Dear Arthur,
       This is very poignant, but I think the uncertainty about who 'they'
are is an unnecessary distraction from the emotional content of the poem.Do
you feel earthing the poem a little with a few details about the situation
would spoil it?
My own interpretation was that it was a boy at public school who had just
been given news of his mother's illness, perhaps during an outside sports
session or similiar.
 Just one small point: I'm lucky enough to be able to read rich text, but
some people receive it as garbage. It's easy to forget this,( and I nearly
replied in rich text) but the protocols of The Works do ask us to post in
plain text.
Kind regards,
grasshopper

----- Original Message -----
From: Arthur
To: [log in to unmask]
Sent: Saturday, January 26, 2002 2:19 PM
Subject: New sub: The turning



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.