Today's poet

My daughter gave me 'Being Alive' and 'Being Human' for Fathers Day http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...bit/banana.gif

Thanks Rachel xx

You are a lucky man, both for now owning the poetry books and for obviously having a lovely daughter! Hope you have a nice day. :D

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Originally Posted by Alf

My daughter gave me 'Being Alive' and 'Being Human' for Fathers Day http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...bit/banana.gif

Thanks Rachel xx

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That's totally gorgeous Alf, I've not read it before. One to note I think.

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Originally Posted by Alf

Hes choice made me think of this one.

The Untamed

My garden is the wild
Sea of the grass. Her garden
Shelters between walls.
The tide could break in;
I should be sorry for this.

There is peace there of a kind,
Though not the deep peace
Of wild places. Her care
For green life has enabled
The weak things to grow.

Despite my first love,
I take sometimes her hand,
Following strait paths
Between flowers, the nostril
Clogged with their thick scent.

The old softness of lawns
Persuading the slow foot
Leads to defection: the silence
Holds with its gloved hand
The wild hawk of the mind.

But not for long, windows,
Opening in the trees
Call the mind back
To its true eyrie: I stoop
Here only in play.

R.S. Thomas

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Ha ha, that's a great illustration for the poem Stolly! Harry is obviously a dog of great character and individuality and I'm pleased to hear that he is a poetry lover too!;)

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Originally Posted by Stolly

Brilliant Hester. Harry loves that poem :)

http://img840.imageshack.us/img840/6350/p6120033.jpg

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Just read this poem in Being Human and I like it, although the love described seems to be about possession which goes against my ideal of love...but there are so many sorts out there, I guess that's what makes life interesting!:)

Tamer and Hawk
by Thom Gunn

I thought I was so tough,
But gentled at your hands,
Cannot be quick enough
To fly for you and show
That when I go I go
At your commands.

Even in flight above
I am no longer free:
You seeled me with your love,
I am blind to other birds?
The habit of your words
Has hooded me.

As formerly, I wheel
I hover and I twist,
But only want the feel,
In my possessive thought,
Of catcher and of caught
Upon your wrist.

You but half civilize,
Taming me in this way.
Through having only eyes
For you I fear to lose,
I lose to keep,
and choose Tamer as prey.

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Originally Posted by Stevie

Here's my 2pennethworth. Probably completely wrong!


BLACK VILLAGE OF GRAVE STONES – the graveyard is a big part of Heptonstall, which has obvious significance for Ted Hughes as I believe he was born there, and he lived there with Sylvia who is also buried in the churchyard.

SKULL OF AN IDIOT – suspect this will be a local who you will probably know about. Maybe John Hartley the Coiner maybe not. I have seen Hartley’s grave in the old churchyard but not sure why Hughes would call him an idiot. Any other contenders? Perhaps Hughes is referring to himself as the idiot. He comes from here after all.

WHOSE DREAMS DIE BACK
WHERE THEY WERE BORN – the idiot was born here and now he dies here, without fulfilling his dreams. Hughes predicting his own demise and burial?


SKULL OF A SHEEP
WHOSE MEAT MELTS
UNDER IT'S OWN RAFTERS – reference to life and death in and around Heptonstall. Hughes likens the bare ribs of a dead and decaying sheep to the rafters of a roof.

ONLY THE FLIES LEAVE IT - if it is left by flies it must be pretty rank but obviously not left by scavengers etc? Not particularly getting this line.

SKULL OF A BIRD – while we’re on death and skulls how about birds, whose skulls will no doubt be seen occasionally on the moors.

THE GREAT GEOGRAPHIE – not getting a connection here between skull of a bird and the great geographie. What I take from the great geographie is the moorland landscape cut by deep valleys as it is.

DRAINED TO SUTURES – sutures = bridges? Can’t think of anything else. The water drains off the moors and into the deeply cut valleys. Cuts are closed by sutures and valley sides are joined by bridges across rivers, also joining the communities on either side.

OF CRACKED WINDOWSILLS - likening the deeply cut landscape to windowsills rotted by rain and now splitting into cuts down which water runs. So the cracked window sills are a similie for the moorland landscape.

LIFE TRIES. – We try to live in this vast, damp, space that is full of death, on the moor as in the churchyard.

DEATH TRIES. – Death tries to take us, despite us trying to live.

THE STONE TRIES. – Hmm interesting, the stone houses, the stone walls, the rocks in the landscape – these all seem to resist the effects of decay.

ONLY THE RAIN NEVER TRIES – it just is; an ever present feature of life. It blackens the grave stones, melts the dead sheep, drains off the moor and into the rivers, rots and cracks the windowsills and makes them look like the landscape. In some ways it defines the landscape and the village – the stone houses built to resist the rain and preserve life, the bridges built to join the people either side of the fast flowing rivers.


Maybe our village idiot has something to do with all this. Maybe Hughes is referring to himself as the village idiot. Perhaps there is a reference to the death of Sylvia, I don’t know whether this poem pre-dates or post dates her suicide. Possibly his dreams of life with Sylvia are now reduced to her grave in this village that is shaped by the rain. Timing is critical. If the timing is not right this bit is rubbish.


BTW I like the look of your new race - down to Horse Bridge, up past the memorial to Pecket Well Mill and on to High Brown Knoll, then back. Definitely tempted.

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Stevie - fantastic response - love teh moodiness of those words - looking forward to seeing you on 9th July in the Black Village of Gravestones - hopefully the gala will cheer it up a bit!!

If it wasn't for Bloodaxe Books I probably would never have read a lot of these brilliant poems :cool:

here is one from 'Being Alive'

Sleeping With The Fishes


When I was a goldfish you never noticed me.
Every day I would watch you eat breakfast.
I knew your favourite cereal, how many times
you would chew before you swallowed each spoonful.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays you worked late.
You bought Chinese food and ate it in front of the TV.
This invariably gave you indigestion.
I did worry about you - you always looked so tired.

At night I would circle round while you could not sleep.
I would sing you lullabies that you could not hear.
Sweet tunes to drift you away to a place I would never go,
until the light of morning broke through the dirty window.

When one night you didn't come back from work,
I watched the mail pile up for days, alone in your empty house.
The phone rang once, but I couldn't reach it.
Was it you? Did you phone me? Did you?

I dreamt you chose to swim with me.
You liked the patterns light makes on the surface.
How the world distorts with each turning tide
as icy water soothed your tired eyes.

Helen Ivory

so many great choices on here in the past 24 hours from MG, Hes and the Alfster ....going to take my time and read through them again...in the meantime for all you dog lovers here is one from simon armitage, he read it at dufton if i recall correctly...

Before You Cut Loose,
put dogs on the list
of difficult things to lose. Those dogs ditched
on the North York Moors or the Sussex Downs
or hurled like bags of sand from rented cars
have followed their noses to market towns
and bounced like balls into their owners' arms.
I heard one story of a dog that swam
to the English coast from the Isle of Man,
and a dog that carried eggs and bacon
and a morning paper from the village
surfaced umpteen leagues and two years later,
bacon eaten but the eggs unbroken,
newsprint dry as tinder, to the letter.
A dog might wander the width of the map
to bury its head in its owner's lap,
crawl the last mile to dab a bleeding paw
against its own front door. To die at home,
a dog might walk its four legs to the bone.
You can take off the tag and the collar
but a dog wears one coat and one colour.
A dog got rid of--that's a dog for life.
No dog howls like a dog kicked out at night.
Try looking a dog like that in the eye.

popped intro my fave second hand book shop on saturday and purchased a few simon armitage books including the book of matches and the dead sea poems, here's one from the latter...

Give
Of all the public places, dear
to make a scene, I've chosen here.
Of all the doorways in the world
to choose to sleep, I’ve chosen yours.
I'm on the street, under the stars.
For coppers I can dance or sing.
For silver-swallow swords, eat fire.
For gold-escape from locks and chains.
It's not as if I'm holding out
for frankincense or myrrh, just change.
You give me tea. That's big of you.
I'm on my knees. I beg of you.




whats a poem?...
http://entertainment.timesonline.co....cle7105170.ece

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Originally Posted by Hes

Just read this poem in Being Human and I like it, although the love described seems to be about possession which goes against my ideal of love...but there are so many sorts out there, I guess that's what makes life interesting!:)

Tamer and Hawk
by Thom Gunn

I thought I was so tough,
But gentled at your hands,
Cannot be quick enough
To fly for you and show
That when I go I go
At your commands.

Even in flight above
I am no longer free:
You seeled me with your love,
I am blind to other birds?
The habit of your words
Has hooded me.

As formerly, I wheel
I hover and I twist,
But only want the feel,
In my possessive thought,
Of catcher and of caught
Upon your wrist.

You but half civilize,
Taming me in this way.
Through having only eyes
For you I fear to lose,
I lose to keep,
and choose Tamer as prey.

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gorgeous hes and i also really liked alfs fish poem, magical!