Thanks for the careful thoughts and comments, Bob.
The last line can certainly go. I think I did that
sort of thing once before and received similar
feed-back. I'm a slow learner.
Maybe you've identified the main problem with the way
the poem communicates as being the shifting
narratorial stance. (Maybe 'narratorial' isn't the
right word but I have to leave this site in a couple
of minutes and can't do better just now. I think it
communicates and I sometimes feel like being
pre-Johnson or whoever would have licked words into
shape if he hadn't got there first.)
cheers, cara
--- Bob Cooper <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Hi cara,
> I've been carrying the poem's narrative around with
> me for a while
> (intrigued with it - because of something I'm
> working on too!).
> I too have wondered about the loose last line... I
> tend to think it feels
> lost on its own (and may be gathering more impact
> than it deserves -- or, at
> least, detracts from all else that the poem's
> saying).
> I'm more intrigued, tho, by the point of view
> adopted by the poet. In the
> 1st stanza the poet could be a neighbour... But the
> 2nd stanza makes the
> poet more like someone with a cam-corder until we're
> allowed into a
> neighbour's head and we know what she's thinking...
> Then the 3rd stanza gets
> into other neighbours heads as well...
> I'm wondering if the poet BECAME a particular person
> who's seeing all this
> (and knows things about what's going on as well -
> but, perhaps not
> everything - then lots of things (like the poem's
> shape, as well as what
> information we're given) may get sorted. Different
> narrators would see
> different things, know different things. (Who the
> person is - who's become
> the narrator - needn't be discolosed tho! But their
> identity could be...
> That's another choice!)
> Bob
>
>
> >From: cara may <[log in to unmask]>
> >Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works
> <[log in to unmask]>
> >To: [log in to unmask]
> >Subject: New Sub: The Three Sisters
> >Date: Fri, 15 Mar 2002 15:47:27 +0000
> >
> > The Three Sisters
> >
> >
> >
> > They come on Sundays now,
> > touch their long dark hair into place
> > as they slide out of the emerald Clio,
> > wave, blow kisses, to their mother,
> > dance down the steps into the hill-side
>
>
>
>
>
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