The Critique Thread....Beware
 

In this thread we have a place for true and personal comments about the work of our peers.....lets not abuse it, or each other....and so, a few Rules:


1) Do not place your work in this thread unless you are ready for it to be torn apart.

2) Please accept constructive critique for what it is.....an attempt to help you.

3) When posting critique of anothers work, the rules of civility we have in place for TFP apply.

4) Abusive, or otherwise inappropriate comment will be removed and the poster slapped with a large smelly fish.

I have always wanted opinion on this one......

Please rip away....I find it weak


Pacific


Mist kicked up by gusts
Far off places leave their scent on beaded drops
This ocean is mine
Each cracked angle of foam that never stops
Licking rocks to sand
Ever making patterns on my beached mind
Floating natures toys
Buried in your breath for me to find

perhaps you find it weak because, unlike most of your work, it's straight forward in descriptives. nothing wrong with that.
I would change 'ever making patterns on my beached mind' to something more like 'patterns forever etched on my beached mind', thus eliminating the 'ing' suffix that repeats.
otherwise, it's not as weak as you perceive it to be.

Well I'm not much of a critic, as I enjoy most poetry as I read it to get something out of it, not to find something wrong with it. I really like this idea of this thread, and I would like to post a bit of my stuff to get some criticism from others. As for this piece, as the way you write always make me feel, the only thing I found wrong with it was it reminded me of a girl I once knew.....And a place I once was that wasn't so great...but I guess that really was'nt something wrong, is'nt that what good poetry is supposed to do?
Anyway, I think ngdawg's suggestion was good. I like how she( Sorry :) )took what I thought was good, and seemed to make it a bit better. Not weak to me either.

/hijacks for just a second and whispers to JRVA-*I'm a 'she'* ;)

I know you are a person
But gender? Know not I
For never have I met you
Or looked into your eyes

Technically, the words I and eye are homonyms.

I post for all the board to see
The attributes I possess
It's clear to see who I am
In various stages of undress
Some are plain
Some are regal
And some are considered 'art'
I take great pride in what I do
To set myself apart
Take the time to have a look
And you notice the true me
So that next time when we speak again
You will know I am a 'she'

i want to say what a good idea this thread is. I've been trying to offer a bit more constructive criticism and ask for it too in my threads...hope i've not unduly upset anyone. I think just one thread will get lost track of too quickly, so i think maybe a list of authors who are prepared to have their work 'ripped apart' would be more suitable? I certainly want people to comment on mine...else how do i know if it's good or not? And believe it or not, i DO care what others think!

Edit:
Added link to my thread, where i would like BRUTALLY HONEST CONSTRUCTIVE AND DESTRUCTIVE CRITICISM!

http://www.tfproject.org/tfp/showthr...t=33839&page=2

Technically, the words I and eye are homonyms.

I post for all the board to see
The attributes I possess
It's clear to see who I am
In various stages of undress
Some are plain
Some are regal
And some are considered 'art'
I take great pride in what I do
To set myself apart
Take the time to have a look
And you notice the true me
So that next time when we speak again
You will know I am a 'she'

I really like this, although the line

"And you notice the true me"

Would seem to flow better with
"You'll notice the true me"
Just my thoughts...


Aye I say, as you see I
Through eyes of yet another
If I had read your work you see
I'd know you wern't my brother
A sister maybe or just a friend
That writes with a smooth prose
A woman yes but nonetheless
I have'nt seen your dress
I seem to be a bit bashful
although your words are clear
I'll know from now on that you are
A she and not a man

I agree With Von.....although I don't know how to post a link to My stuff, so I hope it's ok to post a few here....I would really appericate honest comments also

J.R, you can click the URL button on the tool bar when you create a reply that isn't a 'quick reply' or, type ...

Edit 3: Damnit...i can't STOP making URLS now. Just put [ U r l ] on one side and [ / u r l ] on the other. (without the silly spacings...)

Tecoyah has made this a sticky so it is attached to the top of the page - another option might be for the writer to post their poem here, and people could choose to respond in the form of PM as well.

When i meant getting lost track of though i just meant if too many people post poems AND replies in this thread. I think the PM or Link methods are best. A compilation of any links posted to poetry threads could maybe go at the top?

I would really like some honest comments on this...I wrote it a while back, and I would like some feedback on it...Thanks in advance...

Life was good

Sitting in the backseat, I smiled as we drove along.
Dad was in a grumpy mood this morning, but I knew he
would be better when we got to the circus place. We
were almost there, so I kept quiet hoping he wouldn't
notice me until we got there. He always said, "keep
quiet if you know what's good for you." I didn't always
know what was good for me, but I knew on these
mornings it was best to stay clear of him until he
cheered up. I wondered why he had brought me along.
Was it because he liked to take me for rides with him?
Or because I was lying on the floor in the hall and
he almost tripped over me? Oh well, at least I got to
go and the other kids had to stay home. I knew I would
probably get a bag of chips or something. It was worth
it. I wondered if we were going to make it this time. Last
time we had gone, the car had broken down and we walked
to the circus place. That was a long walk, dad hollering
at me to hurry up and me running as fast as I could.
He could sure walk fast when he had a mind to.
At least I got a soda and a bag of chips that time.

I wondered why we drove this old jalopy when all the
kids I knew had newer cars. Dad said he liked this old
Chrysler, but I didn't like to be seen in it. All the
kids made fun of me. School was the worst. I would get
teased about everything from our old car to the
clothes I wore. Mom would tell me the patches on my
knees were cause I played on them all day, but the
other kids clothes didn't have patches. They would
laugh and point and sing, "peter patches, peter
patches". I would just ignore them but I really wished
I didn't have to wear them. Tomorrow was going to be
different though, we had just moved to another place
last night. My dad liked to move at night, he said it
wasn't so hot as trying to move in the day. All I know
is that every time we had to move, it meant a new school
and new friends and maybe this time it would be different.
Maybe this time I would find some friends that wouldn't
tease me. I started thinking we lived close enough to the
school that I could probably walk so no one would have to
see our car. And if I could help around the new place,
maybe I could stall mom until Monday making me go to
school. Then by the time I was ready to go, I would
have gotten my new pair of pants. Then no one would
know and maybe they would like me.


Just then, dad hollered "You stupid idiot" at some guy
that had pulled his car in front of us. I guess the
guy didn't know that dad hadn't been to the circus
place yet. We were almost there. Boy would I be happy
when we got there. Dad turned at me and said, "what are
you smiling at?" I said nothing, then he gave me a
little smile back. I didn't know half the time if he
was serious or just kidding when he said that. Today
wasn't any different, but he actually smiled before we
got to the circus place....

When we got there, Swifty and Carol were standing out
on the corner by the light pole. Dad told me they were
holding it up. It always made me laugh. Every time
Carol and Swifty would see me, they would ask my dad
who that handsome young man was that he had with
him. I knew they knew my name by now though. Dad asked
the ladies if the ringmaster was there and they said
yes. Good I thought, I remember once he wasn't, and
boy was my dad mad. We drove all over town looking for
him and I missed school that day. Hmm maybe it wasn't
such a bad thing after all.

The door to the circus place was old and screechy.
There was garbage lying all around on the ground in
front and on the sides. There was a lady that had a
little tent with a shopping cart on the one side. One
time I wanted to go see her tent but dad wouldn't let
me, said she was crazy. She didn't seem crazy to me
though she seemed nice. The other side is where Swifty
and Carol would park and talk to their man friends.
They were always talking to someone different, and
they never made fun of them. I was thinking I wished I
had that many friends. When we went inside, the hall
was empty all the way down to the big stairwell.
Usually there were three or four people sitting on the
ground talking to each other, but not today. The
ringmaster was up stairs, and that's where we would be
going. I kicked a couple of cans that were lying on the floor,
and dad hollered at me to stop. We got to the top of the
stairs and there he was. Sitting behind his desk, he always
smiled when he saw me with my dad. He was an older man,
dark skinned, and whenever he smiled, I could see his two gold
front teeth. He turned to his little fridge and got me a soda.
Then he grabbed a bag of chips and said "cartoons are on,
you can go sit on the couch and watch them." I took my
stuff and went and sat down. He asked my dad how many,
and my dad said four. The man handed my dad four colored
balloons, and a black bag. Dad walked to the back room
and I knew I would be watching cartoons for a while.
I didn't mind though, I had everything I needed right here.
When dad came out, he was smiling like always. He gave
the bag back to the ringmaster and said thanks. We
went down the stairs and got in the car and left. I smiled
cause I had gotten breakfast and I knew I wasn't going
to get yelled at for at least a couple of hours.

Life was good.

Though a long read, I found it well written and fully entertaining.
I do wonder at the Forced cutoff of sentance structure.....as if attempting to fit a story into a poetic mold. It may be a style I am unfamiliar with, but it did make the reading less enjoyable for me.

Another thought - for the written selection you are offering critique on ... quote the writer at the beginning of your post so we know which work it is for - then make your comments below ...

Thank you...I am glad you enjoyed it, and I am alos glad you told me about what was wrong with it alos. This is a S.S. I wrote a while ago when I first started writing. I am wondering if I should go back and rewrite it, using better grammer and sentance endings, or leave it and use it as an example as I write more, maybe to compare...anyway, thanks agin for the comments

J.R, i agree with Tecoyah, i think in standard prose it'd read much better. Also, as the piece is mainly descriptive, i would engage the reader with a few more metaphors or other devices; as it is it feels a little too much like an anecdote than a serious piece.

OK....this was my first attempt at erotica.....please rip it apart:

Scented with a fruit exotic, she plays delicately with strands of hair, dark and long, still damp from natures pouring wetness. This subtle gesture, seemingly innocent belies an invitation I well know, and imagine frequently in times of quiet pleasure my mind allows. My gaze seems drawn to the shades of cream at her neckline, the delicate bones under muscles I will soon touch with eager lips. Breath forming the small goosebumps of her body reacting, anticipating.
Tonight will set my path in the stone carvings of descision.Tonight will be what takes her heart away from a troubled and painful past. Tonight will show her what the Gods intended love to be. She has little idea what my intentions are, and so tenderness, and care are at the forefront of my mind.....I will do no harm. My mantra of late.
Eyes lowered to break a spell of my making, she places the fine web of hair in her mouth, she is nervous, and so I sit. Again meeting eyes that place a strain on my heart, the beauty of which destroy emotion in favor of things more feral. I speak her name....soft as a cat’s content purr. Her vision sharpens as attention becomes mine, whispers of things to come dancing behind the banked passion in her eyes. If only she knew what I could do to her....for her, she would have no fear. Only desperate need for this gift I have waited to bestow.
On past nights, I have been quite tame, and reserved in these arts. Testing, hoping to see the readiness, to taste the flavor of desire in her sweat. She was not ready until now; I was not prepared to risk this one chance to be happy.
Opening my hand reveals the deep red of a single rose petal. Placed on fingertip, it brushes the downy hairs at necks nape, causing them to stand on end. Release of breath from her lips directs mine to within static distance of meeting the full red luster of moistened flesh. But the tease at this point is needed, She feels the nearness of my tongue to her lower lip, knows the warmth of exhaled lust.
Petal floating along the lines of her throat, my fingertips feel for the pulse of her passion, never actually touching the skin, but moving the hairs above. Flesh tightens as an electric sensation hardens hidden nipples forcing them into the fabric of her half opened blouse. Control becomes my focus now....as my touch becomes more firm, gently caressing the milk of her neck. Her breathing yet to quicken, I take my time in the exploration of her mouth with my tongues tip, slightly making contact with wet lips, and inhaling the sweet scent of rain soaked hair.

Now that I have taken that cold shower and filled my head with Marx Brothers quotes....
It seemed as if you started off with a multitude of metaphors, then, either because they weren't necessary or you realized their frequency, they became less used- a good thing.
Also, something to keep in mind, although the flow really wasn't bad(no pun intended). One of my earliest learnings in the art of writing was the wave of sentences' syllabic structure, ie: 3,10, 17, 17, 10, 3. Too many long sentences together loses the reader, too many short ones and it sounds like a list. That too, seemed like you had realized that and corrected as you went. Although it could also be that once you began writing, you centered on it enough to forego conscious efforts and let the natural feeling for it take over. Many times we try so hard to be creative, we lose the inherent naturalness of we want to convey. That, by creation's end, was communicated quite well.


what's this part? oh, this? this is the sanity clause. eh, you canna no fool me, there's a no such thing as a sanity clause

Great points Dawg.....I will do a rewrite with these tips in mind, Many thanx.

Tec, I think that erotica is one of the toughest things to write. I have been trying to dabble in it myself. I also have been reading Anais Nin for a couple of years to try to mimic her style.
NG, made some good comments. While metaphors are important, you don't want to over use them. Another thing that I have found is that creating a strong visual is important.
This paragraph:
is a good beginning. The first sentence could be ...still damp from the summer storm. Since you used such a strong phrase at the beginning. I like the sentence about the neckline however, the part about the bones and muscles seems a little harsh for erotica imo, I think that you need soften it a bit. The skin under a delicate sheer top that I will soon touch with my eager lips. Or something along those lines.

Now, the last sentence discussing the touch and kiss exploration is wonderful! Very good.

I'm sorry if I sounded harsh with my comments. You are farther than I am in my exploration with erotica writing. I will look forward to your next draft.

Many thanx Shesus.....this is why I posted this here. And getting critique from...well...a target audience is fantastic.

Tec decides to imagine these...targets, for the rewrite

I'd just like to pipe in here and say this is a great idea.

As much as I like the way that in other areas of the TFP, only positive comments are welcome, I really think there is space for a more robust, and dare I say it, honest area for criticism. I'd like to see a whole section (rather than just a thread) dedicated to this sort of thing.

Respect to tecoyah for trying this out :)

I agree with Tom, (sorry to redirect the focus again!) a small section where, for example, to post one of your own works, you must first critique 3 other works would be great!

I think you should. The story was compelling enough to make me continue, but needs some improvements on structure. The paragraph where you write about your dad being cut off could use re-structuring around the quote, like, "Idiot", cursed my father as a car cut us off.

I liked the narrative. That's why I think you should develop it into something more, something stronger.

Thanks for reading,your comments, and I will.

Feel free to tear this one up. This is the first real thing I have posted in here. It is short and sweet or maybe short and a little sour, but you can be the judge of that.

Grievances Relieved

The sun is setting
The moon will rise
The future is of no surprise

I am living
And I shall die
Silence comes to those who cry

Almost seems a chunk of lyrics,but I would suggest anything so short have distinct meaning in the text....a message that is unavoidable.

I think I understood the underlying feeling of the poem but, I cant be sure.

Funny you mention lyrics... thats generally what I stick to. Every now and then somethin like this comes along out of my crazy head and it just seems like it would be an injustice to give it good music for competition or bad music to make it look bad. It just seems like an injustice to change it. However, I have thought some about people not seeing what I saw when I wrote it, but I consider that to be the beauty of one's own interpetation or dismissal or whatever of the piece. Thank you for your comments and thank you for taking the time to read it and comment about it. I always appreciate someone else's views.

Okay Rip Away
 

Remember Me


You imagine me riding across thin rows of fields
that run through woods along the tree lines
where the bullfrogs sing among the cypress trees
in the cool dimness of the cloudy afternoon.


A strand of lightening reaches to the treetops
where the wind whips the leaves like ivory lace
against the hyacinthine blue of the rain clouds
And the soft rain follows with its silver shadow
streaking across these barren bedroom walls.


You can hear the distant tree toads
call to each other from the China trees
while listening to a mockingbird sing
from its nesting place in the cedars.


And in the rain sweet jasmine air
you can smell drifts of fragrance
from the honeysuckle vines that
grow beneath my bedroom window.


The rain lasts only for an hour
but each time you close your eyes
a flood of remembrance will bring
you home to me.

well...I seriously tried to be critical of this piece.....but, I cant.....damn good.

This is a beautiful piece Lilly.

The only alteration I would make would be removal the word "the" from some of the lines. With poetry, you tend to want each word to have a distinct place, and the word "the" isn't really useful in some of the lines. I think if you were to remove the extra "the"s then this poem would be absolutely perfect.

For instance:

I think this would sound stronger as:

The only tricky bit of this is deciding which "the"s are useful and which are not.

Your imagery is beautiful, and the poem (I hate to say this, I hated it when teachers said it, but it's true) sort of gives me shivers. This may very well be the most beautiful poem I've ever read.

Please please please post more of your work. I'm amazed.

This was the only thing that really stuck out as being out of place to me. You need punctuation between "me" and "though" to indicate a pause.


I didn't have a problem with the way you wrote it - especially since kids don't think in full-on prose like adults do. It sounded to me like a little kid was telling the story, which I believe you were aiming at. In fact if you were going for strong literary prose you'd have written "On the other side Swifty and Carol would park and talk. . . ," but instead you chose "The other side is where Swifty and Carol would park. . .
" which, to me, sounds much more like what a little kid would say.

Yes, I get your meaning..YEA!!!

Clinging to your flesh is the lingering scent of our love.
It hangs on you like the salt from your swims in the sea.
When you brush past me on your way out my door
I smile, knowing I go with you.

As you lay in your bed away from me
And savor my sweet and natural perfume
You breathe me in with deep, deliberate sighs,
Wishing the scent on your hands would bring me to you.

In the morning you head to the sea and wash me away.
But when the sun sets on your precious surf,
You find your way back to my door
Where I lay refreshed and ready once more.

yo... this is a poem I wrote for a girl I know:

The sky was red last night
shepherds delight
thats what they say
I carefully studied
the rings you wear
One on each finger
I like the one with the
Celtic sign
And the green cut glass
I liked the green thread
You braided into your hair
But they made you take it out
It didnt fit in
With the regulations
Of the school board
So you wore a short skirt instead

The sky was red this morning
Shepherd's warning
Thats what they say
Thats what he said
I'm not of the world
But you are a part of the world
entrenched in time and place
You exist right here
On this patch of sun burnt grass
The dog running circles around you
As you stare at the blue sky
At an ugly little white cloud
That looks like an old man
That you hate
I see confusion in your eyes
Something is coming
You cant quite make it out
Shrug your shoulders
Walk back inside, shoulders slightly slumped
Reach through the cans of beer
That stack the fridge
And pick out a Pepsi instead

I remember
I remember
Memory is important
To me, because it is where
I concentrate my energy

You used to play hop scotch in the street
Like a little dinosaur
Like a hungry, angry raptor
Catious and vicious
Who's beauty can turn into great velocity
At the slightest spark

I think you're a hexagon
You have six sides and they all face each
Other, A different look for
Each day of the week, and
on Sunday you can be yourself.

I think you're like an alarm clock
I think you're like a TV show
Where the people all know each other
And tell the same jokes every week
It's safe there, and you always know
Who gets the girl
And the down on his luck guy
Always has his adventures
And always gets some other girl
To lose, how careless
She will end up with the good looking neighbour
The dramatic tension shifts
You might get one more series
Then she'll turn up in some other show

Like an angry dinosaur
One day she'll be a single mum
And find some Argentine dream boat
A life of happy endings
And new beginnings
Somehow it always works out
A sense of cosmic justice
You would call it karma
I call it gravity

The sky was green last night
From where I stood
6 foot underwater
I thought you were a fish
With skin that was gold and yellow and grey
Pink and sky blue and white
You swam 15 circles around me
I had a strange epiphany

You never wore green braids in your hair
You just had green eyes
You never gave me those transfer tattoo's
That freaked my mother out that time
Cos you always lived miles away
(so where the hell did I get them?)
You never wore that celtic ring
I never bought it for you
From the new age traveller
on Felixstowe market
You never taught me Hebrew words
You were raised in another church
So who taught me Hebrew words?
I know it wasnt them
Man, I KNOW it wasnt them

I must have been thinking about someone else
Someone I've never known
Someone who has never been
Here.

I'll grab a flight right now
And bring you a mirror
I'll leave it by your front door
And ring the bell and run


I'll sail the sea
In a pea green boat
With an owl
And a Golden retriever
If it sinks
We'll swim

I'm 6 foot underwater
Looking up at you
Your standing on a mountain
Frowing at the middle distance
Your eyes
Match the sky
From down here

And when you come down the mountain
You'll play a populat show tune
On my skeleton
They left it lying on the beach
Use the Femur and the knee cap
As the instruments
Bang out the tune on my ribs
If you hit the high notes too hard
And my skull falls off
Dont worry about it
It makes such pretty music
We all need pretty music
We all love pretty music

Water melon, cookie dough, crocodile, hammer
Cookie dough, crocodile, hammer, Madison
crocodile, hammer, Maddison
hammer, Madison
Madison
Madison
Madison
Madison

Though I can see the effort that went into this piece, and note the intimate knowledge of the "Girl" placed into the wording, I cannot see the benefit of such a long piece if the intent is to court. As a general rule an Epic piece of Poetry should tell a story, rather than pick apart a single subject.

If this work was Half as long, it might make a statement, and capture the readers interest. I recommend a re-write to shorten the length.....there is well written material hidden in the fluff.

Simple is as simple does, so here is my original piece:

I believe it faded away
into a serene memory
of past, always present
in the mind of yore.

Sometimes, a very short poem makes the mind push for meaning....good example of this.

Well Done...wouldnt change a thing

Thank you for the positive remarks tecoyah!

It is always great to recieve input on one's thoughts and actions so as to try to improve progressively. I'll use this as a catalyst to ponder and create some more original compositions.

Provocative, in-depth, awe-inspiring, and more, all yet to come! :D

Basis for more, these bloodied swords
Missed my heart by a sliver
allowing further depth in words
tempting active minds to deliver

that's not necessiarly true-- look at Tennyon's "In Memoriam" it is a huge epic piece and it picks apart his love and grief. And even though time passes the sentiments are so circular that in a way he makes no progression

While true, there is quite difference between an old world style epic poem, designed to create a visual representation, and a long poetic tale with obviously placed "filler" lines. Still, Poetry is not meant to follow designated rules per se...so I certainly see your point.

My intent was to express opinion meant to help.

The meter of this last line throws off the others. First, the words' stresses cluster too much. Second, there are too many syllables (nine, compared to eight or fewer). You should recast this line for two reasons: 1) to keep closer to the rhythm of the other lines, and 2) you could choose better words to achieve your meaning (not to mention your rhythm): "active" and "deliver" seem a bit banal, for the lack of a better word.

Other than that, the other lines seem to work well together. Good work.

hmmm... looks like this thread needs some new blood. Allow me...


Demonic vebraculum encircling my throat
Dragging me ever downward
Into the unplumbed depths of my soul
Forever seeking confluence of souls with just one other
Yet with disdain for the homogeneous translucence of my fellow man
Seeking clarity of vision
Not only for myself, but for mankind
Vain effort
The sanguine just memory now
Vicissitude of mind
Onyx overlaid sepia tones
Distorting my already surreal vision
Of the life rushing onward and away
Forever just beyond my grasp.

I don't write poetry, per se, but I write "things" occasionally when I feel the need...have at it :)


we will be together again
and he will fill the empty spaces.
Or is that me...my own closely guarded vulnerability
lying dormant
through the unremarkable hours
stretching, awakening, surfacing
-the voluptuous mind-
full, soft, willing, exposed
eager to part its fragile veil
and embrace the generosity
of its own indelicate abandon

Midnight: it's dark but not quite brooding. I'd like to see more reflection, more movement. If the voice of the poem is simply stuck, I would like to know more about the effects of this. What are the implications? If you're posing this poem as lyrical, you should let the reader know a bit more internally.

Your rhythm is effective, just enough to make the reader lose their breath. Your enjambment gives the poem not only a forward motion, it practically lurches, which is suiting to the tone of the poem.

mixedmedia, this is a good start. Sorry if you meant this to be a full poem, but as a reader I still felt there was more to be said. This feels like a much longer work. Your rhythm is tidal, which makes it engaging in a good way, but if it were to carry on like that in a longer work, it would be tiresome. You might want to vary that a bit...let the reader rest a bit before hitting them up again.

"unremarkable hours"
"indelicate abandon"

These are great word pairings; there's a poet in you yet.

Thank you, Baraka.

Actually, it is the greater part of something that was written specifically for someone. I've written a few other pieces, but they're all primarily erotic and primarily embarrassing to share...

Take heart they say
and so I do
stealing love to fill my own
Take heart they say
perhaps confused
not knowing what is asked
Take heart they say
but never smile
when stolen passion bleeds
Take heart they say
and so I do
exactly what you asked me too

///

The theme is great, almost a take on the killing with kindness. And, though I very much enjoy an edgy poetic story, I did find the chopped phrases distracting.

Well fed am I by the meat of the text, and its worth working to know the piece.

;;;

888

...

Man. I really don't know if this is the *right* place for what I'm abot to drop, but near as I can tell it's the more appropriate forum. Please let me know if I'm mistaken in that assessment.

Anyway, I read the news today, and it inspired me to crank this out, FWIW:




While my dad was in the Army, I had the opportunity - albeit without a choice - to move around frequently and see a lot of the U.S. and the world. Of all the places we lived, there's no doubt in my mind that the two years we lived in West Berlin made the biggest impact on my life, my future, and how I've come to view the world in my lifetime.

We arrived in late 1979, just after my 5th birthday. I flooded my parents with questions about The Wall, the Russians, why people couldn't live together, all the other things I couldn't quite understand at the time. By the time we returned to the States, I had grown to understand a lot of the history, culture, and politics of the city. But it was only years later that I began to fully understand and appreciate one of the greatest humanitarian efforts in modern history - the Berlin Airlift.

It was 60 years ago this week that the Soviet military blockaded Berlin, shutting down rail, road, and boat traffic to the city. General Lucius Clay, who was appointed as the civil/military governor for the occupied zone, rightly concluded that leaving Berlin would be the wrong thing to do. Although the the Soviets would likely resolve all "technical difficulties" causing the blockade immediately, it would be a huge loss of prestige for America - not just her government leadership, but her military as well. All this, not to speak of how the lives of two million Germans could be changed forever.

Now, keep in mind that I hate math, statistics, and having numbers thrown in my face to make a point... But in this instance, I think the numbers give a good basic understanding of how monumental this effort truly was. On 24 June, 1968, there was enough food in the city to last 35 days, and 45 days' worth of coal. The next day, 32 US aircraft flew in 80 tons of supplies. Four days later, the RAF began flying in supplies as well. Based on numbers generated by Clay and legendary Air Force General Curtis LeMay, American and RAF pilots in C-47s, C-54s, RD-5s, DC-4s, and the venerable Avro York began flying almost 278,000 sorties in and out of the city that would continue for 15 months. 2.3 million tons of food and supplies were taken into the city, at the rate of roughly 5,000 tons per day loaded at 3-4 tons of cargo per flight, depending on aircraft type - the larger birds held around 10 tons. Tempelhof Airport had aircraft touching down every ninety seconds for the bulk of that 15-month period.

The picture I'm painting here (and the definite impression that I have of the Airlift) is one of constant activity, countless moving parts, and true selfless dedication to accomplish a mission - in this case, helping Berliners to not only keep their city, but live life as they had prior to the blockade. I'd imagine one other big factor in those very early days of the Cold War was being able to roll up your sleeves as part of a team and give the Russkies a big one-fingered wave while you were at it. Despite all this, the pilots who flew these missions knew how vital every single flight was - particularly the first flight, piloted by the late Jack Bennett. I can only sort of imagine what it's like knowing that you'll be on the ground again in an hour, yet still wondering if it'd be wheels down or in a burning heap of potatoes and avgas.

What really drives home the significance of the Airlift for me is that to this day, all Germans - and Berliners in particular - remain grateful for what the American and British pilots did for them. Tempelhof Airport, one of the very few remaining structures that was built ground-up by Hitler's Reich, became an icon of the Airlift. I'll tell you something - when you have lifelong residents of the city which was the beating heart of the Nazi regime actually fighting to preserve something the Nazis built, that speaks volumes about what Tempelhof represents in their hearts. Sadly, their efforts eventually failed and Tempelhof will soon be swept aside for a larger Berlin airport.

Maybe I'm talking out of my ass, but I think Berliners in general would call it a travesty that most Americans have never heard of the Berlin Airlift. I know it certainly pisses me off a little bit. Just to narrow it down further from my perspective, as a serving member of the Armed Forces: there are many proud moments, legendary battles, and timeless heroes who have formed a legacy that I strive to carry on every day I put on this uniform. For my money - and especially in light of America's post-Korea views of her military - you'd have to dig pretty deep to find an operation more selfless, more righteous, and more deserving of respect and admiration than the Berlin Airlift. Regardless of the circumstances or the politics surrounding the entire affair, it came down to American and British fighting men putting their lives on the line to help two million strangers keep their own.

If that's not as good as it gets, I really don't know what is.







Feedback welcome, although (so far as I know) this won't ever be published, really.

Maybe I'm talking out of my ass, but I think Berliners in general would call it a travesty that most Americans have never heard of the Berlin Airlift.
that is an appaling travesty, that is an important piece of history

I think you described the situation very well. I learned about the Berlin Airlift in the 7th grade. However, I was never taught about the Berlin Airlift. It was in my Social Studies book, and I read ahead.

Your piece would be a good op ed.

"The Squirrel upon the Sidewalk"
 

A squirrel was upon the sidewalk,
right there in the middle of my path—
it made me stop my bike.

I couldn't take my eyes off of it as I
set my bike onto the grass. Never before
had I seen such a wild creature so close,
so still.

It hadn't moved, so I seized the moment
to catch a closer look—fuelled by youthful
curiosity.

It hadn't yet moved, despite my creeping;
there it lay, right in the middle of my
sunny path. There it lay as though I
gained the element of surprise, having
cleverly set my bike onto the soft grass.

I stood right before the furry creature; it was as
though it were asleep. Why, then, would such a
wild thing sleep there on a sunny afternoon?

So with some sense of of dread, I toed it awake,
go, now, and run off as you are supposed to do!

But instead of a chirp of terror or protest and a
scurrying off to a nearby tree, the squirrel's
entrails spilled forth onto the sidewalk,

and then I was gone!


[First draft]

i'll come back to this later, comrade baraka--but by initial response to the piece was to wonder why the line breaks.

i use them alot in my journal as a kind of device to make it easier for multiple meanings to remain in play--sentences tend to render univocal--so even though the actual placement is intuitive, in general there's a system. plus i see that i am doing as prose.

here i kept thinking that there don't need to be line breaks, that it works well as a prose-poem.
the only trade-off i can see is that it would maybe compromise the twist-ending. but not necessarily.

i'll play around with this later.
it's a nice piece though---keep going with it.

Yes, there are varying negotiations of meaning when considering enjambment, but in this case, it was mainly casual and intuitive. In places I've used it as a means to add emphasis to the words that begin certain lines, other places are for rhythmic reasons--with the hope that it will make it stand more as poetry than prose. I'm not opposed to a purely prosaic poem, but that was not my intent, clearly.

This poem was actually rather spontaneous, which is why I marked it as a first draft. I composed it as I was making the post. I welcome playing around with the line breaks.

Thanks for your feedback, and I look forward to your revisiting it.

first, my only comment about everyone's masterpiece is how each felt like a roller coaster ride. from love renewed to loved lost it was heartwarming. so my offer is a poem/song meant for a friend's band. i had original posted my piece on facebook but no rip of said poem had been conducted so i offer this to all my new friends here at TFP .

A little history of said poem. I wrote it right after my ever long relationship with my love we were together for 6 years. And well this was the 2nd try at long distance and it failed. Couldn't balance him living in CAli for 6 months out of the year while I live in Philly. Yet he does own a hose not far from me. In the end he chose Cali over me and well a week or 2 later i met my now present boyfriend. And me and my ex can't ignore 6 years of being in love and his my best friend and vise versa.

I now offer my work to be rip apart and digested:


You've taken my soul away;
There's nothing left for me in this world to call my own anymore.

My flesh is burning away;
My skin is pealing away at the very thought of you placing your hands on my body;

The sirens blazing once again;
A signal flashing in my head to run away;

You've destroyed me for the last time;
Every time I'm around you there's this void left in the space where my heart use to rest;
i hate the person I become when I'm with you;
When we first fell in love it felt as through we were invincible;
Us against the world;
I was a fool to have given you my heart...

Did you really mean it when you said that you loved me?
By now, I've come to the conclusion that is just a game;

I hate the person you turned me into;
This monster that you unleashed on me has changed me for the worse.

In the end, all I want to do is find a way to escape this feeling of agony.
There has to be some way to end this pain.
Some logical solution to end this war inside of me.
But I can't stop myself from loving you no matter the much of a monster you have become.
But I need to start hating you just a bit more to regain my sanity.
I need to go mourn this relationship now
(Fin)

I think you have expressed something most people feel at one point or another, in one depth or another. This piece is a true soul read, and for that alone is a worthwhile read.

There will be no ripping apart from me, as the personal nature of the work makes form irrelevant.

Digested
-----Added 26/12/2008 at 08 : 07 : 30-----
A peek into morbid thoughts, and a testimony on the fear of death.

I enjoyed this...but then I am a sick mind....heh
-----Added 26/12/2008 at 08 : 19 : 05-----
My eyes will dwell on this innocent child
Manger out of focus, mother serene
Day of birth no matter
My mind cares not for books compiled
So many words that do not mean
The message lost and scattered
Some plastic God in static pose
Placed for weekend worship
Faded painted Jesus
I understand now why he chose
Why he left us hardship
Why a God would leave us