Re triple use of smeared, I am interested in the strengths and weaknesses of
repetition. Sometimes I use a word twice by accident and then think that if
I use it a third time it will look intentional. (Said mischievously rather
than as a serious comment.) Sometimes different forms of the word can be
used and associations built up. Staying true to the situation (the speech of
this person) has its own strengths. However the risk is that it won't carry
into the life experience of the reader because they haven't met that person
or any  person who emphasized that word in that way.

Re the poem, I like it a lot. To undermine what I said about carrying into
the life of the reader it certainly matches my experience of older people
who have survived traumatic events.

Re the ending I like it a lot too because it allows me to generalize about
how much is lost when a person dies. The process is continued when the last
person that knew them has died. How much do I know about my forebears, other
than their names and occupations? Poetry keeps things going in the family
longer. And your poem about this person has already conveyed more than a
name only and some dates.

Could the title be, Visiting Sonny in Ward 3? (because punchier)

Colin

> -----Original Message-----
> From: arthur seeley [SMTP:[log in to unmask]]
> Sent: Tuesday, December 31, 2002 7:17 AM
> To:   [log in to unmask]
> Subject:      Re: New Sub: A Visit with Sonny in Ward 3.( Bob)
>
> Thanks for the read Bob and the comments. Smeared is in three times
> actually. I troubled over this a while. I needed to stay authentically
> voiced and Sonny did use the word in a terrified disbelieving way when he
> remembered how his brother died. I repeat it in the manner he did and hope
> the way I use it allows some poetic commentary in as in " smeared walls
> are
> whitewashed now " is a physical and metaphorical truth. The repetition of
> the bundle on the neck is true and valid in the same way. I will however
> think about it.
> The line you mentioned is long and I wondered at the age  reference as a
> necessity at all, but 13 and 14 year olds were on the streets that Oct/Nov
> and it is a relevance as a comment on rites of passage.Your alternative
> seems fair enough and I will consider it. Again thanks for your comments
> and
> the time taken. Regards Arthur
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Bob Cooper" <[log in to unmask]>
> To: <[log in to unmask]>
> Sent: Monday, December 30, 2002 6:57 PM
> Subject: Re: New Sub: A Visit with Sonny in Ward 3.
>
>
> Hi Arthur,
> This is a fine read! Monologues are powerful. And you've got a really
> powerful ending!
> As a crit all I'm wondering about is the line:
> "I was seventeen when I came to England with no language except," and I
> feel
> there's too many words... could it be
> "I was 17 when I came, no English except,
> "A job please," "how much for that loaf of bread."
> or something like that...
> and the word "smeared" (wow, what a powerful word!) is so powerful I can't
> help but notice it's used twice!
> But it's a fine read (that's easily made finer!),
> Bob
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> >From: arthur seeley <[log in to unmask]>
> >Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
> >To: [log in to unmask]
> >Subject: New Sub: A Visit with Sonny in Ward 3.
> >Date: Mon, 30 Dec 2002 12:06:35 -0000
> >
> >A Visit with Sonny in Ward 3.
> >
> >
> >
> >The river was cold as death in November '56
> >
> >when I piled my clothes on my neck,
> >
> >slid naked through the reeds
> >
> >and swam into Austria.
> >
> >We had fought their tanks with bottles of petrol,
> >
> >that is no myth, but many of us died for our impudence.
> >
> >They smeared my brother against a wall
> >
> >as he screamed at me, " Go!"
> >
> >
> >
> >You do not really want to know
> >
> >how we waited and waited for days.
> >
> >We fought tanks with bottles and waited
> >
> >for you to come to us but you never came.
> >
> >In the end some of us died screaming, some went home,
> >
> >some of us came to you;
> >
> >slid through reeds and swam a river
> >
> >that plucked the breath from us.
> >
> >
> >
> >I stood on the far bank and  shivered
> >
> >as I watched the river curve on
> >
> >through the stubbled fields and low farms
> >
> >on towards the smeared walls and clatter of tanks.
> >
> >I was seventeen when I came to England with no language except,
> >
> >a job please and how much is a loaf of bread
> >
> >but I could live now with no bundle on my back
> >
> >and walk without looking behind.
> >
> >
> >
> >I have been home three times since
> >
> >to see my sisters and give them money.
> >
> >The river still swirls brown under the Margit Hid
> >
> >but the smeared walls of the city
> >
> >are whitewashed now.
> >
> >Do you think they will put all this
> >
> >on my gravestone, Arthur?
> >
> >or just my name and some dates?
>
>
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