Sally-ee. The Solomon Islands are a long way from Africa, but I do take your
point.
----- Original Message -----
From: "Sally Evans" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Sunday, January 27, 2002 6:14 PM
Subject: Re: New sub: The turning
> on 27/1/02 5:31 pm, Arthur at [log in to unmask] wrote:
>
> Arthur, why don't yu call it Receiving bad news in Africa? A title can
often
> elucidate a poem and make much more sense of it to readers.
> Sally-ee
>
> > Actually I was doing VSO in the Solomon Islands, halfway around the
world
> > when I received a message deep in the bush that my mother had had three
> > massive strokes. I made the journey home in 4 days. The crowd were
locals
> > who mourned with great howling shouts. I was more subdued and they came
to
> > see how I would mourn. Stiff upper lip and all that.
> > ----- Original Message -----
> > From: "cara may" <[log in to unmask]>
> > To: <[log in to unmask]>
> > Sent: Sunday, January 27, 2002 5:16 PM
> > Subject: Re: New sub: The turning
> >
> >
> >> Arthur, I think this is a soldier whose
> >> officers/colleagues have arranged his compassionate
> >> leave. You could try the historic present tense. You
> >> would then have to say
> >> 'I lay my book aside' but this more active form may be
> >> preferable. I find a lovely economy in the phrasing
> >> for the most part. (I think you could do without the
> >> last two lines). The image of the folding of the
> >> sheets from the line is brilliant since it seems to
> >> make a connection with the work of the mother back
> >> home (I know today it would be sexist to suggest this
> >> but I presume we are dealing with an earlier time).
> >> How about 'chased over grass'?
> >>
> >> cheers, cara
> >>
> >> --- Arthur <[log in to unmask]> wrote: >
> >>> Above the low murmur, my name,
> >>>
> >>> beyond the thin curtains.
> >>>
> >>> My book laid aside,
> >>>
> >>> I went out into the glare
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> of their scrutiny. They stood
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> gathered under trees
> >>>
> >>> where light through leaves
> >>>
> >>> chased over the grass
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> and drifts of kapok blew.
> >>>
> >>> They waited as I read the message.
> >>>
> >>> My mother, somewhere, at home,
> >>>
> >>> home , somewhere, my mother was dying.
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> Staring, they watched
> >>>
> >>> as I folded the paper neat as a
> >>>
> >>> bed-sheet fresh from the line
> >>>
> >>> and tucked it into the breast pocket
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> of my chilled, soaked shirt.
> >>>
> >>> I turned to find my long road
> >>>
> >>> as waves lapped the jetty
> >>>
> >>> stirred by a wind from the west.
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> In silence I turned my back upon them,
> >>>
> >>> my face toward home.
> >>>
> >>
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