I remember the film. Olivia de Havilland was devoted to Ida Lupino, I think,
or rather Charlotte to Emily.
Haworth is just two miles over the top from my house. I have been to the
vicarage , The Parsonage, and seen the black leather horse hair stuffed sofa
on which Emily died, a nice afternoon out * grin*. Its a miserable place.
The windows of the house overlook the packed cemetery and they must have
filed through the graves to go to the village or to church. That would be at
a time when the Main Street was reported to run with putrefaction, from the
graveyard, when it rained. Its now the main tourist area.
Oh yes the poem. This is a sad poem, G, and well told, as usual. I am not
clear about how addled eggs duck and the enigmatic, to me, simile placed at
the very end of an explicit and clear poem leaves me puzzled. It might have
ended better at 'boo'. Of course, that might just be me. Somehow with your
cinema references and black horseman, ' the snort of hoarse laughter'
reminds me of James Mason! Should it?? Regards Arthur.
----- Original Message -----
From: "grasshopper" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Monday, November 25, 2002 8:32 PM
Subject: New sub: The horseman
> The horseman
>
> Her eyes are bleached by disappointment;
> the years have been unkind.
> She brushes down her oatmeal skirt
>
> and checks her lipstick in the mirror,
> careful not to meet her gaze.
> She saw a film once, years ago,
>
> when her irises were deep with hope,
> where death was a cloaked rider
> mounted on a great black steed.
>
> Now she is afraid she will open the door
> not to a horseman but to empty dark,
> and a snort of hoarse laughter -
>
> no steam from a stallion's nostrils.
> She looks at the world wearily, warily,
> expecting geese to say boo
>
> and swans to duck like addled eggs.
>
> grasshopper
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