Is this cut enough for a competition?

I'm submitting this poem to a national poetry competition and would like to see what you guys think (not to brag but i'd put in nearly on par to Pound)

Victim

I stood again in my Cambric raiment; tarrying.
Carnelian red glazed troughs, alabaster sheens of snow.
Holes as Chasms, as my thrilling pain;
Nazi pits, filling -- full as the Tophet -- my fancy.
--
Death as maudlin, my soul. Averia--my anima.
I stood-- the silhouette of the night sky.
Peacock butterflies, on dewy leaves.
As corse, as dead.
--
Dying is a beautifyl craft,
It is fine as Jew linen.
Apt as a noose about the nape.
Strangle and tear, swift as when risen.
--
Just as mimetic voices yearn,
I lay desolate in the bleak--
And there I ceased to speak,
And no longer could I "see to see--"

the holocaust didnt happen

absolute fucking worthless trash

esoteric words does not make good poetry retard

stop fucking therasus posting, idiot

Oh my, I wonder if this was how Milton was perceived by his contemporaries in his benighted day.
I would love to see you capable of better work, or, prithee, are you not a charlatan?

Milton was a skilled artist who mastered his craft, and his vocabulary never comes off as pretentious because of it. Simply piling up some big words does not make up for your shortcomings in other areas.

>using 'as' 10 times in a 16 line poem

Surely you must jest. Identify one of the "shortcomings" of mine work. I'll wait. Or can you just vociferate?

Last line ripped from Dickinson, dick

>what is sampling?
Gee I guess Wilde must have been quite a terrible chap himself as well then

This is disgusting

...

>as chasm as
>as coarse as
>as this as that as me as you

It has brain but no heart. Why should we care?

brain? barely:

Well let’s be fair... OP isn’t an idiot. He just doesn’t seem to put enough emotion into the work. But you’re right, there are too many similes. The word as is overused.

Lol. You'll look back at this some day and cringe. I hope youre paying money to enter this competition and that you'll purchase the book of winning poems, which yours of course will be among.

And of course, no sensible critique has been made of my work. Typical Veeky Forums

I'll bite
>I stood again in my Cambric raiment; tarrying.

Good image, but there is no reason to use the phrase 'Cambric raiment, tarrying.' I guarantee you 9 out of 10 people will not know what this means off the cuff. It would be justified if the linguistic complexity served an end, but no- you're quite literally describing a man standing in the snow.

>Carnellian red glazed trough, alabaster sheens of snow.

'Carnelian red' is redundant. It's like you know the reader probably doesn't know what a Carnelian stone is, but just want to include that word for it's own sake. Again, of course snow is fucking 'alabaster.' What is so special about this snow that makes it not simply white, but 'alabaster?'

>Holes as Chasms, as my thrilling pain;

Ah, the unnecessary capitalisation. Figured, 'This is about where a great poet would capitalize a non-proper noun,' hey? I do like the image of a man standing over a chasm, taken hold of by some terrible kind of ecstasy.

>Nazi pits, filling -- full as the Tophet -- my fancy.

Ah, so we're at a concentration camp? Could you be any more explicit about it? 'Nazi pits' is about the stupidest sounding phrase I've ever come across. As if to allay your fears, you replace 'Hell' with 'Tophet'- like this is a test and you're nabbing extra credit for a surface level religious allusion.

I could keep going because your poem is full of ridiculous and unnatural sounding phrases that makes me think you're not at all interested in your subject, and even less in your your craft, than you are in your own self-assured genius. The star of this poem is you, and anyone not intimidated by your stiff ear will find the work of a rank amateur, with no restraint, expending their most effective imagery and language at the start before realising they have to finish this bloody thing. 'Ah, but I'll stick on a Dickinson line at the end! How scholarly of me!' Your contemporary, Wilde, also said the author's presence should not be visible in the text, but I can read you easier than an airport paperback. If both he and Milton were alive at the same time, and they happened to be friends, they would snicker at your poem while reading it aloud to each other in the drawing room over some fine brandy, toss it in the embers of the fireplace, and watch shit turn to ash.

...

Who the fuck comes to Veeky Forums for sensible criticism?

My friend Marcus. He's not too bright but he's lifesaver on trivia night.

Lmao good work op I'm dying in a library