This extraordinary, brief poem is striking,
among other things, for the contrast it
throws up between a 'major' public event
and the profound everyday–ness of our
common existences. Here, the startling
difference between the social 'drama' of
Freddie's death and the speaker's local
experience and significant inner world is
brought out by the matter–of–fact tone (the
lovely straightforwardness and rhythm of
line 7!) and the very real life, 'on the
mountain', she describes. The pathos of
thwarted love is in there too, and the
difficult mismatch of desire, all in ironic
juxtaposition to the poem's title and hinted
at merely — the truth told, mainly, 'slant'.
Lastly, as a reader I take real pleasure from
the bare, worldly factuality of the closing
line's tetrameter, and its contrast with that
'childlike hand'.
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