The Crucible Draws Mixed Reviews

Julia Pfatteicher and John Benhart, Features Editor and Editor-in-Chief, respectively

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In the first of a series of many battles, Julia Pfatteicher and John Benhart respond to the world around them.  The two take opposing sides, constructing poems to make their points.  This time, they focus on The Crucible.

 

“The Greatest Performance of the Century” by Julia Pfatteicher

 

A sight so mighty, of those who love

They cry and scream, dance for above

A curse beholds

The future unfolds

And girls do fall so ill

They claim of spirits and Satan they see

And the lies stack up and spill

 

Hours and hours were seen and spent

Til the curtain called and we all wept

Actors, makeup artists, directors too

Dedicated autumn Thursdays for you

The viewer, to behold such a message

Telling you to follow your blessings

Never doubt your inner ear

For he tells you all there is to hear

Audible sounds are overrated

It’s silence that is truly fated

 

“Tis my Name!” Stole the show

And Morgan’s glance certainly

More fierce than a blow

And wild dances with reckless abandon

Left all the audience staring

Not a word to speak of such a performance

Only applause for these men and women

 

The Crucible: A Dis-sonnet” by John Benhart

 

On that sad Thursday I was forced to sit

And watch a play, The Crucible, its name.

In a forsaken seat, I cried a bit,

In deadly shock from the disastrous shame.

I looked before my eyes; a girl stood there,

And on her face she woren’t one expression

Of mirth or fear or happiness: blank-stare.

I could not stand to see solemnity.

The final deaths, too, were poorly done

Cheated Audience not one hanged man did see.

All I could do was wonder where the fun

Of seeing death and gory scenes had gone.

Concluded best and sound in every way;

No Crucible has place in high school plays.

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