Today's poet

[freckle]

Quarantine

In the worst hour of the worst season
of the worst year of a whole people
a man set out from the workhouse with his wife.
He was walking-they were both walking-north.

She was sick with famine fever and could not keep up.
He lifted her and put her on his back.
He walked like that west and north.
Until at nightfall under freezing stars they arrived.

In the morning they were both found dead.
Of cold. Of hunger. Of the toxins of a whole history.
But her feet were held against his breastbone.
The last heat of his flesh was his last gift to her.

Let no love poem ever come to this threshold.
There is no place here for the inexact
praise of the easy graces and sensuality of the body.
There is only time for this merciless inventory:

Their death together in the winter of 1847.
Also what they suffered. How they lived.
And what there is between a man and a woman.
And in which darkness it can best be proved.


Eavan Boland

Wow! what an amazing poem Alf and the next one you posted too both certainly made me pay attention! :-) have you got a new book or something? where did you find them?

[Alf]

Wow! what an amazing poem Alf and the next one you posted too both certainly made me pay attention! :-) have you got a new book or something? where did you find them?

No new book freckle, I was just browsing for modern poets (still alive!) whose work I was not familiar with and I found Eavan Boland and Denise Duhamel and the two poems balanced each other out nicely. Boland's 'Anorexic' and Duhamel's 'Kinky' would have made a good pair of posts as well .
I have been enjoying the poems you and Mossy have posted recently so keep them coming

[Hes]

I've been seeing dippers a lot lately and I hadn't realised they were related to the robin but if you listen to their beautiful song you can hear the connection:

The Dipper

It was winter, near freezing,
I'd walked through a forest of firs
when I saw issue out of the waterfall
a solitary bird.

It lit on a damp rock,
and, as water swept stupidly on,
wrung from its own throat
supple, undammable song.

It isn't mine to give.
I can't coax this bird to my hand
that knows the depth of the river
yet sings of it on land.

Kathleen Jamie

[Mossdog]

I've been seeing dippers a lot lately and I hadn't realised they were related to the robin but if you listen to their beautiful song you can hear the connection:

The Dipper

It was winter, near freezing,
I'd walked through a forest of firs
when I saw issue out of the waterfall
a solitary bird.

It lit on a damp rock,
and, as water swept stupidly on,
wrung from its own throat
supple, undammable song.

It isn't mine to give.
I can't coax this bird to my hand
that knows the depth of the river
yet sings of it on land.

Kathleen Jamie

That's really sweet and charming - like it.

[Mossdog]

The innocence of any flesh sleeping

Sleeping beside you I dreamt
I woke beside you;
Waking beside you
I thought I was dreaming.

Have you ever slept beside an ocean?
Well yes,
It is like this.

The whole motion of landscapes, of oceans
Is within her.
She is
The innocence of any flesh sleeping,
So vulnerable
No protection is needed.

In such times
The heart opens,
Contains all there is,
There being no more than her.

In what country she is
I cannot tell.
But knowing – because there is love
And it blots out all demons –
She is safe,
I can turn,
Sleep well beside her.

Waking beside her I am dreaming.
Dreaming of such wakings
I am all love’s senses woken.


Brian Patten

Night... Night!

[Mossdog]

Snow White's Acne

At first she was sure it was just a bit of dried strawberry juice,
or a fleck of her mother's red nail polish that had flaked off
when she'd patted her daughter to sleep the night before.
But as she scrubbed, Snow felt a bump, something festering
under the surface, like a tapeworm curled up and living
in her left cheek.
Doc the Dwarf was no dermatologist
and besides Snow doesn't get to meet him in this version
because the mint leaves the tall doctor puts over her face
only make matters worse. Snow and the Queen hope
against hope for chicken pox, measles, something
that would be gone quickly and not plague Snow's whole
adolescence.
If only freckles were red, she cried, if only
concealer really worked. Soon came the pus, the yellow dots,
multiplying like pins in a pin cushion. Soon came
the greasy hair. The Queen gave her daughter a razor
for her legs and a stick of underarm deodorant.
Snow
doodled through her teenage years—"Snow + ?" in Magic
Markered hearts all over her notebooks. She was an average
student, a daydreamer who might have been a scholar
if she'd only applied herself. She liked sappy music
and romance novels. She liked pies and cake
instead of fruit.
The Queen remained the fairest in the land.
It was hard on Snow, having such a glamorous mom.
She rebelled by wearing torn shawls and baggy gowns.
Her mother would sometimes say, "Snow darling,
why don't you pull back your hair? Show those pretty eyes?"
or "Come on, I'll take you shopping."
Snow preferred
staying in her safe room, looking out of her window
at the deer leaping across the lawn. Or she'd practice
her dance moves with invisible princes. And the Queen,
busy being Queen, didn't like to push it.

Denise Duhamel

Now that's just really weird Alf!! :w00t:

[Masham Man]

On my dog walk today I watched some Rooks repairing their nests.

Across a dome of marbled grey
These messengers on high
Philosophise upon the day
And February's sky....
Invariably their time allows
A pause along the route
They gather in the poplar boughs
And look like blackened fruit;
Some may yearn for time and space
With scenes of babbling brooks
But give me dawning solace
With the coming of the rooks!

[Mossdog]

On my dog walk today I watched some Rooks repairing their nests.

Across a dome of marbled grey
These messengers on high
Philosophise upon the day
And February's sky....
Invariably their time allows
A pause along the route
They gather in the poplar boughs
And look like blackened fruit;
Some may yearn for time and space
With scenes of babbling brooks
But give me dawning solace
With the coming of the rooks!

That's magnificent MM, really well written and captures the scene so vividly. I particularly thought the above lines were poignant. Thank you for sharing.

[XRunner]

The Sycophantic Fox and the Gullible Raven
(by Guy Wetmore Carryl)

A raven sat upon a tree,
And not a word he spoke, for
His beak contained a piece of Brie.
Or, maybe it was Roquefort.
We’ll make it any kind you please --
At all events it was a cheese.

Beneath the tree’s umbrageous limb
A hungry fox sat smiling;
He saw the raven watching him,
And spoke in words beguiling:
"J’admire," said he, "ton beau plumage!"
(The which was simply persiflage.)

Two things there are, no doubt you know,
To which a fox is used:
A rooster that is bound to crow,
A crow that’s bound to roost;
And whichsoever he espies
He tells the most unblushing lies.

"Sweet fowl," he said, "I understand
You’re more than merely natty;
I hear you sing to beat the band
And Adelina Patti.
Pray render with your liquid tongue
A bit from Götterdämmerung."

This subtle speech was aimed to please
The crow, and it succeeded;
He thought no bird in all the trees
Could sing as well as he did.
In flattery completely doused,
He gave the "Jewel Song" from Faust.

But gravitation’s law, of course,
As Isaac Newton showed it,
Exerted on the cheese its force,
And elsewhere soon bestowed it.
In fact, there is no need to tell
What happened when to earth it fell.

I blush to add that when the bird
Took in the situation
He said one brief, emphatic word,
Unfit for publication.
The fox was greatly startled, but
He only sighed and answered, "Tut."

THE MORAL is:

A fox is bound
To be a shameless sinner.
And also: When the cheese comes round
You know it’s after dinner.
But (what is only known to few)
The fox is after dinner, too.

[Old Whippet]

On my dog walk today I watched some Rooks repairing their nests.

Across a dome of marbled grey
These messengers on high
Philosophise upon the day
And February's sky....
Invariably their time allows
A pause along the route
They gather in the poplar boughs
And look like blackened fruit;
Some may yearn for time and space
With scenes of babbling brooks
But give me dawning solace
With the coming of the rooks!

Good to see original work on the thread again recently. I enjoyed that MM. Any fell poets off to High Cup Nick tomorrow - after all, Dufton is the home of Fell Poetry?