Buy pencils

[tectak]

I work here and I smile at you, or anyone that needs the cure.
Open the door, come blubbering, and I will share your pain.
Gush crazily around my ears -- you start off insecure --
but trust in me, I who am wise, will stop you going insane.

(I know, I know, of course, I know, and what do you believe?
How do you see this ending? How do you see reprieve?)

I work here; paid to listen to your pointless, pathomanic views.
We could just scream, together rage against unknown conjoining foes;
Here, lie down on my parquet floor, let others form long queues
whilst we find calm on smooth, cool wood; maple, walnut, rose.

(I know, I know, of course, I know, and what would make you smile?
If I could tell you life is good would you believe me...for a while?)

I work here but you think of me as someone special, friend for life;
who listens to you, nods, approves, agrees, permits and ratifies.
How fine this wood, yes, rose I think, but maple, too. You miss your wife?
How long ago? A year? Oh, two? We have our time, but we all die.

(I know, I know, of course I know. We each grieve on our own
and nothing I can say will make it easy when you live alone.)

I work here but sometimes it seems that this is where I should not be.
A thanks is all my life is worth and more than that I don’t deserve.
Ah, look, that swirling, smoky grain…a sure sign that a walnut tree
was sacrificed for parquet floor, and so in death a purpose serves.

(I know, I know, of course I know. Don’t tell me any more.
Come back next week and we’ll discuss. Just go, and close the door)

I work here but I need someone to talk me out of other’s ways.
I must write down my inner thoughts and try to make some sense of me.
This wood is cedar, how its scent reminds me of my schoolroom days;
the shavings in the sharpeners. I’ll buy more pencils. Not 2B.

tectak
1989 rehashed 2014

[Caleb Murdock]

Is this poem a riddle?

[tectak]

Is this poem a riddle?

Hi caleb,
Probably...if you have never needed counselling!
Best,
tectak

[Erthona]

2b or not 2b

This has been posted in serious please provide more considered feedback...Mod

[tectak]

2b or not 2b

Groooaaaaannnnnnnnn!

[Caleb Murdock]

Is this poem a riddle?

Hi caleb,
Probably...if you have never needed counselling!
Best,
tectak

Well, I don't get it. The speaker seems to be some kind of therapist, but then there's the stuff about pencils and wood (the wood sometimes being the wood of a pencil, and sometimes being the wood in a floor). Also, all the therapists that I ever saw were self-employed, although that seems not to be the case here. Since the speaker talks about "working here", that brings the employer in as an unnamed presence.

Am I being dense? Is the meaning obvious and I'm just not seeing it?

[John Galt]

I enjoyed this, it brought back memories of when we had a shop, and dealing with the "publics" foibles was unbelievable. I always think it must drive "hairdressers" mad.

I like that "shavings in the sharpener" JG

What do you like about the shavings in the sharpener ? and how do you think Tectack could improve his poem...Mod

[Keith]

I work here and I smile at you, or anyone that needs the cure.
Open the door, come blubbering, and I will share your pain.
Gush crazily around my ears -- you start off insecure --
but trust in me, I who am wise, will stop you going insane.
Not sure the two ings work that well and the insane tells the story but its too obvious and also not guaranteed (listen or lie down reference could be more subtle. the internal rhymes work well though.

(I know, I know, of course, I know, and what do you believe? the repeats work really well and the signal change allows the reader to be part of the session
How do you see this ending? How do you see reprieve?)

I work here; paid to listen to your pointless, pathomanic views.
We could just scream, together rage against unknown conjoining foes;
Here, lie down on my parquet floor, let others form long queues
whilst we find calm on smooth, cool wood; maple, walnut, rose. nice image and distraction

(I know, I know, of course, I know, and what would make you smile?
If I could tell you life is good would you believe me...for a while?)

I work here but you think of me as someone special, friend for life;
who listens to you, nods, approves, agrees, permits and ratifies.
How fine this wood, yes, rose I think, but maple, too. You miss your wife?
How long ago? A year? Oh, two? We have our time, but we all die.

(I know, I know, of course I know. We each grieve on our own
and nothing I can say will make it easy when you live alone.)

I work here but sometimes it seems that this is where I should not be.
A thanks is all my life is worth and more than that I don’t deserve.
Ah, look, that swirling, smoky grain…a sure sign that a walnut tree
was sacrificed for parquet floor, and so in death a purpose serves.

(I know, I know, of course I know. Don’t tell me any more.
Come back next week and we’ll discuss. Just go, and close the door)

I work here but I need someone to talk me out of other’s ways.
I must write down my inner thoughts and try to make some sense of me.
This wood is cedar, how its scent reminds me of my schoolroom days; not sure about the repeat me
the shavings in the sharpeners. I’ll buy more pencils. Not 2B. I like the end line there's nothing you cant work out with your thoughts and a pencil

tectak
1989 rehashed 2014

There is a lot to enjoy in this and its better for a couple of reads the switches are clear and this allows it to flow for the reader. the person in therapy being more interested in the floor comes across really well and I like that we get to know why they have visited them that work there. It is a little wordy in some parts, I read the I know repeat differently every time sometimes angry sometimes softly...I like that as it changes the tone. Thanks Keith

[Caleb Murdock]

I gather from what other people have said that the speaker is a therapist who is employed by some institution, and whose mind is wandering onto such things as the wooden floor and the pencils. If that's the case, what's throwing me is the setting. If this is an institution, the floor is more likely to be rug or linoleum than wood. I can't think of any institution, besides a university, where a therapist would be employed to give sessions in such a fancy room that it would have a parquet floor with three or four different kinds of wood in it.

Actually, Keith thinks that the speaker is the patient and not the therapist.

I think the idea is clever, but I would execute it differently. I would scrap the references to being employed and put the therapist in private practice, and then I would give more of the therapist's mental meanderings as he/she comes to grips with whether he chose the right profession.

I also think that there are comic (comedic?) opportunities that are missed here. The ridiculous details that the therapist could be revealing about his patients in such a poem are nearly endless. Instead of day-dreaming about what kinds of wood are in the floor, have the therapist evaluating the sexual attractiveness of his patients -- that could be very funny.

But again, maybe I'm just missing the point.

[Erthona]

[quote='tectak' pid='163053' dateline='1398949505']
I work here and I smile at you, or anyone that needs the cure. <"The cure", generally refers to alcohol treatment>
Open the door, come blubbering, and I will share your pain.
Gush crazily around my ears -- you start off insecure -- <"Gush crazily around my ears" seems a bit awkward>
but trust in me, I who am wise, will stop you going insane.

(I know, I know, of course, I know, and what do you believe?
How do you see this ending? How do you see reprieve?)

I work here; paid to listen to your pointless, pathomanic views.<"pathomanic" I assume this is a made up word?>
We could just scream, together rage against unknown conjoining foes;
Here, lie down on my parquet floor, let others form long queues
whilst we find calm on smooth, cool wood; maple, walnut, rose.

(I know, I know, of course, I know, and what would make you smile?
If I could tell you life is good would you believe me...for a while?)

I work here but you think of me as someone special, friend for life;
who listens to you, nods, approves, agrees, permits and ratifies. [b][/b]
How fine this wood, yes, rose I think, but maple, too. You miss your wife?
How long ago? A year? Oh, two? We have our time, but we all die.

(I know, I know, of course I know. We each grieve on our own
and nothing I can say will make it easy when you live alone.)

I work here but sometimes it seems that this is where I should not be.
A thanks is all my life is worth and more than that I don’t deserve.
Ah, look, that swirling, smoky grain…a sure sign that a walnut tree
was sacrificed for parquet floor, and so in death a purpose serves.

(I know, I know, of course I know. Don’t tell me any more.
Come back next week and we’ll discuss. Just go, and close the door)

I work here but I need someone to talk me out of other’s ways.
I must write down my inner thoughts and try to make some sense of me.
This wood is cedar, how its scent reminds me of my schoolroom days;
the shavings in the sharpeners. I’ll buy more pencils. Not 2B.

Seems to be trying to describe a therapist with burnout, or the writer is simply not familiar with the subject matter. Energetically, the poem does not move along, more like trudges. I cannot decide if the writer is being purposefully obscure, or just doesn't know the topic, either way the portrayal does not seem reality based. Being generous one could allow that maybe this is a metaphor for something, but I have no clue as to what that is. Maybe "the cure" hints at another malady, but again there is nothing in the poem that supports that. Obviously "wood" plays a prominent part in this, but I can no understanding from the poem what that might be.

Personally I think my first comment on this has about as much value as this longer one one.


Dale

[tectak]

I work here and I smile at you, or anyone that needs the cure. <"The cure", generally refers to alcohol treatment>
Open the door, come blubbering, and I will share your pain.
Gush crazily around my ears -- you start off insecure -- <"Gush crazily around my ears" seems a bit awkward>
but trust in me, I who am wise, will stop you going insane.

(I know, I know, of course, I know, and what do you believe?
How do you see this ending? How do you see reprieve?)

I work here; paid to listen to your pointless, pathomanic views.<"pathomanic" I assume this is a made up word?>
We could just scream, together rage against unknown conjoining foes;
Here, lie down on my parquet floor, let others form long queues
whilst we find calm on smooth, cool wood; maple, walnut, rose.

(I know, I know, of course, I know, and what would make you smile?
If I could tell you life is good would you believe me...for a while?)

I work here but you think of me as someone special, friend for life;
who listens to you, nods, approves, agrees, permits and ratifies. [b][/b]
How fine this wood, yes, rose I think, but maple, too. You miss your wife?
How long ago? A year? Oh, two? We have our time, but we all die.

(I know, I know, of course I know. We each grieve on our own
and nothing I can say will make it easy when you live alone.)

I work here but sometimes it seems that this is where I should not be.
A thanks is all my life is worth and more than that I don’t deserve.
Ah, look, that swirling, smoky grain…a sure sign that a walnut tree
was sacrificed for parquet floor, and so in death a purpose serves.

(I know, I know, of course I know. Don’t tell me any more.
Come back next week and we’ll discuss. Just go, and close the door)

I work here but I need someone to talk me out of other’s ways.
I must write down my inner thoughts and try to make some sense of me.
This wood is cedar, how its scent reminds me of my schoolroom days;
the shavings in the sharpeners. I’ll buy more pencils. Not 2B.

Seems to be trying to describe a therapist with burnout, or the writer is simply not familiar with the subject matter. Energetically, the poem does not move along, more like trudges. I cannot decide if the writer is being purposefully obscure, or just doesn't know the topic, either way the portrayal does not seem reality based. Being generous one could allow that maybe this is a metaphor for something, but I have no clue as to what that is. Maybe "the cure" hints at another malady, but again there is nothing in the poem that supports that. Obviously "wood" plays a prominent part in this, but I can no understanding from the poem what that might be.

Personally I think my first comment on this has about as much value as this longer one one.


Dale

Hi Dale,
This one needs a good shake because it fails to pull itself together . Friend of mine, dual citizenship, born Alabama but UK nationised, finds himself in a bad situation with his family; details not necessary but he loses his father when he was 13 years old.
At 30 years old he and one of his three brothers are going to visit his mother, he is driving, car crash, brother dies not a scratch on him...physically. The police advise him to seek counselling. He does but finds it useless. He told me that the counsellor was patently not interested in his state if mind and for 10 weeks of attendance he became angrier and more aggresive. I met the counsellor, socially, through coincidental circumstances and found her thoroughly depressed. I wrote this after that meeting changing the story line to avoid any claims to veracity.
Dren committed suicide ten years ago.
The thing is too superficial but it is almost 25 years old and is treated very much as a third person observational piece...due to a great extent to my lack of knowledge in the area and my lack of first person info.
SO key points are counsellor not therapist.
25years ago.
Based on a single reported incident then spun out.
Dump it? It is your field.
Pathomaniac exists but having checked I am surprised to find tha pathomanic does not. Good catch.
Best,
tectak

---

[quote='Caleb Murdock' pid='163172' dateline='1399032917']
Is this poem a riddle?

Hi caleb,
Probably...if you have never needed counselling!
Best,
tectak

Well, I don't get it. The speaker seems to be some kind of therapist, but then there's the stuff about pencils and wood (the wood sometimes being the wood of a pencil, and sometimes being the wood in a floor). Also, all the therapists that I ever saw were self-employed, although that seems not to be the case here. Since the speaker talks about "working here", that brings the employer in as an unnamed presence.

Am I being dense? Is the meaning obvious and I'm just not seeing it?

You make firm statements of fact and raise rhetorical questions...at least I assume they are rhetorical See my reply to erthona.
The wood references are indicative of the counsellor's mind wandering....like counting the ceiling tiles during a lecture on the mating habits of the giant three toed sloth...that is all.
Best,
tectak
PS It is sometimes best not to try too hard to "get" a poem. If you don't "get" it, it is usually the writer's fault. But be warned, some writers enjoy "obscure". I don't because I am not good at it and I like clarity not obfuscation...so call me simple.

[cidermaid]

Hi Tom,
I 've read through several times (and read all the comments including your notes to Dale). I had picked up the idea of who cares for the carer - who counsels the counsellor. As for the back story of your inspiration, none of this came across (perhaps never intended too private and not for public consumption). I like the concept of this poem, but I feel that you might need to completely dismantle and re-assemble to get to the point of internal filing of this one, that will allow the poem to be written as it should be. (Sorry if that sounds a bit like I am now doing a counselling job on you - never...but I think you had not finished processing and cataloguing this experience before you did the first write and this is the underlying problem with the poem).
You are an accomplished writer and as such the crit that has been offered is just nit-picking through minor flaws in the delivery. I think it is the image / story that needs addressing.
I would not presume to even try to offer a re-write suggestion so what is below is just the order that my brain is processing the poem tied into the understory you gave,

(I know, of course I know. Don’t tell me any more.
Come back next week, we’ll discuss. Please close the door)

Open the door, come blubbering. I will share your pain.
Gush -- you start off insecure --
but trust in me, I who am wise, will stop the slide into...

(... and what do you believe?
How do you see this ending? How do you see reprieve?)

We could just scream together, rage against unknown foes;
lie down on my parquet floor,
whilst we find calm on smooth, cool wood; maple, walnut, rose.

(If I could tell you life is good would you believe me...for a while?
You think of me as someone special, friend for life;
who listens to you, nods, approves, agrees, permits and ratifies).

How fine this wood, yes, rose I think, but maple, too. You miss your wife?
How long ago? A year? Oh, two? We have our time, but we all die.

(We each grieve on our own
and nothing I can say will make it easy when you live alone.
I work here but sometimes it seems that this is where I should not be.
A thanks no more than that; I don’t deserve).

I need someone to talk me out offf...
Ah, look, that swirling, smoky grain…a sure sign that a walnut tree
was sacrificed for parquet floor, and so in death a purpose serves.
I must write down my inner thoughts and try to make some sense of me.
This wood is cedar, how its scent reminds of schoolroom days;
the shavings in the sharpeners. I’ll buy more pencils. Not 2B.

(I know, I know, of course I know. Don’t tell me any more.
Come back next week and we’ll discuss. Just go, and close the door)

tectak
1989 rehashed 2014

[tectak]

I work here and I smile at you, or anyone that needs the cure.
Open the door, come blubbering, and I will share your pain.
Gush crazily around my ears -- you start off insecure --
but trust in me, I who am wise, will stop you going insane.
Not sure the two ings work that well and the insane tells the story but its too obvious and also not guaranteed (listen or lie down reference could be more subtle. the internal rhymes work well though.
Are we on the same poem, Keith? What two ings and what internal rhymes?
(I know, I know, of course, I know, and what do you believe? the repeats work really well and the signal change allows the reader to be part of the session
How do you see this ending? How do you see reprieve?)

I work here; paid to listen to your pointless, pathomanic views.
We could just scream, together rage against unknown conjoining foes;
Here, lie down on my parquet floor, let others form long queues
whilst we find calm on smooth, cool wood; maple, walnut, rose. nice image and distraction

(I know, I know, of course, I know, and what would make you smile?
If I could tell you life is good would you believe me...for a while?)

I work here but you think of me as someone special, friend for life;
who listens to you, nods, approves, agrees, permits and ratifies.
How fine this wood, yes, rose I think, but maple, too. You miss your wife?
How long ago? A year? Oh, two? We have our time, but we all die.

(I know, I know, of course I know. We each grieve on our own
and nothing I can say will make it easy when you live alone.)

I work here but sometimes it seems that this is where I should not be.
A thanks is all my life is worth and more than that I don’t deserve.
Ah, look, that swirling, smoky grain…a sure sign that a walnut tree
was sacrificed for parquet floor, and so in death a purpose serves.

(I know, I know, of course I know. Don’t tell me any more.
Come back next week and we’ll discuss. Just go, and close the door)

I work here but I need someone to talk me out of other’s ways.
I must write down my inner thoughts and try to make some sense of me.
This wood is cedar, how its scent reminds me of my schoolroom days; not sure about the repeat me
the shavings in the sharpeners. I’ll buy more pencils. Not 2B. I like the end line there's nothing you cant work out with your thoughts and a pencil

tectak
1989 rehashed 2014

There is a lot to enjoy in this and its better for a couple of reads the switches are clear and this allows it to flow for the reader. the person in therapy being more interested in the floor comes across really well and I like that we get to know why they have visited them that work there. It is a little wordy in some parts, I read the I know repeat differently every time sometimes angry sometimes softly...I like that as it changes the tone. Thanks Keith

Thanks Keith,
See my reply to erthona but I agree on the two me's. I will work on that...if I don't dump it!
Best,
tectak

---

I gather from what other people have said that the speaker is a therapist who is employed by some institution, and whose mind is wandering onto such things as the wooden floor and the pencils. If that's the case, what's throwing me is the setting. If this is an institution, the floor is more likely to be rug or linoleum than wood. I can't think of any institution, besides a university, where a therapist would be employed to give sessions in such a fancy room that it would have a parquet floor with three or four different kinds of wood in it.

Actually, Keith thinks that the speaker is the patient and not the therapist.

I think the idea is clever, but I would execute it differently. I would scrap the references to being employed and put the therapist in private practice, and then I would give more of the therapist's mental meanderings as he/she comes to grips with whether he chose the right profession.

I also think that there are comic (comedic?) opportunities that are missed here. The ridiculous details that the therapist could be revealing about his patients in such a poem are nearly endless. Instead of day-dreaming about what kinds of wood are in the floor, have the therapist evaluating the sexual attractiveness of his patients -- that could be very funny.

But again, maybe I'm just missing the point.

Hey caleb,
It's yours. Rewrite it
Best,
tectak

[Caleb Murdock]

At this point, I'm a little annoyed. You posted this poem in the Serious Workshopping forum, yet you don't seem to take it seriously yourself -- even to the extent of offering it to me to do what I want with it. As a new forum member, I am trying to do the right thing by critiquing other people's poems; but frankly, that's a waste of time if other members post poems that they already consider to be throw-aways.

You have the temerity to criticize my critique by telling me that I made firm statements of fact which, by implication, I shouldn't have made (I don't think I did that), and then you offer me the bad advice that I shouldn't try too hard to "get" a poem that I'm critiquing.

The lesson I'm taking from this is that I should steer clear of your poems, and enigmatic poems in general. Life is too short.

[tectak]

At this point, I'm a little annoyed. You posted this poem in the Serious Workshopping forum, yet you don't seem to take it seriously yourself -- even to the extent of offering it to me to do what I want with it. As a new forum member, I am trying to do the right thing by critiquing other people's poems; but frankly, that's a waste of time if other members post poems that they already consider to be throw-aways.

You have the temerity to criticize my critique by telling me that I made firm statements of fact which, by implication, I shouldn't have made (I don't think I did that), and then you offer me the bad advice that I shouldn't try too hard to "get" a poem that I'm critiquing.

The lesson I'm taking from this is that I should steer clear of your poems, and enigmatic poems in general. Life is too short.

First if all ,caleb, I do not intend entering into a discourse on how you feel about me, suffice to say that you interpret my comments incorrectly.
It is necessary to restate one of the most important protocols on this site....critique the poem not the poet. Second point...the Serious Workshopping forum is for seriously workshopping ANY poem, even those which of themselves are not serious. I posted this piece to hear the serious suggestions of the crits....if that should lead to a consensus that the piece is not worth salvaging...that a complete rewrite may be the only solution...then so be it. It is my poem and I can do as I wish with it and that includes offering it to you as you had such strong views on how it should be done. I am unoffendable in this instance.
As to your comment that I said you stated "facts" which by implication meant that you should not then your logic defeats me
Finally, the "advice" that I gave you regarding the search for meaning was good advice and sound.
Poetry is often obscure or enigmatic, your word, but that should not preclude a desire on the part of the poet to write well...and to that end, the critique is a great tool.Do not stop but be aware of the subtleties and nuances within ALL poetry....oh, and watch out for emoticons to avoid misinterpreting intent.
Best,
tectak

[Caleb Murdock]

Lesson learned: Avoid Tectak.

[tectak]

Hi Tom,
I 've read through several times (and read all the comments including your notes to Dale). I had picked up the idea of who cares for the carer - who counsels the counsellor. As for the back story of your inspiration, none of this came across (perhaps never intended too private and not for public consumption). I like the concept of this poem, but I feel that you might need to completely dismantle and re-assemble to get to the point of internal filing of this one, that will allow the poem to be written as it should be. (Sorry if that sounds a bit like I am now doing a counselling job on you - never...but I think you had not finished processing and cataloguing this experience before you did the first write and this is the underlying problem with the poem).
You are an accomplished writer and as such the crit that has been offered is just nit-picking through minor flaws in the delivery. I think it is the image / story that needs addressing.
I would not presume to even try to offer a re-write suggestion so what is below is just the order that my brain is processing the poem tied into the understory you gave,

(I know, of course I know. Don’t tell me any more.
Come back next week, we’ll discuss. Please close the door)

Open the door, come blubbering. I will share your pain.
Gush -- you start off insecure --
but trust in me, I who am wise, will stop the slide into...

(... and what do you believe?
How do you see this ending? How do you see reprieve?)

We could just scream together, rage against unknown foes;
lie down on my parquet floor,
whilst we find calm on smooth, cool wood; maple, walnut, rose.

(If I could tell you life is good would you believe me...for a while?
You think of me as someone special, friend for life;
who listens to you, nods, approves, agrees, permits and ratifies).

How fine this wood, yes, rose I think, but maple, too. You miss your wife?
How long ago? A year? Oh, two? We have our time, but we all die.

(We each grieve on our own
and nothing I can say will make it easy when you live alone.
I work here but sometimes it seems that this is where I should not be.
A thanks no more than that; I don’t deserve).

I need someone to talk me out offf...
Ah, look, that swirling, smoky grain…a sure sign that a walnut tree
was sacrificed for parquet floor, and so in death a purpose serves.
I must write down my inner thoughts and try to make some sense of me.
This wood is cedar, how its scent reminds of schoolroom days;
the shavings in the sharpeners. I’ll buy more pencils. Not 2B.

(I know, I know, of course I know. Don’t tell me any more.
Come back next week and we’ll discuss. Just go, and close the door)

tectak
1989 rehashed 2014

Hi cider,
Good to hear from you. I am having a spring clean. I have a lot of stuff like this which I cannot objectively judge because I wrote it so long ago but felt it was worth keeping then...but am not sure now
This one appears to need the cyrysalis-butterfly metamorphosis. Shake it all up and reuse the goo.
It may never emerge.
Best,
tectak

---

Lesson learned: Avoid Tectak.

Caleb, you are treading on very thin ice. This forum is not for waging vendettas against your peers. Restrict you comments to the poetry. Consider this to be a warning. I am leaving your last comment on the board as an example of how not to respond, though I cannot promise you that other mods will be as tolerant. I suggest you take some time to look through past posts before you say something you may regret.
Mod.

[Erthona]

Tom,

"Dump it? It is your field."

2 things:

make it more clear what is happening, don't play coy by using such things as "the cure".

In terms of the narrative, do not allow the counselor to make uninterpreted statements, filter everything through the patient, e.g.,

I was talking about the guilt I felt about living when (whatever the passenger's name was), and she kept referring to her floors. Saying things like...

This is not a piece that will work well with stream of consciousness writing. It needs to be clear who is saying what. Do not try to go into the counselors head, show from the behavior, her responses, body language, etc., that she doesn't care about the patient. Filter all of this through the patient's eyes, but do so in a non-judgmental, factual way.

It's nice that you wanted to stretch in doing this piece, but my feeling is you probably lack the insight to pull it off, not because you aren't intelligent enough, but because you are lacking in experience in this area. You are able to see things superficially at best, and to me, it comes across as a lack of genuineness. I cannot imagine any counselor, regardless of how burned-out, or depressed they were, saying the things you have your counselor saying. It's not that a counselor wouldn't say crazy things, they just wouldn't say these crazy things, at least not in the way you are having them saying them.

One final thing, generally a patient doesn't have much insight into why they are feeling the way they do, especially in cases of survivors guilt, they may not even know they are depressed, just that things aren't right. Now, if you are going to start further down the road, and have the person say they are suicidal, then have them say it. That is usually going to come up during the intake, psych/social process anyway.

Anyway, there you go.

As I said the first time "2b or not 2b!"...some people just don't know a good critique when they see one

Dale

[Caleb Murdock]

Caleb, you are treading on very thin ice. This forum is not for waging vendettas against your peers. Restrict you comments to the poetry. Consider this to be a warning. I am leaving your last comment on the board as an example of how not to respond, though I cannot promise you that other mods will be as tolerant. I suggest you take some time to look through past posts before you say something you may regret.
Mod.

I have said nothing that I regret. This is not the first forum I have been on that had moderators with an agenda.

[tectak]

Tom,

"Dump it? It is your field."

2 things:

make it more clear what is happening, don't play coy by using such things as "the cure".

In terms of the narrative, do not allow the counselor to make uninterpreted statements, filter everything through the patient, e.g.,

I was talking about the guilt I felt about living when (whatever the passenger's name was), and she kept referring to her floors. Saying things like...

This is not a piece that will work well with stream of consciousness writing. It needs to be clear who is saying what. Do not try to go into the counselors head, show from the behavior, her responses, body language, etc., that she doesn't care about the patient. Filter all of this through the patient's eyes, but do so in a non-judgmental, factual way.

It's nice that you wanted to stretch in doing this piece, but my feeling is you probably lack the insight to pull it off, not because you aren't intelligent enough, but because you are lacking in experience in this area. You are able to see things superficially at best, and to me, it comes across as a lack of genuineness. I cannot imagine any counselor, regardless of how burned-out, or depressed they were, saying the things you have your counselor saying. It's not that a counselor wouldn't say crazy things, they just wouldn't say these crazy things, at least not in the way you are having them saying them.

One final thing, generally a patient doesn't have much insight into why they are feeling the way they do, especially in cases of survivors guilt, they may not even know they are depressed, just that things aren't right. Now, if you are going to start further down the road, and have the person say they are suicidal, then have them say it. That is usually going to come up during the intake, psych/social process anyway.

Anyway, there you go.

As I said the first time "2b or not 2b!"...some people just don't know a good critique when they see one

Dale

Hi dale,
Yes to all of this. I am aware of my limited insight in this area and for that reason alone I may jettison it.
The in parentheses are not the spoken word but the internal off-thinking of the counsellor, but the whole piece is written through the counsellor's silent thoughts...the device failed, obviously.
I can clearly remember, and actually witnessed this, that my departed buddy noted that the counsellor would not look him in the eye... constantly down cast eyes are very disturbing in any circumstances. The parquet floor was interesting. The rest I surmised.
Best,
tectak