I agree with Neil — a poem can leave an impression to which the reader responds according to taste (likes or dislikes). In part, this impression comes from “tone.” A poem of generalities (instead of specifics) may deliver a kind of distant tone, a surveying-from-a-distance, a hovering narrator, a kind of timelessness shed of detail. Some readers may prefer that tone over an insistent familiarity. Often, I do, too.

I agree with David — so much of poetry is about rhythm. Thank you for pointing out this important aspect of all poetry (and prose, too, no?). Whether or not a poem is metrical, it has rhythm. Free verse, of course, being free of strict metrics, nevertheless has rhythm.

I think another aspect of this poem (related to all points already made) is the presence of figures of language. Poems are figurative language. That is, the many details presented serve several purposes: not only to provide the reader with lush vivid images, or to distribute rhythm, but also to double-duty those images as figurative metaphor, similes, symbols, etc. For example, all the specific images of things high/low, up/down, north/south, ground/sky relates to the theme of “shaking out” — what of our past shakes out of us when we grow up? do we, like an apple, fall far from, or close to, the tree? or rot on the tree?

Does anyone agree with me that the poem might also be formatted in two stanzas, with the second stanza beginning “My whole life”? I wonder about the semicolons…hmmm…would this poem’s plainspeaking gal use semi-colons?

I started out (metrical pause) in the Virginia mountains
with my grandma’s (metrical pause) pansy bed
and my Aunt Maud’s (metrical pause) dandelion wine.
We lived on greens (metrical pause) and back-fat (metrical pause) and biscuits.

It’s these subtleties that tend to make a line verse and not prose. The revised poem covering the same ground lacks the lilt and the music, as well as the personalizing word choice that makes a poet’s tone his or her own.

I agree that there is a choice between specificity and the lack thereof a poet must make everywhere in a poem. It’s like in fiction where one must decide when to outline with broad strokes, and where to draw out with blow by blow description and dialogue. If you do it always your work is bloated and overlong. If you do it nowhere, all you’ve got at the end is a lifeless synopsis. You have to pick your spots, and always go for the win-win situations where simply by choosing an equally long but more unique and imaginative approach you write verse instead of prose, and good verse instead of bad.

Ruth Stone’s ending is no longer really than the revised version’s, but it’s so much more musical and powerful through its music, word choice, tone and personalizing, intimate detail:

No amount of knowledge can shake (strong verb) my grandma (intimate word) out of me;
or my Aunt Maud; or my mama (intimate word), who didn’t just bite an apple
with her big white teeth (very visual). (midline end of sentence setting up punchline ending) She split it in two (powerful and moving punchline).

For me there’s no drag and all kinds of gain from the detail and music in the original version. I think similar process is evident in the middle of the poem as well, and overall this is tight, facile and mellifluous piece, one that’s not slowed or weighed down by “deadwood.”

I understand Neil’s points, and agree with them wholeheartedly in principle. I think he’s absolutely right about alternate wording and fleshing out. In fact, I think we may be saying the same thing in slightly different ways. The one place where maybe we see things a tiny bit differently is with this particular piece, which I prefer in its original version. Neil does seem to like something in between the original and revised versions rather than the revised version per se, and nothing’s perfect, so he may be right there there are places where even a good writer like Ruth Stone could stand for some trimming.
I just wanted to raise the issue of music, which I heard a bit more of in the original.

I agree that differences in tone and texture arise when we have more, or less, specificity in a poem. Each poem we write will have a different set of criteria for which way to lean. But it’s always interesting to look at a poem through this lens and ponder what would be gained and lost by adding or removing detail.

Honestly, honestly, if you ask, where do I feel most at home between these two – I’d have to say the first (the revised version)! And I read, understand your commentary, and agree in principle, certainly. Real specifics can make a reader feel connected, even involved. No question.

However, then what? Is it partly just a matter of individual taste? A manner of degree? In art I tend towards the impressionistic rather than realistic. The blurred uncertain edge is where I find entry into my own wondering, into continuing the piece within my own thoughts and feelings and sensibilities. Just a matter then of taste?

I have a strong sense of the easy movement (for me) of the revised poem. As water might swiftly flow and pass over the rounded colors of rocks in its bed – yet without lingering. I tended to feel more bogged down in the specific details of the original poem version – slower than I wanted to move. Then again, I prefer simple and brief. Although there’s a difference between comprehensive and embellishments. How might that also be at play here? Pace is certainly a big question here, and neither answer is incorrect.

I’d agree, but to a matter of measure, the revision could be here and there more fully fleshed. By example, changing the revised line,
and my aunt’s wine INTO
and my aunt’s dandelion wine.
That’s more detail, creates more “interest”, and without really changing the flow.

Further, a line like,
My father was a northerner who was creative
and made some bad decisions.
I take delight in the mystery of some vagueness here. I feel a higher potential of question and energy, rather than having something spelled out in more complete detail.

Mind, I like both versions. But I think there is something positive to appreciate about the less precise revised version too. Maybe it is just a question a poem has to answer for itself? What kind of feeling does the poem want to generate? Sparse does not have to mean incomplete.

So may I both agree and welcome an alternate?

One last, not least. Reading many poems of newer writers, yes, often I would suggest both increased use of alternate wording AND further fleshing out of details. Then later, edit down to the more essential phrasing as suits the specific nature of the poem. So yes, I get to agree and disagree with myself in that respect.

Fabulous!