Lost to Altzheimers, Wizard Award ~ Sonnet Options

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Review #2

It's cold. I wake alone and crawl to blow
these embers into life. The air is damp,
diffusing sunset mystically. A glow
extends across the lake where, from my camp,
I see a vee-shaped flight of ducks appear
as if on cue. They beat, beat, beat in line
becoming slowly clearer as they near
the shore. I count them. There are ten. No, nine ...

for one is falling, spinning down to crash
in frantic thrashes; suddenly it's gone,
to drift away in fog. No ripples splash,
and all the other ducks keep flying on.

I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
your memory to life. I'm cold. It's dark.


Review#1


I'm ice. I wake alone and crawl to blow *Thanks Cleo!
these embers into life. The mist is damp,
diffusing sunset mystically. A glow
extends across the lake where, from my camp,
I see a vee-shaped flight of ducks appear
at vision's end. They beat, beat, beat in line
becoming slowly clearer as they near
the shore. I count them. There are nine aligned ...

but one is falling, spinning down to crash
in frantic thrashes; suddenly it's gone,
adrift in ashen fog. No ripples splash,
and all the other ducks keep flying on.

I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
your memory to life. It's cold and dark.






Lost to Alzheimer's.


It's cold. I wake alone and crawl to blow
these embers into life. The mist is damp,
diffusing sunset mystically. A glow
extends across the lake where, from my camp,
I see a vee-shaped flight of ducks appear
at vision's end. They beat, beat, beat in line
becoming slowly clearer as they near
the shore. I count them. There are nine aligned ...

but one is falling, spinning down to crash
in frantic thrashes; suddenly it's gone,
adrift in ashen fog. No ripples splash,
and all the other ducks keep flying on.

I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
your memory to life. It's cold and dark.

.

[Norman D Gutter]

Kathy:

I've read through this a few times, and think I understand it. The poet/narrator has a loved one who died (or is dieing) from Alzheimers. The P/N observed the flight of ducks, with one dropping out for no apparent reason, which the P/N interprets as death of the duck. The P/N then makes a leap, from the ducks to the loved one.

Some general observations:
- The fact that the P/N is in a camp (tent or cabin not defined) suggests either an attempt to get away from it all, from the care required for the Alzheimer's patient, or perhaps an attempt to carry on as best as she can in the face of all life's troubles.
- That the P/N was asleep in the late afternoon as sunset neared speaks of either depression or exhaustion. Since the cause of the nap is not given, the reader is free to speculate. I like that.
- That the P/N observes the flight of ducks is a hopeful sign. She has not sunk so far into depression or exhaustion that the natural world has lost its fascination.
- But, the leap from the observation, and the association of the lost duck to the dying loved one, tells that the P/N is far from the point of acceptance. All this is excellent work as far as communicating what's going on in her life.
- I sense either duality of lack of specificity in the closing couplet. What memory is being revived? The P/N's memory of a loved one already lost; or the shrinking memory of the loved one, which is slowly wasting away, attacked by this deblitating disease? Just using strict rules of grammar, I'd say the couplet says: Even with the trouble of care-giving, I'm afraid of life after you pass; all my attempts to help you recover from this have failed. I don't know if this is the correct interpretation, but it's what I have come up with.

Some in-line comments:
It's cold. I wake alone and crawl to blow >>> 'It is cold' is passive. Any chance you could rewrite this to be active? 'I wake in cold, and ...' is a first cut; not saying it's good.
these embers into life. The mist is damp,
diffusing sunset mystically. A glow
extends across the lake where, from my camp,
I see a vee-shaped flight of ducks appear
at vision's end. They beat, beat, beat in line >>> I don't care much for "at vision's end", though I can't put my mind on why. I guess it feels like an attempt to be too poetic.
becoming slowly clearer as they near
the shore. I count them. There are nine aligned >>> 'There are' is terribly passive. Surely there is you can find some way to make this active voice. Is the shore nearby or distant? Is the atmosphere still or breezy? Is the sunset near enough that the shore is fading? While too many modifiers in a poem can be detrimental, I think this is an occasion where one could be added to good effect. Even, "the shore. I numbly count them: nine aligned,", which would help us to understand the P/N's mind.

but one is falling, spinning down to crash
in frantic thrashes; suddenly its gone, >>> Typo: should be "it's" for "it is".
adrift in ashen fog. No ripples splash, >>> The 'ashen' fog seems weak to me, though I have no suggestions for change.
and all the other ducks keep flying on. >>> We know they are ducks; why repeat that bit of information? Also, 'all' is not necessary, being understood if you don't say one or two went with the downed one. If you lose those words, how to take advantage of the iambic real estate thus freed? One quick thought is: "No ripples splash,/ the others, mindless drones, keep flying on." Of course, something like this is interpretation, rather than simple observation, by the P/N, and you may not want to have the P/N provide commentary at this point. So I urge you to just give it some thought.

I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
your memory to life. It's cold and dark. >>> Considering the lack of specificity I mentioned in my general observations, may I suggest something like this instead:
"I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
to life your memory, now growing dark."
If this doesn't meet your intent, toss it. I know you are trying to tie together the coldness of the camp to the coldness of the memory. Perhaps working at it a while will give you something to help eliminate the duality.

All yours to use as you see fit. This is a nice sonnet.

Best Regards,
NDG

[Psyche]

Hi Kathy!
I don't think we've met before? I have my own difficulties with R&F, so I'll read thru' your sonnet and make some comments, but I'm no expert, mind you!!!

Lost to Alzheimers. I believe it should be "Alzheimer's", Kathy. Good title.


It's cold. I wake alone and crawl to blow
these embers into life. The mist is damp,
diffusing sunset mystically. A glow I count 11 syllables here, unless "A glow" is only one?
extends across the lake where, from my camp,
I see a vee-shaped flight of ducks appear Can't you put "V-shaped"? Looks better...

at vision's end. They beat, beat, beat in line Perhaps you could exchange one of the "beats" for another word with same syllable count? Too many "beats", perhaps....?Maybe "pound", "swing", "pulse", etc.?

becoming slowly clearer as they near
the shore. I count them. There are nine aligned

Beautiful stanza, Kathy, I love the imagery.

but one is falling, spinning down to crash
in frantic thrashes; suddenly its gone, It should be "it's" here, I believe.
adrift in ashen fog. No ripples splash,
and all the other ducks keep flying on.

The above stanza sounds like a metaphor for the person who has Alzheimer's disease. If so, it's brilliant, in my humble opinion...

I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
your memory to life. It's cold and dark.

Impressive & sad finale. My husband has senile dementia and I know exactly what you mean.
One tries SO hard to decipher what's going on in that memory, but it's futile. My husband is still blessed with his own sort of contentment, so that the "cold and dark" wouldn't apply in his case, but I know Alzheimer's is different. I wonder if your poem is about somebody you know & love?

Thanks for sharing this poignant poem on a realistic topic, but using striking imagery to make it less heart-breaking (if that's possible).

Hugs,
Sylvia ***

[jgdittier]

Dear Kathy,
Through the years you and Peter contributed greatly to PP's quality and faithfully were at the front in helping others.
In reading your poem here, I hope it brings you some of the comfort you both brought to others.
I'm hoping too that in progressing out of the so-well-justified blues, you return to this splendid hobby. After the first draft, ask yourself what suggestions he'd make, then he too can continue to contribute.
Cheers, Ron jgd

[Cleo_Serapis]

This is such a beloved, touching poem Kathy.

I'm not certain I can offer anything as this one really gets to my heart as is.

Just wanted to let you know I stopped in and was touched deeply by this lovely tribute. The inner-rhymes and alliteration are flawless.

HUGS
~Cleo

[Guest_Kathy_*]

(Sorry if this is a bit disjointed. I lost my first reply to you and wrote this version off line.)

Hi Norman, it is good to see you again. You've taken a lot of time on this. I am impressed. Your analysis interests me too, because hopefully, everyone will read a message that means something to them, and I am happy with yours. The poem uses symbolism and metaphor within a conceit, and it is intended to be confusing.

The ducks represent a neurological phenomenon re short-term memories, which line up waiting to be transferred into long-term. Or not. Rather like a row of skittles, because the oldest one gets knocked down when a new one joins the queue, usually. When there's pathological abnormalities though, this process can be excellerated. Eg Concussion is always associated with lack of recall re the events immediately preceeding the injury, because the skittles get knocked down.
There are no traces of the memory in the poem. (No splash, no ripples.) Usually there's a 'tail' or thread of some sort to trace back to the memory, but not when it's due to injury/disease.

So you are close to my intention re the bird 'dropping out.' I intended it to be lost, gone in mist that is like ash, ie death, (also symbolised in the dead campfire.)

The opening scene is supposed to evoke isolation, mistiness and cold, both physiological and emotional.

I'm especially interested to see these observations, because they are perfectly valid. You have interpreted the extended metaphor/conceit literally. I'm happy to see that it works as a realistic situation.

You wrote:

Some general observations:
- The fact that the P/N is in a camp (tent or cabin not defined) suggests either an attempt to get away from it all, from the care required for the Alzheimer's patient, or perhaps an attempt to carry on as best as she can in the face of all life's troubles.
- That the P/N was asleep in the late afternoon as sunset neared speaks of either depression or exhaustion. Since the cause of the nap is not given, the reader is free to speculate. I like that.
- That the P/N observes the flight of ducks is a hopeful sign. She has not sunk so far into depression or exhaustion that the natural world has lost its fascination.
- But, the leap from the observation, and the association of the lost duck to the dying loved one, tells that the P/N is far from the point of acceptance. All this is excellent work as far as communicating what's going on in her life.
- I sense either duality of lack of specificity in the closing couplet. What memory is being revived? The P/N's memory of a loved one already lost; or the shrinking memory of the loved one, which is slowly wasting away, attacked by this deblitating disease?

Just using strict rules of grammar, I'd say the couplet says: Even with the trouble of care-giving, I'm afraid of life after you pass; all my attempts to help you recover from this have failed. I don't know if this is the correct interpretation, but it's what I have come up with.

Yes. The second one, just above. You have put that very well. I intended the couplet to pertain to the loved one's memory loss, with the associated fear and emotional isolation the writer feels.

Some in-line comments:
It's cold. I wake alone and crawl to blow >>> 'It is cold' is passive. Any chance you could rewrite this to be active? 'I wake in cold, and ...' is a first cut; not saying it's good.

Funny how people interpret things differently. I wrote this in the first person with the narrator speaking directly about what he/she feels, because I wanted to give biologically based feedback as an early cue to the key of the poem, and to internalise the emotions from the narrator's point of view. He/she is cold. The day is cold. It could be emotional.
So for me, this is as close to 'show' as I can get.

these embers into life. The mist is damp,
diffusing sunset mystically. A glow
extends across the lake where, from my camp,
I see a vee-shaped flight of ducks appear
at vision's end. They beat, beat, beat in line >>> I don't care much for "at vision's end", though I can't put my mind on why. I guess it feels like an attempt to be too poetic.

Fair enough. I intend it to mean 'at the far edge of my vision.' It's an abbreviation more than anything, but it could sound poetic. I would say 'At my vision's end' any old time. Maybe it's a regional thing.


becoming slowly clearer as they near
the shore. I count them. There are nine aligned >>> 'There are' is terribly passive. Surely there is you can find some way to make this active voice. Is the shore nearby or distant? Is the atmosphere still or breezy? Is the sunset near enough that the shore is fading? While too many modifiers in a poem can be detrimental, I think this is an occasion where one could be added to good effect. Even, "the shore. I numbly count them: nine aligned,", which would help us to understand the P/N's mind.

It sounds like I haven't made the images very clear to you. The birds emerge from the mist over this lake, and become more defined as they get closer to the poet.
The count is meant to be focussed and simple. The poet watches these ducks as they approach and become clearer.


but one is falling, spinning down to crash
in frantic thrashes; suddenly its gone, >>> Typo: should be "it's" for "it is".

Thanks.

adrift in ashen fog. No ripples splash, >>> The 'ashen' fog seems weak to me, though I have no suggestions for change.

Ashen is supposed to suggest death, and harks back to the campfire.

and all the other ducks keep flying on. >>> We know they are ducks; why repeat that bit of information? Also, 'all' is not necessary, being understood if you don't say one or two went with the downed one. If you lose those words, how to take advantage of the iambic real estate thus freed? One quick thought is: "No ripples splash,/ the others, mindless drones, keep flying on." Of course, something like this is interpretation, rather than simple observation, by the P/N, and you may not want to have the P/N provide commentary at this point. So I urge you to just give it some thought.

I will. Thanks.

I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
your memory to life. It's cold and dark. >>> Considering the lack of specificity I mentioned in my general observations, may I suggest something like this instead:
"I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
to life your memory, now growing dark."
If this doesn't meet your intent, toss it. I know you are trying to tie together the coldness of the camp to the coldness of the memory. Perhaps working at it a while will give you something to help eliminate the duality.

It's more about the poet/narrator's emotional state than the cold/dark of the sick person's memory, though as you say, both can apply.

Thank you Norman. That's a good crit.

.

Best Regards,

[Eisa]

Hi Kathy

Your title immediately drew me in to this as my mother had Alzheimer's and as I read this (with tears in my eyes) I could see her spinning down into the fog as in your poem.

This is so beautiful in its poignancy, it's metaphor is subtle and your meter is superb. You curtsied to my Candy Clouds -- I return the curtsey here.

This is difficult to nit, but I'll try

Lost to Alzheimers.


It's cold. I wake alone and crawl to blow
these embers into life. The mist is damp,
diffusing sunset mystically. A glow
extends across the lake where, from my camp,
I see a vee-shaped flight of ducks appear
at vision's end. They beat, beat, beat in line
becoming slowly clearer as they near
the shore. I count them. There are nine aligned

Perhaps 'It's cold' is passive as NDG suggests, but I can understand it. Perhaps 'I'm cold and wake ...'
personally I like the 'beat beat beat' as it makes me feel the rhythm of their wings.

I can see why NDG has mentioned 'at vision's end' (though I don't thinkI would have thought of it myself) as it leaves the question 'whose vision end?' perhpas rearranging words a little you could use distant instaed of visions end ~

I see a distant flight of ducks appear
vee-shaped and hear them beat, beat, beat in line

but one is falling, spinning down to crash
in frantic thrashes; suddenly its gone,
adrift in ashen fog. No ripples splash,
and all the other ducks keep flying on.

Perhaps

and all the rest continue flying on

I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
your memory to life. It's cold and dark.

This change at the end hits very hard (especially to me and others who've been there) and conveys the helplessness and loneliness that's felt.

You've done a wonderful job with this Kathy

Snow

[Eisa]

LOL!! -- we have cross posted Kathy and I missed your replies and explanations to others. I'll go and reda now

Snow

[JustDaniel]

Hi, Kathy...

I've read through all the others' commentary and observations twice, and there is literally nothing left for me to intelligently say, except that I concur with the characterization of this as a carefully constructed, sensitive, piece of art and emotion conveying a sense of helplessness and tears and excitement and reality and pain and beauty mixed in with some difficult things to swallow and understand... and things that get swallowed by the elements in the picture. You leave a memorable impression of the struggles that some of my clients are encountering right now with their loved ones... and another is beginning to experience herself.

I'm also taken with the ducks... as I often characterize myself as one... sometimes attempting to soar with the eagles... then realizing that my wings are flapping.

deLighting to read you, Daniel

[Guest_Kathy_*]

[quote name='Psyche' date='Mar 20 07, 05:03 ' post='93114']
Hi Kathy!
I don't think we've met before? I have my own difficulties with R&F, so I'll read thru' your sonnet and make some comments, but I'm no expert, mind you!!!

How do you do? Nice to meetcha. -shakes hands- +--





Lost to Alzheimers.

I believe it should be "Alzheimer's", Kathy. Good title.

Quite right. Thanks.


It's cold. I wake alone and crawl to blow
these embers into life. The mist is damp,
diffusing sunset mystically. A glow I count 11 syllables here, unless "A glow" is only one?

Ah I wonder where YOU come from? (I can't see it while I am this box.) Here's a breakdown of the line as it would be spoken here in Australia. Or New Zealand.

diff US/ ing SUN/ set MYST/ ic LY./ a GLOW/

There are 11 sylls though. We just don't say it that way. I guess we are lazy.



extends across the lake where, from my camp,
I see a vee-shaped flight of ducks appear Can't you put "V-shaped"? Looks better...

Ok. Either/or is ok. V-shaped seems like an abbreviation to me though. Like in an advertisment.

at vision's end. They beat, beat, beat in line Perhaps you could exchange one of the "beats" for another word with same syllable count? Too many "beats", perhaps....?Maybe "pound", "swing", "pulse", etc.?

I especially wanted to draw attention to those birds as they waver into view. The beat of their wings is like a pulse ie heartbeat.

becoming slowly clearer as they near
the shore. I count them. There are nine aligned

Beautiful stanza, Kathy, I love the imagery.

Thank you.

but one is falling, spinning down to crash
in frantic thrashes; suddenly its gone, It should be "it's" here, I believe. (Thanks.)
adrift in ashen fog. No ripples splash,
and all the other ducks keep flying on.

The above stanza sounds like a metaphor for the person who has Alzheimer's disease. If so, it's brilliant, in my humble opinion...

You are! Seriously. Clever clogs! It IS the person, as well as the memory that falls by the wayside. Well, into the water in this case, drifting off without trace.

I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
your memory to life. It's cold and dark.

Impressive & sad finale. My husband has senile dementia and I know exactly what you mean.
One tries SO hard to decipher what's going on in that memory, but it's futile. My husband is still blessed with his own sort of contentment, so that the "cold and dark" wouldn't apply in his case, but I know Alzheimer's is different. I wonder if your poem is about somebody you know & love?

Oh Sylvia, I am so sorry. You have special insight, then. Yes, it is hard to accept that the person can't remember something that has just happened.

Yes. It was about my mother, though she doesn't have Altzhiemer's either. It is also about all the confused people I have looked after. With sadness, it's for care-givers and those who love a sufferer.


Thanks for sharing this poignant poem on a realistic topic, but using striking imagery to make it less heart-breaking (if that's possible).

How sensitive of you to realise that that's why I chose to do it this way. (I probably also wanted to be clever.)

Hugs,
Sylvia ***

Hugs back. K

[Guest_Kathy_*]

ARGENTINA! WOW! I have never met an Argentinian before. Neat!

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Dear Kathy,
Through the years you and Peter contributed greatly to PP's quality and faithfully were at the front in helping others.
In reading your poem here, I hope it brings you some of the comfort you both brought to others.
I'm hoping too that in progressing out of the so-well-justified blues, you return to this splendid hobby. After the first draft, ask yourself what suggestions he'd make, then he too can continue to contribute.
Cheers, Ron jgd

Ah jg, thank you. I can say the same for you.

Thanks for your wish for me too. It isn't so much the blue bit, (though that is a factor,) it's more like being smashed into zillions of bits. It's like a brain injury, and ironically enough, I wrote this before Pete was sick and forgot about it until Liz found it for me at Sonnet Central.

It wasn't about Peter. I do access his point of view a lot though. He often had quite different ideas to mine so far as poetry goes though, so he isn't much good to me here!

Best wishes, Kathy.

[Guest_Kathy_*]

This is such a beloved, touching poem Kathy.

I'm not certain I can offer anything as this one really gets to my heart as is.

Just wanted to let you know I stopped in and was touched deeply by this lovely tribute. The inner-rhymes and alliteration are flawless.

HUGS
~Cleo

Thank you so much, Cleo.

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Hi Kathy

Your title immediately drew me in to this as my mother had Alzheimer's and as I read this (with tears in my eyes) I could see her spinning down into the fog as in your poem.

Oh. That's so sad. It is a heartbreaking thing. I feel for you.

But re the falling duck: you were exactly right to see that, Snow.

This is so beautiful in its poignancy, it's metaphor is subtle and your meter is superb. You curtsied to my Candy Clouds -- I return the curtsey here.

Thank you. I bid you rise and give you a prawn from my barby.

This is difficult to nit, but I'll try

Lost to Alzheimers.


It's cold. I wake alone and crawl to blow
these embers into life. The mist is damp,
diffusing sunset mystically. A glow
extends across the lake where, from my camp,
I see a vee-shaped flight of ducks appear
at vision's end. They beat, beat, beat in line
becoming slowly clearer as they near
the shore. I count them. There are nine aligned

Perhaps 'It's cold' is passive as NDG suggests, but I can understand it. Perhaps 'I'm cold and wake ...'
personally I like the 'beat beat beat' as it makes me feel the rhythm of their wings.

I can see why NDG has mentioned 'at vision's end' (though I don't thinkI would have thought of it myself) as it leaves the question 'whose vision end?' perhpas rearranging words a little you could use distant instaed of visions end ~

I see a distant flight of ducks appear
vee-shaped and hear them beat, beat, beat in line

Yes I will think about this. He is watching them though. It's a pretty visual sort of poem.

but one is falling, spinning down to crash
in frantic thrashes; suddenly its gone,
adrift in ashen fog. No ripples splash,
and all the other ducks keep flying on.

Perhaps

and all the rest continue flying on

I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
your memory to life. It's cold and dark.

This change at the end hits very hard (especially to me and others who've been there) and conveys the helplessness and loneliness that's felt.

Thank you. I am pleased it works. Though I originally had:

'forgive me if I cry, my dear, because
I cannot bear to leave you there in Never-Was.'

It has a tail, like most memories do, ie 12 sylls) and the last rhyme is a slant, so I reconsidered. Some folks wouldn't say 'becos' like me.


You've done a wonderful job with this Kathy

Snow

Thank you dear Snow. That's a pretty decent crit, too.

.

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Hi, Kathy...

I've read through all the others' commentary and observations twice, and there is literally nothing left for me to intelligently say, except that I concur with the characterization of this as a carefully constructed, sensitive, piece of art and emotion conveying a sense of helplessness and tears and excitement and reality and pain and beauty mixed in with some difficult things to swallow and understand... and things that get swallowed by the elements in the picture. You leave a memorable impression of the struggles that some of my clients are encountering right now with their loved ones... and another is beginning to experience herself.

I'm also taken with the ducks... as I often characterize myself as one... sometimes attempting to soar with the eagles... then realizing that my wings are flapping.

deLighting to read you, Daniel

Wow, Daniel. My eyes are filled with tears at your reply; you got all that. I am humbled. One of the things I love about poetry is that it's possible to put all that between the lines. I like to use paint and moving pictures, and metaphor and... well, you read it all.

Your clients? You are a Psychologist?

My husband wrote some chapters for a book called 'The Adventures of a Lame Duck,' so you have something in common with him. I am sure you do soar though!

Thanks for sharing with me,

K

[AMETHYST]

Hi Kathy,

As I mentioned to you off line, this is absolutely one of my favorites that you've written, among several others, but I knew this would be one Sonnet that would draw both cheers and tears from many!

I have not read through the critiques of others (just got home from work and there's several poems I would like to critique tonight before sleep over takes me!) so if I repeat something another may have said (besides this is beautiful LOL) then please forgive me!

First the title. usually a poem titled about a specific disease or disorder or subject might weaken it, however your poem isn't really about Alzheimers, but rather the narrators connection, like a domino effect while watching the ducks fly and Alzheimers is never mentioned in the poem, which makes it all that much more powerful as the title.

Second that I must jump up and down in cheer is that the inner rhymes are so fresh. As smooth as a warm knife through butter, and as sweet to the ear as a lullaby. These aspects allow the reader to feel a gentleness in the images. It enhances the narrators ability to see beyond what her/his eyes see, but with an inner knowing. That is how the slide into the volta comes to me.

There is a lot going on here. There is underlying meanings with specific word choices and well ... some inline/in stanza commentary! Over all, I didn't find too much to nit at - the real itch I got and it's not that overly important is that final line of the couplet.

Please use what might be in your best interest of the poem and discard the rest!

Big Hugs and thank you for sharing this one! I know I will be back time and again to read this.

Liz

Lost to Alzheimer's.


It's cold. I wake alone and crawl to blow
these embers into life. The mist is damp,
diffusing sunset mystically. A glow
extends across the lake where, from my camp,

These first opening lines are crisp and fertile for the reader with information that sets both scene, mood and deeper importance. "It's cold.' implies to me there is both emotional and physical coldness, emphasized by the loneliness of awakening alone. The word crawl, brings to mind someone is isn't really willing to get up or cannot either from depression or exhaustion. To me, this first line does well to lead me to an understanding of the narrators state of mind/spirit. No nits here. Just lots of wonder at how well you've chosen words to use so little room in your opening, but painting so much.


I see a vee-shaped flight of ducks appear
at vision's end. They beat, beat, beat in line
becoming slowly clearer as they near
the shore. I count them. There are nine aligned ...

I liked the repeat of 'beat' here. It brought to mind the beating of a heart, as though the narrator is captivated by the sight, and in the quiet of his/her solitude, it is the view and the pounding of their own heart that beats in rhythm with the ducks nearing. I liked the terseness of 'I count them" I also felt the quietitude, is enhanced by the use of soft rhymes (appear/clearer/near/nine/aligned)

Perhaps: ...'slowly, becoming clearer as they near ... ' Although, I think you've might not mean that they approach slowly, but rather they slowly get clearer... Hmmmm, it just sounds a little awkward to my ear 'becoming slowly clearer - unless maybe a comma after clearer might do? ... ok, perhaps not! LOL

I suppose you have all your ducks in a row here, and that suggestion is just knocking one down! LOL That is what comes to mind!

but one is falling, spinning down to crash
in frantic thrashes; suddenly it's gone,
adrift in ashen fog. No ripples splash,
and all the other ducks keep flying on.

Again the inner rhymes are wonderful. I think the context of ashen fog works well, it helps to connect the reader back to the mood of the narrator. The camp and the gray feel of illness and/or death. Perhaps for L12, 'and all the other ducks continue on.


I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
your memory to life. It's cold and dark.

As I mentioned earlier on, this final line I keep feeling like it close to the powerful punch it could be, but just doesn't reach it yet. I will keep thinking and playing with it in my mind until I can return with something worthy! However, as it is isn't bad. I feel the turn back to the opening here, and I keep wanting to say "I'm cold and dark." but that still doesn't fit right -

Hugs Liz ...

[Guest_Kathy_*]

What can I say, Liz. If not for you I would not have posted this. Perhaps I wouldn't have posted ANYthing. Now I am reading through my files and amending a lot.

The last line. Yes, it bothers me too.


I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
your memory to life. It's cold and dark.

What about this:


I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
your memory to life. I'm cold. It's dark.

A bit egocentric, but why wouldn't such a person hug him/herself and feel awful? The four caesura are unusual, but I hope the three together pulls the last line out to sort of tail off... And it echoes the beginning, like the reality of this illness, going round and round every day the same.

What do you think?

.

[Guest_Kathy_*]

I have not replied to your comments, have I? I'm a bit overcome by such praise. Will come back. Thank you Liz. Besides, you are bang on as regards my intentions in the poem.

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Re:

adrift in ashen fog. No ripples splash,
and all the other ducks keep flying on.

How about

adrift in ashen fog. No ripples splash.
The other birds are calling, flying on.

That reinforces the assonance of 'a' and gives an internal rhyme.

?????????????????????

[JustDaniel]

I'm so afraid. I've tried in vain to spark
your memory to life. I'm cold. It's dark.

or
alive your memory... the cold; it's dark.

adrift in ashen fog. No ripples splash.
The other birds are calling, flying on.

or
adrift in ashen fog. No ripples splash;
no answer to their calls, the birds fly on.