[Critique Group 2] Fwd: [Critique Group 1] Leonards comments for March

Sat Mar 30 13:32:40 EDT 2019

Sorry, it sems I put a 1 where a 2 was intended.  

Leonard 

-----Original Message-----
From: Leonard Tuchyner via Group1 <group1 at bluegrasspals.com>
To: Leonard Tuchyner <tuchyner5 at aol.com>
Cc: Critique Group 1 <group1 at bluegrasspals.com>
Sent: Sat, Mar 30, 2019 1:17 pm
Subject: [Critique Group 1] Leonards comments for March

# Alice

I like it with the added stanza. 

It gives closure or a sense ofcompleteness.  

It’s a good uplifting, engaging story.  

The quallity of the poetic devices varyfrom line to line. 

I would like to hear it read in the waythe author intended it to be read.   

I would also be interested in whatactually happened.

The Almost True Story of an Angel'sFeather

I like the title because it says it istrue in part. It makes me wonder what part is true and is  what not, though I can guess.

poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

Youthought I found a feather

Beautiful melodic sounds and rhythm.

of ablue, bright-colored bird;

Beautiful allitteration.

butwhat I found was evidence 

ofan angel's wing, 

unheard—

I would prefer to put ‘unheard  at the end of the previous line.

unheard,yet I felt a flow of air

I would leave out ‘unheard’ at thebeginning of the line.  Maybe you made atypo.

pirouetteacross my face.

Urgedon by what,

I donot know;

I would combine these last 2 lines.

butI fell down upon my knees

atthat holy place.

Withhands outstretched,

Isearched blades of grass,

graspedthe luminescent white feather.

Assoon as I twirled

theperfect feather in my hand,

thedelicate plume turned

turquoise--abrilliant blue.

Then,upon a west wind's gentle breeze,

Love this line.

Iheard these words--so clear:

"Dearone, please know

Angels'wings are only white on mission flight;

Love this line 

whilein that place

youcall 'Heaven,'

thefeathered wings are 

ofunknown, unimportant color.

However,on another planet,

thefeather absorbs the color

ofthe finder's hope and prayer.

Theplume is not

apiece of good luck,

buta reminder 

tomake this place

youcall 'community'

asofter, lighter, safer

surrounding.

I would include this last word at the endof the previous line.

Youmust keep this feather

sothat each day, as you work very hard with life,

youwill be uplifted with laughter."

[FinalStanza]

Thesemysterious words left me

withgratitude, a gracious grin, 

anda feather 

pressed against a warmer, more humorous heart.

# Brad

I love this poem. 

It is brutally honest

.  Therefrain is powerful and poignant. 

What is lost andwhat is gained?

C By Brad Corallo

Word count 170

As the sheaves ofyears

fall and scatterlike straw,

Great 2 lines.

on a cold andancient stone paved floor,

Interesting, in that I think this poem is anactual reflection of where you are coming from. 

But the setting is not actual. 

So it mjust be metaphor.  

I like it.

I sit and ask myself

why I don'tunderstand these things better? 

It begs the question of whether aging is gettingwiser. 

After a lifetime, why don’t we know the answers?

Outside my window

the late winterwinds whistle and call.

Carrying messagesfor those with ears to hear.

But I wish Iunderstood these things better.

Is late winter a metaphor for growing old. 

After each decade of aging, I look back andrealize, I wasn’t really old a decade ago, and wonder if that perception willcontinue 10 years from now, if I’m still here.

I have fooled myself and others

with my sparklingillusion of wisdom.

Nothing more thana conjurer's trick.

Because in thenaked light of truth, what have I actually gained? 

Excellent question.

I sift and cullthe experiences 

and visions of alifetime.

I hold the sumtotal aloft 

like some sort ofbejeweled prize or tribute.

Honestly though,I wish I understood these things better. 

What did Merlyn really understand?  

He was a wizard, but did he understand theimportant truths better than anyone else, 

or beter than he did in his youth?

As the tickingclock slows

winding down.

And all thingsdraw together to some unimaginable singularity.

And the darknesscloses in.

I stand amid itall,

tears fallingfreely.

Fervently wishingI understood all these things better! 

Great description of the unrush of death. 

‘Singularity is abrilliant word to use here.

# Joan

Another great poem.  

It is particularly strong in the use of metaphorand 

setting an emotional and physical mood.  

There is also a greater possible metaphor. 

Instead of twilight being that of a single day, itcan also stand in for the twilight of life. 

In both cases, the writer is ready to go  with a feeling of fulfillment  into the quiet with one mysterious connectionto the world.  

A thread in the form of a word, that maintains aconnection.

Winter Evening**

and in the glowof seven

I have no secrets

I think you are saying that you have written allthat you need for today. 

You are at peace with what you have written.

In terms of the greater metaphor,

You are ready to go into the night of death.

I shake off mypencil

put aside toolsof craft

and language

This writer doesn’t take her work home with her,even though home is where she works.

At the deeper level,

She is letting go of the things of this life.

cradle my thoughts

I like  theway you use ‘cradle ‘ as a sigway to sleep.

in the swayingarms of twilight

Twilight becomes a metaphor for the mother who rocks her child to sleep. Nice.

Or the final years is a gentle transitioning.

seek the hush

pulsing

beneath my ribs

I think your heart is at peace. Everything inside is slowly slipping into the quiet of sleep. Or death 

the silencecalling

itself sleep

its only secret

is the memory ofa word

There is a mystery here.  

I don’t know whether it is a word which illudesthe sleeping writer, 

or one that is remembered and follows her intosleep 

or next stage..

Or maybe this is just meant to be a secret 

That the writer takes with her to sleep and/or thegrave.

Please enlighten me

----

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