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Poetry Do Not Stop the Clocks by Hannah Faoileán

The World Between the Words
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"Stop all the clocks," Auden said.
I do not want to.
Why stop the clocks when they will keep me here?

I want to rewind them;
go back to the sunshine,
to the beach where you swam in my laughter.

Back to the snow-days
when we were together and time did not matter;

To the white-coated woods
and the flakes in your eyes and the games in the drifts
that promised to keep on drifting

Not now.
Not when I can still see your face
but only behind a picture frame.

I cannot touch you.
I cannot be with you.
I cannot hold you and tell you how much I love you
so, no, Auden.
Do not stop the clocks.
 
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My first critique here and am hoping it's helpful.

Like others, I love the way this evokes the loss. However . . . the bookends of the Auden work distracted me; I just couldn't figure out what you were trying to get across with the idea that the clock "keeps me here." The idea you want to rewind the clock, I get. But again, it doesn't track with the idea of keeping you here. And, again, the closing imagery is wonderfully evocative . . . until the Auden comes back and I'm left wondering why you don't want to stop the clocks instead of sitting with the images of loss you've presented so well.
 
My first critique here and am hoping it's helpful.

Like others, I love the way this evokes the loss. However . . . the bookends of the Auden work distracted me; I just couldn't figure out what you were trying to get across with the idea that the clock "keeps me here." The idea you want to rewind the clock, I get. But again, it doesn't track with the idea of keeping you here. And, again, the closing imagery is wonderfully evocative . . . until the Auden comes back and I'm left wondering why you don't want to stop the clocks instead of sitting with the images of loss you've presented so well.
If the clocks reversed, you could live within the memories you enjoy. If the clocks keep ticking, you can move on, the heart will start to heal. If you stop the clocks, you will remain forever in the place of abject grief that feels too much to bear, the place Auden writes about in "Stop all the Clocks". Since you can't go back, it's better that the clocks keep ticking and let you heal.
Poetry is very subjective. Some people will like the images a poet conjures, and some won't, and that's fine.
 

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