “shards and scars” go together quite nicely, creating a very specific atmosphere. However, I can’t help but feel as though “our battle” is too blunt—too impersonal—for this section. “The shards and scars we left behind,” might work better (note that this is only a suggestion, and not to be taken as a specific word change). You’ve done well with the line breaks in this stanza; they same to flow easily—from “castle ruin” to “amid,” and then from “years” to “without you.” It’s a natural progression, but at the same time, it’s spaced well. That separation helps give the piece weight; it’s a contrast to the flow of each line.

One thing that I didn’t quite like was the rhyme—intentional or no—between lines three and four. It seems that you’re aiming for free verse which, while certainly an excellent mode of writing, also clashes with any resemblance to its more patterned siblings. A rhyme can seem out of place, confusing the reader.

Life’s promised joys and wonders to come

Are empty, wholly devoid of meaning.

My purpose is merely a hollow shell,

A beautiful perfume without a smell.

I would appear to stand corrected. You seem to be going for a very specific mode of writing, wherein the first two lines are unmatched, while the last two rhyme on the final syllable. It’s an interesting choice, and not one that I can honestly say that I’ve often seen. It remains to be seen whether this is a stylistic choice that works in your favor or not, so I shall reserve judgement until the end.

I realize that this is poetry, but “Telling” has a meaning outside of fiction as well. Life’s joys, you say, are devoid of meaning. Yet, the reader asks: which joys are these? How have they impacted her life—her world—her perspective? Poetry is the language of illustration, not narration. Make us see this world devoid of meaning; show us the shadows stretching across her mind. Don’t merely leave us to assume her emotions, lost for want of a concrete image.

I thirst for your presence again, wilted

Like a flower from summer’s driest heat,

Which turns over outstretched leaves as it waits

For the storm to open its dark gates.

I like your use of metaphor here—simile, rather. It’s a very clear image, and it works well to convey Celestia’s need for her sister. The final two lines fit seamlessly with that picture, conveying a sense of longing and deprivation.

Something to note here, I believe, is the concept of word economy. Significant detail, you might call it: asking yourself whether you’re conveying a certain idea in the best and clearest way possible. In many ways, this stanza holds a near-identical purpose to the previous one, and is quite frankly superior in the ways with which it shows Celestia’s emotional state, rather than telling it through a kind of expositional narrative. You could remove the previous stanza in lieu of this one; as I said, word economy. Keep only what you need, and remove all of the filler that you don’t.

Never did I realize I wronged you,

Consumed whole as I was by the limelight.

They considered you merely history,

Like pale Moon, dim reflection of Sun’s glory.

The rhyming scheme here is more than a bit forced, and it does this stanza a disservice by forcing the reader to contrast the two ending syllables, rather than flowing easily with the previous stanzas. Again, this is a place where the reader could use more imagery. How did Celestia wrong her? Make use see the depths of that despair: Celestia, alone on a cold, metal throne, as Luna drifts through an empty corridor. Give us a window into their situation—don’t let Celestia exposit it through narrative text.

What we accomplished, we did together.

Until that day, we were never apart.

How easily we forget things that last;

How easily we forget our own past!

I like the parallelism and/or repetition that you’ve got going on here. The rhyme—quite clearly—fits well. At the same time, though, this stanza suffer the same problem of exposition. Why tell us of “what [they] accomplished” when you could have her wax on “when [they] struck the Mad King from the skies / crystals singing with his fall / wind, earth, and sky as one / three of flesh made One of all.”

We grew up together in bleak chaos

Enforced by Discord’s rule of tyranny.

Our parents wished for us a better world:

Equestria, before bleak despair whirled.

Together we clung for stability,

For some sense in a world without true sense.

You were the rock that kept my mind grounded,

And in me, your source of hope was founded.

Same telling issues here. Good rhymes, however, although I suppose that the word choice didn’t make it too difficult.

Our fellow ponies lacked motivation,

Their spirits imprisoned, crushed, and weary.

We took solemn oaths for the good of all:

Our gifts would be wielded for evil’s fall.

I’m sorry, but I really don’t like the word “motivation” as it’s used here. It feels out of place; too 20th century in an archaic, classic piece. Besides, it’s—you guessed it—too blunt, too straightforward for what you’re trying to accomplish here. Their heads and hearts were bowed / souls bound beneath the skies / crops wilting with their spirits / as shadows filled their eyes.

This may just be my own biases, but I’m liking this A/B/C/B rhyming scheme a bit more than your current A/B/C/C arrangement. It just seems to mesh better. Take that as you will—far be it from me to encourage another artist to abandon his choice in style.

Despite our potential, we lacked strength

To overthrow him with our own magic.

We scoured the land for hints, tales of old

Which could return us Nature’s loving fold.

Our friendship grew deep roots during our search

Through ages of rich, long-forgotten lore.

Communion and harmony filled our souls;

Magic coalesced the Elements’ Scrolls:

Secrets of the talismans’ history

And how they might be found by destined few,

Contained by the delicate yellowed rolls

In penmanship ornate and letters gold.

“Equestria was born under the blaze

Of Hearth’s Warming Eve’s bright Fire of Friendship.

Founders’ jewels to Elements were forged

In flames magical harmony had gorged.

I’ll be skipping along here a bit, mainly because this section suffers many of the same issues. Yes, there’s the standard issue with—as should be clear by now—Telling and over-reliance on exposition, but moreover, some of these lines feel forced, as though they’re non sequiturs forced into a certain stanza for their image or rhyme alone, rather than for any deeper meaning. Communion and harmony filled our souls/Magic coalesced the Elements’ Scrolls is just one such example; there’s no clear flow between these two lines, and they feel unconnected, like two separate thoughts, rather than two parts of a single narrative.

Also, you’ll definitely want to go back over this to re-evaluate your word choice. “Gorged” was the one word that really jumped out at me, but just the general composition of this section came off as odd. Several of the lines felt quite forced—In penmanship ornate and letters gold—and came off as an attempt to sound poetic, rather than an actual piece of poetry.

A great deluge, as if by fate’s decree,

Soon separated us after our find.

Rain and wind washed us apart in a flood

Of howling gales and a river of mud.

I awoke at dawn battered by debris

And began my long search, calling your name.

Oh how frantic were my cries that rang out;

My mind was racing and was clouded by doubt.

I scoured the strange desolated land,

Driven by precious memories of you.

When night came after searching long and far,

I caught a glance of your bright guiding star.

That ray of hope gave me new direction

And fresh wind underneath my tired wings.

I trusted and followed your twinkling light

Full haste, for fickle was Chaos’s night.

This section was just strange, to be perfectly honest. We’re just moving past the creation of the Elements of Harmony, and suddenly—fwoosh. Noah’s Ark (or something along those lines). A hurricane, a tornado, something that’s both completely unexpected and completely disorienting. It comes out of nowhere, with neither foreshadowing nor transition; as a story, it makes little to no narrative sense.

The meter and rhythm here don’t really work. Some stanzas thus far have thus felt as though they’re outlined with a purpose, written to give a certain rhythm and feel. Here, though—and for many other sections besides—the syllabic pattern is almost nonexistent, and the odd spacing of stresses and hard syllables makes for a very uncomfortable mode of speaking.

I’m just going to skip along here, as we’ve already established a few of this piece’s major problems. They are:

1.) Lack of imagery/overabundance of exposition

2.) Need for proper narrative flow/transition between “scenes”

3.) Unflattering choice of meter and rhyming scheme

4.) Poor word choice and awkward wording

Unless I note otherwise, it’s probably safe to assume that these are spread fairly evenly across the poem. It does neither me nor you any good to go over every single instance and pointing out to you how to correct it.

...Okay, one quick nitpick. The hot breeze at my back always slowed me / Avalanches drifted up in my path. Avalanches do not “drift” into one’s path. They crash; they fall; they come roaring down from mountaintops to block, to bury, or to drown. They do not drift.

Moving back to a more story-centric viewpoint, I’m not entirely sure of the function of the storm/separation “arc.” It doesn’t really feel like anything said in here matters—it’s a road bump that’s more of an aside than an actual piece of story. There’s nothing here that couldn’t be written off as filler. Meanwhile, the confrontation with Discord could stand to be fleshed out quite a bit—as it stands, it’s so flat and bare that it’s barely worth reading.

Remember that phrase I used earlier—”significant detail?” Something that’s important to take note of while doing creative writing of any genre is to make sure that you’re writing what needs to be written. Do we need to hear of some lengthy struggle to return to the Elements? Probably not; this is a “mythic” arc where you could probably get away with some more Genesis-like language (i.e. “for forty days and nights/the fires forged anew/the sinew of our hearts and minds/the strength of me and you.”). Immediately afterward, though, you need to take a Homer-like approach to the final showdown with Discord. This is important! This is a huge, defining point in the sisters’ lives! Extend it over three—hell, four!—stanzas! Make it a battle to remember.

Moving along, you seem to be unsure of when exactly you want to bring in the Nightmare, and the conflict of Luna’s jealousy. You seem to brush upon it here, as the sisters matured as individuals, but you then immediately jump into Sombra’s piece. It feels like you’ve brought up a plot thread if only to immediately dash it aside. It’s too lengthy, too blunt, to serve as foreshadowing, yet it’s far too incomplete to actually mean anything to the reader. Consistency, flow, and focus are key here.

I do like the idea that Sombra’s dark magic (the “mirror of fear,” perhaps?) had an impact on Luna’s descent into madness. All other proposals I’ve seen seem to involve Discord, so this is a welcome, and surprisingly rational origin story. Yet again, however, you seem to brush this aside, barely touching upon their “battle” without even going in-depth on the sisters’ emotions and beliefs. The myth of the Fall is a powerful one, and one that has been spread throughout most all major religions. Why, then, does Luna’s own fall from grace take place over barely two stanzas, and only through the barest of narrative description?

And then we come to the end of the poem: Celestia apologizing to her sister, and promising that she will wait for her. Ending line, signature, and close.

So what did I think of this?

Well, as I mentioned at the beginning, it was certainly a welcome change to see an attempt at poetry where usually I see only bad crossovers and self-inserts. It’s not often enough that I get to see people trying forms of writing other than straight-up fiction on this site.

With that said, your weakest points are easily your structure and your imagery. You need to decide how you’re going to present this, not only in a way that will please your audience—as an ABCB format might offer—but in a way that will be both consistent and simple to read. You need to decide whether you’re going with free verse or some kind of iambic derivation; while I’m partial toward the latter, this choice really needs to be made much more distinct.

Much of this felt less of a story than of the summary prior to a screenplay: “CELESTIA and LUNA are sisters, and they have recently experienced a falling-out. They face off at CANTERLOT CASTLE.” Poetry is all about the what, not the how; we need you to paint a picture in our minds. It’s here that detail, rather than exposition—as I’m sure I’ve nattered on about enough by now—is king. Give us their experiences, not their life lessons. To use a somewhat-appropriate analogy, we don’t which MLP:FiM for the friendship letters at the end. We watch it for the twenty minutes in between the opening theme and the resolution. You need to give us detail; you need to give us action, description, and real scenery. Otherwise, you’re cheating the reader out of “real” poetry, and I don’t think that’s something that either of us wants.

If you’re willing to improve this—to rewrite this, to reformat it into something better—then I think you could have a truly beautiful piece on your hands. Poetry is the art of the soul as much as fiction is the art of the mind; it’s here, where literature and song intersect, that some of the most poignant work can be created. Keep going—keep improving, keep learning, and above all, keep writing—and you’ll be a great writer (or poet) soon enough.

Rating: 4/10 Pinkies

Good luck, and happy writing!

Golden Vision

WRITE’s Pocket Spycrab