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by hailfabio 

Posted: 11 August 2008
Word Count: 107

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Page by page,
people run their eyes through my life,
some jog, whilst others sprint
and those hard of sight may hold a squint
here and there.

Page by page,
I typed my life out before me,
questioning every memory, inspecting every story,
playing out the words that tell me as I am,
like a pianist churning out lines lustfully
into the darkest hours.

Page by page,
I'm aging and the story is changing,
I start to wonder whether the book is me
or I am the book. This book is where I began
and where I go from here
is a story I'm yet to write.

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Comments by other Members

FelixBenson at 00:31 on 14 August 2008  Report this post
Hi Stephen,
I know this one comes from the heart given you are actually writing an autobiography... It must be a strange and enlightening experience!
I like the repeated rhythm of the first line in each stanza, which frames the poem. The repetition somehow gives an sense of hard graft- of something that is hard to make, that you are building slowly, incrementally....Like a book, like a life... Some of the images were stronger than others, and some of the lines didn't sound the way that I expected. e.g
and those hard of sight may hold a squint
- I am not sure why this is
hold a squint
? It didn't seem to sound quite right to me.
Or is it something that you have written with rhythm in mind because
and those hard of sight may have to squint
would also fit. Maybe this is just me that finds this line a bit halting. Not sure...?

Likewise with
like a pianist churning out lines lustfully
. I was wondering if
was the right word? I think I can see what you are portraying. I can see you typing into the night like a pianist - but churning sounds a bit pejorative, like you are doing something by rote...which maybe fits with
if you are thinking that you are trying to write quickly - but earlier in the stanza, you are 'inspecting' and 'questioning' each memory, which would mean you were working slowly. So the two parts seemed slightly at odds with one another. Or am I misunderstanding things totally? Are you switching at this point to conveying the sheer amount of work in considering each memory and then typing the manuscript (hence 'churning'?

The last stanza gave me the heart of the poem, and seems to convey the most -i.e this bizarre/artificial experience of trying to fix something that is constantly shifting, and still ongoing. esp.
I'm ageing and the story is changing,
which really encapsulates the point in one pithy line.

I hope these comments are ok.

There is certainly a lot of mileage in this theme, that's for sure!
I hope the autobiography is going well!
Best, Kirsty

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