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- Thread starter CassandraW
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Thank you for reading.
Yes, a child. It is drawn from a recurring dream (one that rather haunts me).
Yes, a child. It is drawn from a recurring dream (one that rather haunts me).
Ah, those dreams that haunt . . .
Thanks for letting me know it was a child. Your poem was haunting me and I had to know. (I could 'see' this child, and sense the urgency.) So, again, good stuff . . . I liked this very much.
Thanks for letting me know it was a child. Your poem was haunting me and I had to know. (I could 'see' this child, and sense the urgency.) So, again, good stuff . . . I liked this very much.
Thank you so much, Sara.
I've done a recording on soundcloud, if anyone is interested. I've become a soundcloud addict. I was that kid in English class who always had her hand up, begging to read aloud.
I've done a recording on soundcloud, if anyone is interested. I've become a soundcloud addict. I was that kid in English class who always had her hand up, begging to read aloud.
kborsden
Has a few recurring issues
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I remember being that child. I had wandered off at the train station, let go of my mother's hand because I was a 'big boy' and big boys don't need their mams. Needless to say, within minutes of realizing I couldn't see her, people bumping into me, concerned only with their own journey, I was a blubbering, sniffling mess... a kind old lady gripped my hand and brought me to my mother who was equally a sobbing mess.
Thank you for reading, Kie.
Yes, there is a special brand of oblivious single-mindedness that afflicts people when they're dashing for a train. I've been swatted by a briefcase or a backpack, tripped, or had my toes trodden on (with nary an apology) more times than I can count. The mob sometimes feels blind and inhuman, a force of nature with no more regard for individuals than a storm at sea.
It stresses me out as an adult -- I can only imagine (and obviously, I do) how terrifying it would be for a lost child.
Yes, there is a special brand of oblivious single-mindedness that afflicts people when they're dashing for a train. I've been swatted by a briefcase or a backpack, tripped, or had my toes trodden on (with nary an apology) more times than I can count. The mob sometimes feels blind and inhuman, a force of nature with no more regard for individuals than a storm at sea.
It stresses me out as an adult -- I can only imagine (and obviously, I do) how terrifying it would be for a lost child.
Read this again tonight and (as a once & future lost child) felt your words & images captured the scene - it took 3 or 4 reads to get back to the adult perspective, for this reader. Quite an effective poem!!
Thank you for reading, Mag.
Of course the poem focuses on the child being buffeted and trampled by the crowd. But I was also trying to subtly convey that the narrator is as well (not sure how well that came through -- I didn't want it to dominate the poem, but I did want to hint it). She is not Kie's wise kindly old lady who swiftly reunites parent and child and makes everything better. She is simply a person who sees the child's misery and cannot just swarm by with the rest of the hive. The child is no closer to home at the end of the poem. (Neither, for that matter, is the narrator.)
Of course the poem focuses on the child being buffeted and trampled by the crowd. But I was also trying to subtly convey that the narrator is as well (not sure how well that came through -- I didn't want it to dominate the poem, but I did want to hint it). She is not Kie's wise kindly old lady who swiftly reunites parent and child and makes everything better. She is simply a person who sees the child's misery and cannot just swarm by with the rest of the hive. The child is no closer to home at the end of the poem. (Neither, for that matter, is the narrator.)
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I forgot to add that I felt that rise of panic a mom feels when her child is no longer at her side. Reading it again, there is such a feeling of empathy coming from the rescuer. The rescuer seems to want to do more than help this child. They want to protect and shelter. To put themselves between the child and the indifference of the other people in the area.
Thank you so much for reading, CindyGirl.
We do not want to enter the dream-generating portion of my brain. It is a dismal and terrifying place. For everyone's sake, I shall stick strictly to the poem.
The child and the narrator are two separate beings, not aspects of the same person. I did, however, intend to draw a common feeling between them in the way both are hemmed in and shoved about by the mindless crowd.
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And yes -- this is definitely a feeling I am trying to convey.
We do not want to enter the dream-generating portion of my brain. It is a dismal and terrifying place. For everyone's sake, I shall stick strictly to the poem.
The child and the narrator are two separate beings, not aspects of the same person. I did, however, intend to draw a common feeling between them in the way both are hemmed in and shoved about by the mindless crowd.
- - - Updated - - -
And yes -- this is definitely a feeling I am trying to convey.
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The child's fear and the compassionate obligation of the narrator comes through, as does the 'buffeting' of both of them. I felt her desperation to fight through the oblivious mob to get to the child. Nicely done!
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