My son is four. His teacher swooned on a grey pavement
Five miles from here and died. From where she lay, her new skirt
Flapped and fluttered, a green flag, half-mast, to proclaim death’s
Minor triumphs. The wind was strong, the poor men carried
Pink elephant-gods to the sea that day. They moved in
Long gaudy processions, they clapped cymbals, they beat drums
And they sang aloud, she who lay in a faint was drowned
in their song. The evening paper carried the news. He
Bathed, drank milk, wrote two crooked lines of Ds and waited.
But the dead rang no doorbell. He is only four.
For many years he will not be told that tragedy
Flew over him one afternoon, an old sad bird, and
Gently touched his shoulder with its wing.
The wind was strong/the poor men carried pink elephant-Gods to the sea that day/ She who lay lifeless on the road.Her new skirt flapped like a green flag and her existence announced by the green flag drowned in the cymbals of the God’s procession. The poet’s four-years old son bathed ,drank milk,wrote two crooked lines of Ds and waited .The dead rang no door-bell. A tragic experience from the poet’s own life. Poetry of the personal kind.
Imagery is effectively used , like the green flag of her skirt fluttering in the wind announcing death’s minor triumphs .Minor because it made no difference to the world which went on with its procession of God with cymbals drowning her death in its sound.The child wrote two crooked lines of D’s ,perhaps of the triumph of Death’s crooked ways ,like the way in which a young woman’s life has been cut short on her way to the poet’s house .The old sad bird ,tragedy ,has touched him on his shoulder briefly and the child will not fully understand its implication for many years to come.Tragedy has swooped down on him like a gray bird touching him briefly but he does not understand it fully at this age.
