Steve,
This poem is so original. It was a joy to read.
Only line I would suggest maybe doing without is soaring with the tea. That seemed odd, somehow.

Thanks for the read here.

Oh, I see then. Your reply is much less ambiguous for certain than the way it read. Good luck with this one.

Well, I knew it was a dream, is that why she's in two places at the same time?
That was my one question there. I guess anything is possible in a nightmare!
Anxious to see where this one goes.

I think this has marvelous potential. Two things to ask, what is a red-ribboned train and I think with the Miss America wave, you don't need the word "goodbye"
as waving along Miss America probably are enough. But my biggest question is, how can the mother be both at a Club
and also (it says "while") at the back of a train?
I love that you put specifics in this. I'll be back to this one.

Cleo,

Thanks for coming back. Well, I'm not Catholic anymore, this
being something from my childhood and yes, it does seem odd
but they used to bless our throats.

The church was located near a Slovanian home, thus the fans.
The home itself didn't have anything to do with the service or the church.
I guess it never dawned on me that a reader would connect it as being so,
but I guess I was wrong!

I usually don't mix a lot of metaphor with simile and since this poem is
steeped in simile, I also tried to avoid a lot of personification.
The simile's being the leaves/violin, wafers of bread/decks of cards,

but you're right. There are priests that aren't Catholic and I will definitely
put a note either at the top or the bottom of this wherever it ends up,
to state that it is about that particular feast which right now, I really don't
know why it came to mind to write about except I thought the whole ceremony
was kind of strange when I was 8 yrs. old.

I know that narrative poetry is often said to be a bit too prosy and I agree,
so I border the fence on that one! My favorite poets are Mary Oliver
and Alberto Rios if that gives you an idea of what style I kind of read
quite a bit. So hard to choose a favorite poet I know.

I had received an email awhile back that the board might be closing; I'm so glad I checked back in.
it's wonderful.

Liz,

So glad you came in and gave such a well thought out reply. Did I say something in my previous reply indicated to you that I wasn't posting for change? I didn't mean to. Maybe I shouldn't have sounded like I'm against pruning, or paring, not at all, just that i try not to go overboard with it is what I mean!

I was simply trying to explain where the poem is coming from to help in revision and also to answer Cleo's thought about do I usually write a bit longer poems because she had never read me before and sometimes it is helpful to know what style a poet favors. I don't only write narrative styles but I do lean toward them. The other thing is, I have a huge struggle with clarity and sometimes for me, anyway, it is hard to know what to cut and what not to!

I think I am definitely going to switch the stanza about the fans to the opening. I think that would be wonderful, especially with the wind in the ending. So, that alone is just really having me smiling here. Thank you.

I confess to having this, and another poem going elsewhere, so I print out the critiques and revisions don't always come easy for me --- but rest assured, I am serious about revisions and change. Always!

Yes, I think if I could somehow connect that violin to the end, that would be wonderful also. It may take me some time to get that in there just the way it could work, but I do see what you mean.

Thank you. Now, for that printing. :)

I'm so glad you came by. Your critique is done so thoughtful. I really appreciate it.
Well, I guess my style is narrative, yes, it is, actually narrative and I do work
on paring down but I'm not as centered on that these days as I am getting the meaning
across. Some time ago I would chop and chop and chop and by the time I finished,
even I didn't know what I meant!

But I love your input and how it made me rethink my own poem and that's a good thing.
I guess the thing I was most worried about with this was the poem being about
a very old traditional Catholic service and that readers wouldn't relate. Let me see if
I can go through some of what you wondered about:

Yes, that's all the priest was blessing was the throats! The feast of St. Blaise, and I should have made a footnote. I am so sorry! But anyway, it
is an old ceremony to bless throats. Hence, the further down likeness of the violin/neck
image. I hope I'm not losing too many readers with this one. It could be a far reach
I realize.

I see what you mean about the lace/table image and what needs to be done
there. I think I can easily fix that line. Actually, the fans really were brought over
from the Slovanian home as this all takes place in a Catholic church so the wording
wouldn't want the service in the home, if that makes sense.

I purposely distinguished between being outside and inside because I didn't want
the reader feeling he or she was being yanked back and forth. Many times readers
will say, hey---you were inside, now where are we? But I'm all for decreasing wordiness
and so I will take a look at that.

I can work on that wordiness towards the end but not "invade"
because I'm trying to give a soft feeling of the Holy Spirit coming in.
Not a storm or anything like that.


Thank you again so much for your help with this one. Spiritual poems
are hard for me to post and revise because I always feel they leave a group
of persons out who can't relate but I was hoping people would find it interesting. I went ahead and added
that note up at the top so people could have an idea
of what this is about!

I am really late to this one. But I love it. I think it's all set!

This is a wonderfully, clear poem. I know I critiqued something and suggested this for a title? I think I did.
I like all of this. It's concise, real. Very unique all the way around. One very small nit, you might delete "he knew " in that second stanza but oh, that "leaf storm"
I love that. I'd probably go with only one "lift" too in that end line.

Brown eyes clear as mud, gaze
across an ebony reflection
of cracked ashtrays and dreams of fame
yet to be realised. "

mud isn't clear so that simile isn't working there.
"ebony reflection" what is that? The cracked ashtrays?
I love that image but "dreams of fame" is a very weak abstraction.

"Her slender fingers tipped
in green enamel meet with music's
ivory keys and to an unfocused witness
they become one with the notes
of a baby grand.|

You open this poem with "brown eyes" and yet here it says
"her" slender fingers. So I would suggest opening with
"her brown eyes" and leading it from there. This is backtracking in a way.

I think I would suggest "piano's" ivory keys,
or the instrument as not all music has ivory keys
if you follow my thinking here.


"An innocence beneath masks
of music maker and entertainer
still remains, sealed away behind
the curtains."

maybe "hiding" behind curtains.
It's kind of hard to imagine anything sealed with a curtain, a vault maybe,
unless someone is wrapped up in the curtain and even then...


"Only the lull of a bass resuscitates
the heart beat of her forgotten child;
the one who used to soar upon
others melodies and grew to breathe
her own. "

I'm not sure what this all means.




An audience applaudes her soul's secrets,
plucked out on a guitar's crimson strings
to the charge of an eight beat.
Wooden sticks strike metal and air
while a Nike shoe creates homeless echos
with each pedal kick."

The audience is applauding, that comes through
but aren't they more applauding the "charge of an eight beat" love that,
The Nike shoe is a strong line/image. The rest
is loaded down with a lot of abstractions. I think if you
could pare those down, i.e. soul's secrets, homeless echos,
and go with more striking images like the wooden sticks (great line)

"The music of her life spills off the stage
in a subtle lullaby, seduced from instruments
by her melody infused fingers."

I had more in mind a "charge" type of forceful music
as mentioned in this but then we get to a lullaby.
This ending is way over the top. I'd end this before you get to this stanza.
I'd develop those Nike shoes and the wooden sticks and work on getting those abstractions
out of this. I see a lot of potential here but the good images are outweighed by a lot
of filler and unnecessary modifiers that hurt what you're trying to say. The great images are they, you just need to dig them out.

I like this so much but I have one major problem (mine) which is the poem? I'm not sure exactly what part is the full poem. Wanted to ask before I critique. What I mean for instance, is when I got to the word "Silence" it seemed like a separate poem and there are some other drafts also. With all the breaks, I had a hard time with what is the latest revision.

In that first stanza I would give the actual details about what is being worn. Say, a polka-dotted blouse, or a three-quarter inch sleeved parka, or something other than leaving it abstract. Have you considered not centering this? Also, not sure you need to bold the ESPN, it draws a lot of attention to that and I think the poem is clear as to what the whole point is. I can relate. (to the ESPN, and in my case, soccer!)

Sylvia, I'll be here. You make me hungry and it's not even supper time here.

I'm glad :)

Peggy,

The second stanza seems to get this moving but I wanted to address one thing there:



The fire comes suddenly, after the storm and I'm wondering
if introducing it beforehand would bring more clarity here.
Something like "will it smother the fire burning over the Great Dismal Swamp"

thereby not only identifying the fire, but also giving it a verb,
making it the strong noun here over that swamp. If that makes sense. Just my thoughts. I think what got to me about this poem is I couldn't agree with the thought and feeling of everything that is going on more.

Ok, thank you Cleo. I was actually a little between on whether I was missing something!

Alan, okay thanks! And, again, sorry for the critique,
I thought it was up for one. I am still trying to figure out these forums. I'll get it one day (I hope)

Alan, I very often take a list of words,
and incorporate them into a poem so I like the idea of that. In fact, I think it's one of the finest ways to draft a poem, sometimes having to change the words but it is a really great way to do a piece.

I love the rainforest and so of course the title caught my eye quickly.
I did wonder at the title. Shouldn't it be "in" the Rainforest. It sounds as if the Rainforest has died and the Requiem is for it alone.




I confess to having to look up Mapuche I figured it was a group of persons
but was not sure. L3 I think is kind of weak here, seems to trail off as a filler.
L4 gives another reference to the people (ancestral) I like that.



L1 makes me wonder how he can be referred to as "reckless"
when he is sitting motionless. We also have two different tenses here,
present and past, so I'm wondering did he "picked" or "picks" and is
he "hugged" or "hugging" ?



Did the loggers find him and the trees, or more than one person?
It says "found them" so I'm wondering if that phrase refers to the trees
or if other members of his party joined him at some point in time.

I'm not a big fan of ellipses but I guess they are nice once in awhile.
I'm not sure about this ending, if they work I mean. It leads me to think there is more
but of course, he's dead here so I'm not getting the significance of the dashes.

Thanks for the read here. I admit I didn't see the challenge so I hope this critique
was okay. I mean I hope knowing all about the challenge wasn't necessary to give the critique.

The poem held my interest; I wanted to know more.
I agree with Cleo about the verb "logging" it sounded almost administrative,
as if someone were multi tasking but the poem gives a different, more carefree tone.
Interesting read.

Hi,
Is it Bev? I wanted to ask about this part right here:

I licked it off
over serene days.


I didn't understand the syntax I guess here. "over" days threw me. I've heard of during serene days, or throughout days, or like that but not over. Perhaps you meant "over many days?" anyway, that was the part that stumped me!

sigh,
so much appreciate your coming by to this one. I like your suggestions and what you bring to this one. I think there could actually even be another stanza somewhere in this. Thanks so much.

Peggy, it's a poplar, form of, and the location is based on an experience in a Polish/Slovanian neighborhood in Indiana curing the '50's. Thanks for coming by.

1st Rev:

Low bottomed fans from the Slovenian Home
cool and skirt Polish lace
covering the Communion table.

The priest blesses throats
with two gold candles crossed over one another.
He wears a broad sash around his waist
woven into the colors of Advent.

Wafers are dispersed like a deck of cards
over a copper tray, its velvet pupil
filled with leavening tears.

It is quiet, until the Eucharist dissolves
in the mouths of the elderly.
The wind comes in through the doors,
the roof, and the sills of this church
under the abele trees.

Willow leaves pass
over the necks of stained glass
windows like a child strumming a violin.





Org:


(feast of St. Blaise)



The priest blesses our throats
with two gold candles that cross over one another.
He wears a broad sash around his waist
woven into the colors of Advent.

Low bottomed fans from the Slovenian Home
cool and skirt Polish Lace
covering the Communion table.

The wafers are dispersed like a deck of cards
over a copper tray, its velvet pupil
filled with leavening tears.

Outside willow leaves pass
over the necks of stained glass
windows like a child strumming a violin.

Inside, it is quiet, until the Eucharist dissolves
in the mouths of the elderly, the diseased.
Then, the wind comes in through the doors,
the roof, and the sills of this church
tucked under the abele trees.

I love the idea of ruby slippers but the metaphor of weaving throws me in here. I don't think of shoes when I think of weaving. I think of the hands.
Maybe if you could somehow connect the two,you'd have more strength in this. That's what jumped out at me, anyway.