Ms Adrienne Owens
Resumo da Biografia |
The winners, April 2011 poetry contest Each time I judge a competition, I maintain a mental desire to know instantly and intuitively when I encounter a winning entry. Don't I wish that were so, but the process isn't simple. How does one choose absolute best from top best? Does one select a sonnet over a haiku because the former is more complex--or could a haiku actually be deeper because its simplicity is profound? Repeated readings help to clarify evaluations. Great poems are not like Ivory soap; they don't automatically float to the top. Another concern: Is a grand subject--a poem featuring God--by its nature better than one about a mouse escaping a fox or "boy-meets-girl-meets-boy"? Elevated subjects can be presented tritely; a poem about the ordinary may resonate straight to the heart. See Also: What are the best car speakers in the world Moreover, although I try to tolerate technical errors, I shudder at their quantity. Good writers use and respect language. Typos happen and need to be fixed before a judge or editor sees them. In a recent entry, "seductress" first appeared spelled correctly, but a few lines later appeared as "sudductess"--perhaps a soap opera queen? In light verse, the switch might be intentional, but the poem in question was serious. Another gripe: I believe that obscurity shows either lack of respect toward the reader or absence of coherent thought from the writer. A successful poem should create a clear impression offering insight for interpretation, though differing conclusions may be drawn about the point or points intended. The opposite flaw is when the poet nails down platitudes with hammer blows. I suggest one discovers how to write best by reading, over and over, what anthology editors (present and past) offer as the most memorable poems from all eras. Analyze why each succeeds--if you think it does. You won't care for every poem, but consider what you like and why. In a nutshell, learn to discern, and learn from what you discern. The process will enable you to assimilate varied viewpoints and styles. Out of those, if you are persistent, your uniquely personal style will emerge. A last thought: Don't send out what's newly written. Allow each poem to wait awhile, then reevaluate it. Errors or inconsistencies will likely jump out; rarely is a first draft perfect as is. Who we are and how we are is of perpetual concern; we monitor looks, feelings, and relationship of self to world in a process frequently taken for granted. Yet in "Footsteps of Doubt," presenting long lines of free verse by Angela Cappelloni, the speaker--who may or not be the poet--is evaluating her reflection and imagining what the mirror offers back. She opens with a casual tone that, however, cannot hide anxiety. "You know it's bad," she confesses and personifies the reflecting glass as an alter ego beaming forth "sympathy, care, and concern." Throughout, observe the comparatively rare use of the second person viewpoint: "you this--you that," which--instead of the more familiar I--gives the poem an unusual twist. We don't know what life crisis concerns the speaker who has "worrisome, uncertain eyes," but something fairly profound seems to have occurred, some life-challenging event, because she (for convenience, let's say "she") is shown as being "Amazed and grateful" at still being alive. Perhaps she had a car accident or contemplated suicide. Possibly love went sour or she lost a job. We aren't told, but some crisis has apparently happened. Or else what? Maybe the woman is simply aware of age and discouragement because, apparently, she has conquered neither the world nor her own self. And the mirror, at first seeming alarmed, next seems to convey "sympathy, care, and concern." The woman rallies to wipe cold sweat from her face, and in a line just past the middle, puts the crisis into comfortable cliches, telling herself via the mirror, "Ah yes, reborn, renewed and ready to conquer, putting your best foot forward." Is she, in another popular expression, "whistling past the graveyard" as she tells herself she is OK, that life will proceed? She concludes that even if she doubts herself, when she wears a smile, the mirror believes in her. Indeed, many folk are convinced that mirrors hold mysterious personalities and properties; thus a vast amount of lore exists concerning reflective surfaces. Meanwhile, this woman will likely alternate between doubt and confidence, mentally teetering. On the same subject, but with contrasting complacency, the poet John K. Bangs declared rather didactically in a previous era Be sure to keep a mirror always nigh Alas, if only Cappelloni's doubter could summon the serenity of another past poet, John Burroughs: Serene I fold my hands and wait I was first puzzled and then intrigued by Melisa Dereberry's Second Place entry, "The Boot," but as I read and reread, the poem moved into my selection of top choices. I couldn't say I understood the poem at first, yet it intrigued me, begging to be thought through. Why, I speculated, could one discarded boot be so important? What might a boot represent of the relationship between young sibling and older brother? Did it bring them together or push them apart, or was tossing it just a nostalgic incident? Related article: Best car speakers brands My first bump of curiosity was to wonder, if the boot went into the lagoon, why it didn't sink. Then I realized the poem's middle explains that it had grown attached to the shallow bottom by cords of weed while also suggesting that, just as children are caught between youth and adulthood, the boot, too, is suspended between two realities. Yet I was sure I was still missing something important: I needed to read more closely, think harder. At first I believed the boot was the speaker's but then decided it belonged to the older boy who coaxed his sibling to toss it away. Why such an action? Maybe as footwear the boot was outgrown or its vibrant color seemed childish. Perhaps the older boy wanted to get his sibling in trouble or dared him (or her). Maybe summer approached with barefoot days. Perhaps the boot was abandoned, only half of a pair. Why do irrational things? We can't always explain beyond we "felt like it." And then--very suddenly a horrid and sinister meaning jumped out from the poem's final lines. My "aha moment" was abrupt as I gasped, "Of course!" So, here's my current thinking: The younger child did toss the boot. But then the older boy decided to retrieve it, yet in doing so stepped into mucky, murky quicksand, thus drowning himself via "one elusive step"--a forever step--into the blue sky of eternity. Why else could a useless, faded boot hold such significance after years? In the First Place winner, the speaker holds an ambiguous relationship with a mirror-self with issues unresolved. In this poem, the younger sibling perhaps had a love-hate relationship with the big brother, admired him, tagged after him, and on that past day enjoyed doing something naughty, with no premonition of ill consequence. Was the pair warned about the lagoon? The poem shows us that the brushy edge is no beach area; rather it's a rough place of pokeweed and thistle, "a lush wasteland." If I guess right, the boy's place of drowning is marked by the boot's red flag. In a sinister pun, each sibling truly got "the boot" in the process of losing the boot, and--like the junked footwear--the child who lived to tell the tale remains emotionally suspended, unable to change what happened but realizing how small acts can have permanent consequences. Indeed, experts speculate that when the young Van Gogh was forced to visit the grave of his younger brother, the trauma broke, forever after, his mental stability. Eric Maisel, PhD states: We don't know the secrets of our own genetics, Certainly Dereberry's child, though grown, cannot forget the boot and "the infallible splack as it landed." The sibling is gone but endlessly remembered; indeed the two are tragically, almost mystically fused. In the Third Place winner by Joseph P. McGee, an unnamed someone in a car stops at a red light, watches another unnamed someone who stands smoking in the rain. This second person is an ex-lover or at least love interest to the speaker. She--I think she's female though "rebel-spiked hair" could be either sex--holds a cigarette that needs a light, presumably doused by a raindrop. Meanwhile, she tries to balance a half-empty glass on a slick railing. The observer, whether maliciously or by knowing her habits, assumes the beverage is "stale beer." He has just enough time before the light turns to note how an awning spatters droplets that "caress" the woman's hair. Perhaps he superimposes his own desire to touch her onto the impersonal moisture. Certainly, she makes no move toward shelter and appears oblivious to traffic and to the man studying her. However, the speaker notes that his car--like those surrounding--will soon move forward "in wiper blade, asphalt marching orders" and he concludes that the woman who splashed across his life, like water, has now drained off, leaving him with only this brief, unsatisfactory glimpse. Is he literally now "high and dry"? For more information: 2 way vs 3 way speakers Just as a red light means stop, this relationship appears stopped; indeed, it seems as flat as the stale beer the woman guards. The setting appears urban and contemporary, but what we don't know is more intriguing than what we do know; for example, how far did the relationship ever progress, or did it exist only in wishful thinking? Moreover, is the man disgusted and resigned, or will he pull his car over and park so he can speak to this person? Will he be the one to light a fresh cigarette for her, and does he stand any chance of "lighting up her life"? The glimpse we have seems to hold very little promise. Indeed, we could insert world for word and not be far off. The speaker is perhaps amused or even appalled to see the woman snatch at her glass as if the contents were vitally important, whereas (it appears) she tossed off his affection. At the same time he seems in a downward spiral of depression. But we shouldn't speculate too far. The poem offers only glimpses. We don't know the speaker's name or age, and, perhaps more important, neither do we learn her name or her side of the situation, how she feels treated, or what she may want to happen in her own life. Kim Addonizzio suggests: |