[Carol Taylor]

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<tr><td>All I Need to Know

You kissed me and I watched you walk away.
Well, no, that isn’t true. I meant to watch,
but found that I’d got something in my eye
and had to blink it out, and then you’d gone.
I never saw which way you went, or if
you cast a backwards glance. I didn’t see
how straight your shoulders were, whether you strode
with purpose or reluctance, fast or slow,
shuffling, hands in pockets, eyes cast down,
or light of step, arms swinging carelessly
as though the world had settled back in place.
After, I wished I’d watched you out of sight
or even run behind you, called your name
so I could picture you without this blur,
but all I can recall of saying goodbye
is mumbled words "I love you" and "take care"
and that quick kiss before you walked away.
When I could see I gathered up my purse
and slipped into the loo to fix my face.
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[center]<table bgcolor=white cellpadding=25 border=0><tr><td>This poem is a good lesson in the importance of what is omitted. We're not told why this parting is taking place, whether there is to be a reunion, or when--if ever--or even how the person who departed feels about the parting or the speaker. We're told that certain words were "mumbled," but not by whom, and don't learn until the very end that this is a woman speaking. And somehow the omissions, far from creating confusion, add to the drama and make the situation more emotionally compelling.

The opening line--denied immediately in line 2--drew me into the poem right away, incurable romantic that I am, and so did the details not seen from line 6 -11, with their vain search for the emotional content that may have been present, and the final simple female gesture that also sets the event somewhere in the old British empire, with that "loo." The blank verse is beautifully handled, and the diction is deceptively simple. I'm hunting for nits, but not finding any.

The title feels like a bow to Keats, but I'm not finding the Keats connection in the poem itself.

~Rhina

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[Rose Kelleher]

I see what you mean about what's not said. I keep wondering whether the speaker really had something in her eye, or that's her euphemism for "bawling her eyes out." And I wonder if both said "I love you" and "I care" or if she said the former and he (I picture a he, though that's not said either) replied with the latter.

I take it the title is meant to imply that though she's curious to know all these little details about how he behaved as he left, all she really needs to know is that he's gone.

[Roger Slater]

The blank verse really is quite wonderful. The lines feel as integral as if they rhymed, even though most of the full stops and sentences happen mid-line (and even though the diction is entirely natural and varied and the language is so clear), a trick I can admire without being able to reproduce.

[Margaret Moore]

This is the first time I've read this poem and I think it's very good indeed in an understated, unshowy way.

I really admire the integration of natural-sounding colloquial speech within the metrical scheme and the interesting variations in pause-patterns.

The final couplet is excellent. I see the speaker as a duty-bound 'coper' in the Celia Johnson (Brief Encounter) mould, who would regard makeup as an essential component in her armour against life's hazards.

Margaret.

[Tim Murphy]

I've never written a poem in blank verse. If I do, I hope it is as good as this. It is full of litotes, the heroic understatement employed by the Beowulf poet; and that, and the smashing last line are responsible for its emotional power.

[Janet Kenny]

Rhina has said anything I might have wanted to say about this fine poem, and said it a great deal more succinctly. The understatement is more dramatic than any overt emotion. My congratulations to the poet.
And do you know, I didn't even notice that it didn't rhyme. The reverse statement is always offered as a compliment. I believe the opposite can also be a compliment.
Janet

[Clay Stockton]

Loved this at TDE, love it here. That "s" consonance in the last three lines--kiss, purse, face--is to die for. Yowza.

--CS

[Maggie Porter]

There is so much to like in this poem and so many extraneous words to stumble on (unfortunately). It has a sing song quality that is disrupted by these words, these conversational words. I'm concerned that a misplaced modifier is identified as the culprit in another poem reveiwed in this exercise but the SNAFUS in this one go without comment. And in this one, they actually annoy me as a reader:

but found that I’d got something in my eye

After, I wished I’d watched you out of sight

or EVEN run behind you, called your name (very, very extraneous use of EVEN here, ouch!)

And this:

After, I wished I’d watched you out of sight
or even run behind you, called your name
so I could picture you without this blur,
but all I can recall of saying goodbye
is mumbled words "I love you" and "take care"

Ahem. After, blah blah, or blah blah, BUT but but...
what? After this, then WHAT? Now this is where spoken and written English are both in complete, absolute error. I'm actually astounded that this is missed.

Oh, it can be overlooked in light of the lovely nature of the thought itself (wonderful little idea, very lovely...nostalgic, sheesh, I'm in a train station in the 1940's on this one, BINGO for that)...

But the poem definitely deserves a better crit than it has received.. A crit that actually DEMANDS that this poem be somewhat in agreement with the rules of speech.

[Rhina P. Espaillat]

Does anyone else out there find that the rules of written and spoken English have been very well served by the stanza cited above, or am I--poor thing--the only functional illiterate here?

[Simon Hunt]

I'm with you, Ms. Espaillat. In fact, I have some trouble following the criticism of the stanza. It seems to be that "After" cannot function in the way the poet uses it. Is that right, Ms. Porter? If so, you are not correct. "After" can work in this way, rather like "later." If your criticism is other than this, could you please explain it? I have no objection to your disagreeing with the prevailing assessment of this poem (which I loved when I saw it a few months ago and love still), but I think your charge that the lariat's critique is unworthy is inelegant at best.