R.T.S.L. (1917-1977) Comments

I find here an individualist look at the scene when someone has died, aged sixty. 'The glazed eyelid', 'the wax gleam', 'the unwrinkled forehead'-this is what I recall from visiting a morgue where a parent's body lay. Still the same body but somehow artificial now after the embalming by the mortician. Derek Walcott tells it like it is; the emotional touch 'break down and weep' is like an afterthought. Sheer artistry in an unforgettable poem.