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« From My Diary No. 3 – February 2020 | Main | David Lehman, Denise Duhamel & Nin Andrews: Reading at the KGB Tonight 4/12/21 »

April 11, 2021

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Oh, man. That's good! Thank you, Daniel!

Well, I wasn't too scared to read "Banshee", but I am too scared to read it a second time.*

Excellent work!

* I have the added burden of my grandmother spell binding me by telling my 4, 5, 6-year old self that in the far west of Galway where she was a child, the banshees came during the night screaming and driving(!) rattling, horse-drawn black carriages past the houses to be affected by the tragedy.

another great pick Terence, brilliantly done Daniel

"-- a noise so unlike/ the steady beep and hum of machines..." what a brilliant transition!

Powerful Powerful

So powerful. I read it with trepidation--about the plot line, not the banshees--and OMG the relief the last line brought. Thanks, both Tobin and Winch.

Great poem!

Beautiful poem!

Palpable, Daniel. This journey, whew!

Amazing how much you have managed to intertwine in a poem of this length. The ending is just beautiful!


Thanks, Pat. Banshee trauma is a common affliction in Irish households.


Thanks, mo chara is fearr.


Thank you, Clarinda.

Just beautiful...

Perfect art pick for the haunting Banshee!


Thanks, Maureen. (I was hoping someone would notice.)

Despite the references to the banshee, the poet seems to move effortlessly, even peacefully, from scene to scene, perhaps because the "you" toward whom the poem has been moving is healed and so clearly beloved.

'Banshee" is a poem as stunning single sentence, perfectly
delivered, with many a pin-drop turn, including the final,
touching last lines.

Jeez I love the heartbeat in this poem, how the lines punch forward in their great measure. Music to live by! The trip we take!

This is gorgeous and moving. I am noting, of course, the way you move from scene to scene...

Daniel Tobin's "Banshee" is impressively foreboding and, toward the end, forgiving in its unfolding. Everything in the poem works not only as it might but also as it must. The structure and diction are faultless. Irish lore and medical ills entwine in this apprehensive descent into what is, finally, two gestures of tenderness, simple yet profound. It is the anodyne of touch given and received as caress.

"and knew then that no prayer could save" that line brings me back to her back-lit chair....
I like that a lot...

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