I did a creative writing assignment for one of my high school English teachers that consisted of a collection of poems and short stories. I’m not a real fan of poetry, but I enjoyed taking a stab at it. I actually still have the project and it’s almost painful to read now… a reminder of how tragically earnest and superficially deep I was at that age.
I still remember a comment my teacher wrote on one of those poems. Next to a particular turn of phrase he scribbled this: “Great line! Could drive a whole poem… and doesn’t, yet.”
I think it’s the “yet” that made that comment stick in my brain. Such an odd formulation. Wouldn’t most people write “and yet it doesn’t.”?
I thought of that comment when listening to The Wallflowers’ ‘I’ve Been Delivered’ recently. This song contains a line that I feel could definitely drive a whole poem (or song): “I can’t fix something this complex any more than I can build a rose.” I adore that line.
But it doesn’t need to drive the whole song, because this song is jam-packed with lines that could drive a whole song. It’s got a bus full of drivers.
I love how it just flows on and on introducing new ideas in every verse. Even the chorus doesn’t repeat lines, other than the title. Jakob Dylan clearly learned something about wordplay from his father.
wood of a coffin
if I need
But nothin’s hard as
Gettin’ free from places
I’ve already been
I’ve been waist-deep
in the burnin’ meadows
of my mind
In the engine
In cold December
shootin’ fire from the hose
Now turn off your lights
’cause I’m not comin’ home
’til I’m delivered for the first time
I was first-born to a parade
that follows in rows
down a narrow cold black river
faceless shadows
movin’ slow
I would move swift when
the sounds of a trumpet would blow
I’ve been the puppet
I’ve been the strings
I know the vacant face it brings
Now the bells of curfew
They may ring before I’m through
But soon
I’ll be delivered for the first time
You might keep clean
in the back of an angel motorcade
It doesn’t matter who walks in
you know, the joke is still the same
You’ll just wake up
like a disposable lover
decomposed
I’ve been gone
I’ve been remembered
I’ve been alive
I’ve been a ghost
So now, if downtown explodes
I’ll still be on this road
’til I’m delivered for the first time
I have drawn blood
from the neckline
when vampires were in fashion
You know I’d even learn
to cut my throat
If I thought I could fit in
‘Cause I, I once heard
that you gotta learn
how to blend in to this mess
Where nothin’s hard
nothin’s precious
and nothin’s smooth or flawless
Now, no more amused
just screaming to be delivered
for the first time
Now I’m 10 miles in the deep
and mighty blue sea
Looking back, towards a long white beach
burnin’ up into yellow flames
And I just wave back
like a little boy up on a pony
in a show
’cause I can’t fix
something this complex
any more than I can build a rose
So just keep on letting go
’cause I must be close
to being delivered for the first time
Now I’d rather bleed out
a long stream from being lonely
and feel blessed
Than drown, laying face down
in a puddle of respect
I was once lost
in the corridors of the arena
in blindfolds
I’ve been the bull
I’ve been the whip
I just pulled down the matador
So now, turn on your lights
’cause I’m comin’ home
I’ve been delivered for the first time
Meet Me In Montauk 
I was wondering if you would share the “great line” in your poem 🙂
not crazy about the instrumentation in this song. Would probably like an acoustic version better.
And now you’re superficially earnest and tragically deep 😉
That could be a great title of a memoir!
Just listened to the song, and I like it very much, though I agree with Dana that I’d prefer an acoustic version.
As for your teacher – you’re misreading his comment and underestimating yourself in the process, He didn’t write, “and yet it doesn’t” because that’s not what he was trying to convey. He wanted you to know that he believed that the line had the potential to drive an entire poem, and with a revision and some more work and polish, it would. He was encouraging you to try again. “It doesn’t, yet” because it will eventually, if you decide to stick with it.
So… how’s that poem after all these years? I’m with Peg – let’s hear that tragically hip/earnest/deep line that inspired Mr. Keating’s faith all those years ago. 🙂
Hmm, maybe my career in poetry was stopped dead in its tracks because I misunderstood a line of feedback from my 11th grade English teacher. What might have been?!
The poem, and the line that could have driven it, will die with me.