Today's poet

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Alf

Norfolk

How did the devil come? When first attack?
These Norfolk lanes recall lost innocence,
The years fall off and find me walking back
Dragging a stick along the wooden fence
Down this same path, where, forty years ago,
My father strolled behind me, calm and slow.

I used to fill my hand with sorrel seeds
And shower him with them from the tops of stiles,
I used to butt my head into his tweeds
To make him hurry down those languorous miles
Of ash and alder-shaded lanes, till here
Our moorings and the masthead would appear.

Then there was supper lit by lantern light
And in the cabin I could lie secure
And hear against the polished sides at night
The lap lap lapping of the weedy Bure,
Dear whispering and watery Norfolk sound
Which told of all the moonlit reeds around.

How did the devil come? When first attack?
The church is just the same, though now I know
Fowler of Louth restored it. Time, bring back
The rapturous ignorance of long ago,
The peace, before the dreadful daylight starts
Of unkept promises and broken hearts.

JOHN BETJEMAN

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That's a magnificent poem Alf, thanks. A new one for me which I'm also going to pass onto a friend.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

My Crow

A crow flew into the tree outside my window.
It was not Ted Hughes's crow, or Galway's crow,
Or Frost's, Pasternak's, or Lorca's crow.
Or one of Homer's crows, stuffed with gore,
after the battle. This was just a crow.
That never fit in anywhere in its life,
or did anything worth mentioning.
It sat there on a branch for a few minutes.
Then picked up and flew beautifully
out of my life.

Raymond Carver

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Now I'm confused. There's something obviously allegorical about this poem, and I've re-read it several times, but I'm just not getting it. What meaning does it have for you Hes? Is he perhaps suggesting that 'fame' , notoriety, or whatever is no better than obscurity, what's important is being yourself? Or is it about being relaxed about something that's missing or was lost? Never amounted to anything? Or maybe something else entirely?

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Alf

Norfolk

How did the devil come? When first attack?
These Norfolk lanes recall lost innocence,
The years fall off and find me walking back
Dragging a stick along the wooden fence
Down this same path, where, forty years ago,
My father strolled behind me, calm and slow.

I used to fill my hand with sorrel seeds
And shower him with them from the tops of stiles,
I used to butt my head into his tweeds
To make him hurry down those languorous miles
Of ash and alder-shaded lanes, till here
Our moorings and the masthead would appear.

Then there was supper lit by lantern light
And in the cabin I could lie secure
And hear against the polished sides at night
The lap lap lapping of the weedy Bure,
Dear whispering and watery Norfolk sound
Which told of all the moonlit reeds around.

How did the devil come? When first attack?
The church is just the same, though now I know
Fowler of Louth restored it. Time, bring back
The rapturous ignorance of long ago,
The peace, before the dreadful daylight starts
Of unkept promises and broken hearts.

JOHN BETJEMAN

---

brilliant choice alf....i love the way he plays with time within this poem, the harking back to a simpler era and linking this with life's inevitable disappointments in the here and now...very elegant!

ps i once had a very relaxing soothing break in norfolk i really like the place, there is something about it which is very calming

That's a really good question Mossy. It is like a lot of my choices, it struck a chord and I reacted to it instinctually but wasn't sure why. However, I've read it quite a few times and for me its about the nameless and inconsequential things that enter our lives briefly and cause ripples that we perhaps don't see/feel at the time because we are looking at the bigger, showier things but I suspect that's just me bending it to suit my own thoughts. I wonder if its to do with Raymond Carver's thoughts about his writing and perhaps his 'muse'? Its called My Crow and do you think he is saying that his muse is elusive?

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

Now I'm confused. There's something obviously allegorical about this poem, and I've re-read it several times, but I'm just not getting it. What meaning does it have for you Hes? Is he perhaps suggesting that 'fame' , notoriety, or whatever is no better than obscurity, what's important is being yourself? Or is it about being relaxed about something that's missing or was lost? Never amounted to anything? Or maybe something else entirely?

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I really liked Machgirl's and Alf's choices too and if I wasn't so tired, I'd pick another myself.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

Now I'm confused. There's something obviously allegorical about this poem, and I've re-read it several times, but I'm just not getting it. What meaning does it have for you Hes? Is he perhaps suggesting that 'fame' , notoriety, or whatever is no better than obscurity, what's important is being yourself? Or is it about being relaxed about something that's missing or was lost? Never amounted to anything? Or maybe something else entirely?

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I think he's saying that sometimes a crow is a crow - it is sufficient and beautiful enough in its self without having to be representative of something "more" meaninful. Like all corvids, they are intelligent, social and co-operative so those things are perhaps less usual subjects of poetry, but not less important.

Or not! Which is the other beauty of a good poem.

I think that's a really good explanation Wormstone. I love the whole corvid family. My mum is currently taking part in 'chough watch' down in Penzance (which causes no end of hilarity with my not so mature friends) and really enjoying watching their behaviour. Funnily enough, I think Robert Frost's poem about the crow shaking snow from the tree says the same thing.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by wormstone

I think he's saying that sometimes a crow is a crow - it is sufficient and beautiful enough in its self without having to be representative of something "more" meaninful. Like all corvids, they are intelligent, social and co-operative so those things are perhaps less usual subjects of poetry, but not less important.

Or not! Which is the other beauty of a good poem.

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Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

That's a really good question Mossy. It is like a lot of my choices, it struck a chord and I reacted to it instinctually but wasn't sure why. However, I've read it quite a few times and for me its about the nameless and inconsequential things that enter our lives briefly and cause ripples that we perhaps don't see/feel at the time because we are looking at the bigger, showier things but I suspect that's just me bending it to suit my own thoughts. I wonder if its to do with Raymond Carver's thoughts about his writing and perhaps his 'muse'? Its called My Crow and do you think he is saying that his muse is elusive?

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Yes, I like that interpretation Hes. Even on my first reading I vividly pictured him staring out of his window, perhaps seeking inspirations, or just plain daydreaming, chin resting on his hand, when the crow came into sight. And of course it did, despite it's quite ordinariness (i.e. not being the key subject of 'heroic' poetry), inspire a stream of thoughts/creativity, as evident by the very poem itself! I think I was initially puzzled by the word 'beautifully', which seemed out of place somehow, but perhaps infact that's the key word which illustrates how the ordinary/extraordinary are simply two faces of the same conceptual coin; a coin which can flip in an instant, from one aspect to the other. Anyway, thanks again for introducing me to a really great poem, which at first simply appears, well, almost ordinary, but not quite!

Strid Wood evening
nascent, ripe, fecundity
warblers and bluebells

In view of today's experiences this poem is appropriate, though I don't share the poet's wishes in the 5th line. It came quite close enough thank you very much :rolleyes:

Buzzard Birds

Manifesting in the high noon sky
He swirls, and turning
Wheels and dives, while I
In awestruck silence wait,
And, breathless, wish him nearer so my eye
Could note his colour and his powerful frame.

Wildness in perfection on the wing.
Buzzard-bird your freedom
Sets my soul a-sing
In praise of noble will
Which dominates yet fetters everything
In woven bands as strong as tempered steel.

Mewing calls resound and split the air
As, gliding into view, another there
Impedes your upward thrust
With pirouettes in ballet-solitaire,
And talons gently touch your fearsome breast.

Monumental speed and wills a-clash
Send earthward sparkling birds
In lovelorn dash,
While I with bated breath
Catch the wonderous moment
When, in victory flash
She SCREAMS, then leads him, conquered, nestward bound.

Fay Slimm

Hi guys,

Just been busy with stuff recently, but am still lurking.

I've had a note from the BOFRA webmaster if we'd like to put the fell poems that were in last year's magazine on their website. Do any of you have any objections to your poems being used? I'll give it a week or so and if I've not heard then I'll send them to him. Hope that's ok. Let me know.

Harry x

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Hi guys,

Just been busy with stuff recently, but am still lurking.

I've had a note from the BOFRA webmaster if we'd like to put the fell poems that were in last year's magazine on their website. Do any of you have any objections to your poems being used? I'll give it a week or so and if I've not heard then I'll send them to him. Hope that's ok. Let me know.

Harry x

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not at all! :o) x

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Hi guys,

Just been busy with stuff recently, but am still lurking.

I've had a note from the BOFRA webmaster if we'd like to put the fell poems that were in last year's magazine on their website. Do any of you have any objections to your poems being used? I'll give it a week or so and if I've not heard then I'll send them to him. Hope that's ok. Let me know.

Harry x

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That's fine by me triple H :)

In the space

in the space between then and to be
the days stretch long
wind around the mind
locked in lazy clarity
obscured by clear reason
and the illusion of thought
coiled, coiling,

the cycle of time stalls, wavers
beyond any measure

I can see it all - yet stand blind
the time nears, recedes out of grasp
like lovers' opportunities
a falling shock of transparency
the thud of absence - a dull toll

hills, homes,
the mundanes of life,
even the trees roll by,
languid in their direction;
when will to be arrive?

the phone on the desk
the used mug, piles of mail
languish under their own weight
yet scream a harsh reality

that 'passage of time' - a shiny, cool
dark snaking tunnel;
above flies the sun
spinning it's way
unmoved, unconcerned
sunk in disinterest
carefree of 'to be'
why should it share concern?

and time, always, always
gets the best of me

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

In the space

in the space between then and to be
the days stretch long
wind around the mind
locked in lazy clarity
obscured by clear reason
and the illusion of thought
coiled, coiling,

the cycle of time stalls, wavers
beyond any measure

I can see it all - yet stand blind
the time nears, recedes out of grasp
like lovers' opportunities
a falling shock of transparency
the thud of absence - a dull toll

hills, homes,
the mundanes of life,
even the trees roll by,
languid in their direction;
when will to be arrive?

the phone on the desk
the used mug, piles of mail
languish under their own weight
yet scream a harsh reality

that 'passage of time' - a shiny, cool
dark snaking tunnel;
above flies the sun
spinning it's way
unmoved, unconcerned
sunk in disinterest
carefree of 'to be'
why should it share concern?

and time, always, always
gets the best of me

---

Oh my gosh, absolutely stunning mossy, poignantly written, very very impressed! "the thud of absence" is probably one of the best lines I have ever read....really! and there is so much here i can relate to x

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mossdog

In the space

in the space between then and to be
the days stretch long
wind around the mind
locked in lazy clarity
obscured by clear reason
and the illusion of thought
coiled, coiling,

the cycle of time stalls, wavers
beyond any measure

I can see it all - yet stand blind
the time nears, recedes out of grasp
like lovers' opportunities
a falling shock of transparency
the thud of absence - a dull toll

hills, homes,
the mundanes of life,
even the trees roll by,
languid in their direction;
when will to be arrive?

the phone on the desk
the used mug, piles of mail
languish under their own weight
yet scream a harsh reality

that 'passage of time' - a shiny, cool
dark snaking tunnel;
above flies the sun
spinning it's way
unmoved, unconcerned
sunk in disinterest
carefree of 'to be'
why should it share concern?

and time, always, always
gets the best of me

---

Excellent poem that Mossy. Well done :cool:

Like freckle and Alf, like it Mossy:)

Always remember
That you are unique. Just like
Everybody else.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Always remember
That you are unique. Just like
Everybody else.

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:D:D:D

I never make predictions.
I never have
and I never will.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Always remember
That you are unique. Just like
Everybody else.

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Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

:D:D:D

I never make predictions.
I never have
and I never will.

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Very clever haiku's you two:thumbup:

I've never gambled
I will bet you any amount
That I speak the truth

If i've told you once
I've told you a thousand times
Don't exaggerate

Quote:

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Originally Posted by stevefoster

If i've told you once
I've told you a thousand times
Don't exaggerate

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:thumbup::thumbup::thumbup:

You'll never succeed
without hard work.
Now quiet!
The lottery draw is on.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

You'll never succeed
without hard work.
Now quiet!
The lottery draw is on.

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Nice one Harry, a lucky dip never got anyone fitter though, nice to know good old hard work still applies to something. Still like to win the lottery though, more time to work hard for meself instead of some other bugger:rolleyes:
Ooops not being very quiet am i:o

Quote:

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Originally Posted by stevefoster

Nice one Harry, a lucky dip never got anyone fitter though, nice to know good old hard work still applies to something. Still like to win the lottery though, more time to work hard for meself instead of some other bugger:rolleyes:
Ooops not being very quiet am i:o

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Lottery win = more time to train. ;-)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Lottery win = more time to train. ;-)

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And a move to Lakeland, dreaming now, work syndicate has £30 on tonight...............................

Quote:

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Originally Posted by stevefoster

And a move to Lakeland, dreaming now, work syndicate has £30 on tonight...............................

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Fingers crossed for you.

Packing in progress
nerves shot adrenaline rush
BGR bekons

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Stef F

Packing in progress
nerves shot adrenaline rush
BGR bekons

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Calm your mind
Feed your face
Enjoy your day

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Stef F

Packing in progress
nerves shot adrenaline rush
BGR bekons

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focus, lass, focus
get off the internet quick
pack, then its bedtime!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by stevefoster

Calm your mind
Feed your face
Enjoy your day

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See you Saturday
for a Grand Day in Lakeland
with Mrs Crumbly

:cool:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by stevefoster

Calm your mind
Feed your face
Enjoy your day

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You're down for drink control BTW :cool:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Derby Tup

focus, lass, focus
get off the internet quick
pack, then its bedtime!

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cabbage brain on strike
mudclaws parachute picnic
anything I've missed?

mudclaws, parachute, picnic sounds about right :closed:

Drink control sounds good, what's Mrs.Crumbly on ear bashing and moral control? Job'll be a good un:thumbup:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by stevefoster

Drink control sounds good, what's Mrs.Crumbly on ear bashing and moral control? Job'll be a good un:thumbup:

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Food control

Ear bashing and moral control went without saying!
Lantern Rouge is on Panic control on leg 5 :w00t:

Must go and pack now!

Miles left in her wake
hills collapsed under her feet
Stef's dream realized


heres rooting for you kid :thumbup:

May the wind
at your back....
always be
your own :p

Quote:

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Originally Posted by alf

i've never gambled
i will bet you any amount
that i speak the truth

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:d:d:d

Quote:

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Originally Posted by stevefoster

If i've told you once
I've told you a thousand times
Don't exaggerate

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Like it :)