Please, give me the possible answer of the line from “The Scratch” by Raymond Carver within 300 words.
Hey, I really looked for suff on this poem but came up with nothing. I read it carefully though. There seems tobe an underlying theme of masculinity here. I think in particular, wounded masculinity,
woke up with a spot of blood
over my eye. A scratch
halfway across my forehead.
But I'm sleeping alone these days.
Why on earth would a man raise his hand
against himself, even in sleep?
It's this and similar questions
I'm trying to answer this morning.
As I study my face in the window.
The wounds of men manifested in blood rather than inward emotion. That's my take!
