Author Jeanne Fiedler presents Soaring as a book of poems. But even though her pieces are divided into stanzas, taking on the form of poetry, they read more like a journal of the heart, a collection of thoughts and expressions of emotions.
Fiedler’s husband died prematurely four years ago, and that sad event is at the core of the book. She clearly uses poetry as a form of therapy for herself and intends it to be helpful to others as well. Her straightforward, clear voice comes through convincingly and with a genuineness that makes the reader believe that she could very well be of great help to someone in distress. There are no inexplicable complexities or puzzles to decipher. No one needs to guess at her intent or meaning. And her tone is resolutely upbeat and optimistic.
Consider the opening lines from a poem entitled “Rebirth:”
The green flurry
The soft breeze
The wishing wells
In the jostling brooks
The succor of the
Sunshine
Brilliantly radiating
Warming my tired bones
Such sentiment is comforting and may very well be soothing to readers. As poetry, though, it lacks the elements that generally make for memorable and powerful work: an ear for meter, rhythm, and metaphors that ring true and original. “Reflections of Humanism” is one example, among many, of how Fiedler looks inward in ways that are more exposition than evocative poetry:
I need to encompass
Who I really am
And be her lovingly…
I need to get to the
Point where I’m
Happy to be me
Whatever the downfalls of her collection ¬– which touches on everything from Fiedler’s loneliness to the genocide of Native Americans to hiking on a spring day – the author seems to have found in writing a path through sadness and into acceptance. Readers will applaud her courage, if not the originality of her verse.
