Today's poet

[freckle]

So did you get a mention freckle ? I thought that would be the first bit you turned to

We did indeed and at one point are described as "clean and beautiful"...post fell running that is! I realise I may be easily pleased but it was a thrill to be acknowledged and reading the book brought back some very happy memories...i would recommend it for non narcissistic reasons too, so far its a warm, funny and reflective piece about the challenge of walking the penine route and I think a lot of forumites with a love of the hills might identify with his narrative.

[freckle]

Bell Heather

People make songs about your big cousin
Extravagantly sprawled over mountain after mountain
They tear him up and he goes off to England
On the bumpers of cars, on shiny radiators.

But you're more beautiful and you blossom first,
In square feet and raggedy circles.
Your blue travels a hundred yards
That are a main road for bees.

If I were an adder, I’d choose you
For my royal palace. My sliding tongue
Would savour the thin scent
Of your boudoirs and banqueting halls.

A modest immodesty is a good thing,
Like blaze of blue on a rock face.
I’ll try it myself. Will the bees come,
The wild bees, with their white noses?

Norman MacCaig

this is very "friday night" in its sumptiousness...i really must by some MacCaig...off to Amazon!

[Alf]

We did indeed and at one point are described as "clean and beautiful"...post fell running that is! I realise I may be easily pleased but it was a thrill to be acknowledged and reading the book brought back some very happy memories...i would recommend it for non narcissistic reasons too, so far its a warm, funny and reflective piece about the challenge of walking the penine route and I think a lot of forumites with a love of the hills might identify with his narrative.

"Armitage also movingly recounted his experience of scary moments lost on foggy uplands, and of his enjoyment in meeting strangers along the way, especially four joggers whom he thankfully encountered when he was muddled on Cross Fell, the summit of the Pennines at 893m (2930ft) and allegedly the home of wind demons. They - the joggers not the demons - guided him back to civilisation. And so the walk became less about a poet in the landscape and more about the people he encountered."

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/the-nor...d-walking-home

Well done fell poets, saving Simon like that but calling you joggers :thunbdown:

[Hes]

ha ha ha...I reckon he was misquoted by the Guardian hack! Its ok though, in the book he calls us fellrunners and I quote "and suddenly remembering a very loose arrangement concerning four fell-runners agreeing to meet me on the way to Dufton, I go running towards them, bounding along the stone slabs. Receiving them like long-lost friends I give one of them a big hug, the nearest one, not even one of the women but one of the slightly surprised men" That's our HHH!

Like Freckle, I'm probably easily pleased too but it is kind of nice to be remembered and also to relive the day a bit. It was such a good day too! I don't think I quite realised how desperate he had become in the fog and how pleased he was to see us, although he did tell us at the time, I thought he was being nice.

"Armitage also movingly recounted his experience of scary moments lost on foggy uplands, and of his enjoyment in meeting strangers along the way, especially four joggers whom he thankfully encountered when he was muddled on Cross Fell, the summit of the Pennines at 893m (2930ft) and allegedly the home of wind demons. They - the joggers not the demons - guided him back to civilisation. And so the walk became less about a poet in the landscape and more about the people he encountered."

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/the-nor...d-walking-home

Well done fell poets, saving Simon like that but calling you joggers :thunbdown:

[freckle]

ha ha ha...I reckon he was misquoted by the Guardian hack! Its ok though, in the book he calls us fellrunners and I quote "and suddenly remembering a very loose arrangement concerning four fell-runners agreeing to meet me on the way to Dufton, I go running towards them, bounding along the stone slabs. Receiving them like long-lost friends I give one of them a big hug, the nearest one, not even one of the women but one of the slightly surprised men" That's our HHH!

Like Freckle, I'm probably easily pleased too but it is kind of nice to be remembered and also to relive the day a bit. It was such a good day too! I don't think I quite realised how desperate he had become in the fog and how pleased he was to see us, although he did tell us at the time, I thought he was being nice.

Indeed! I think it is quite possibly the only time in his fell running career that HHH will be referred to as a "jogger"....such happy times, barry young is asking us to organise another fell poets event...some day ...some day!

[Old Whippet]

Indeed! I think it is quite possibly the only time in his fell running career that HHH will be referred to as a "jogger"....such happy times, barry young is asking us to organise another fell poets event...some day ...some day!

Change of name required. HTJ Harry the Jogger, or HTHJ Harry the Howgill Jogger, HHHJ, JHHH, whatever. I do like the idea of the BOFRA champs being won (again) by a jogging fell poet!

[freckle]

perhaps we should look after our little musings...listen to the man him self

The Dead Sea Poems
Simon Armitage


And I was travelling lightly, barefoot
over bedrock, then through lands that were stitched
with breadplant and camomile. Or was it
burdock. For a living I was driving
a river of goats towards clean water,
when one of the herd cut loose to a cave
on the skyline. To flush it out, I shaped
a sling from a length of cotton bandage,
or was it a blanket, then launched a rock
at the target, which let out a racket -
the tell-tale sound of man-made objects.
Inside the cave like a set of skittles
stood a dozen caskets, and each one gasped -
a little theatrically perhaps -
when opened, then gave out a breath of musk
and pollen, and reaching down through cool sand
I found poems written in my own hand.
Being greatly in need of food and clothing,
and out of pockets, I let the lot go
for twelve times nothing, but saw them again
this spring, on public display, out of reach
under infra-red and ultra-sonic,
apparently worth an absolute packet.
Knowing now the price of my early art
I have gone some way towards taking it all
to heart, by bearing it all in mind, like
praying, saying it over and over
at night, by singing the whole of the work
to myself, every page of that innocent,
everyday, effortless verse, of which this
is the first

[Harry H Howgill]

ha ha ha...I reckon he was misquoted by the Guardian hack! Its ok though, in the book he calls us fellrunners and I quote "and suddenly remembering a very loose arrangement concerning four fell-runners agreeing to meet me on the way to Dufton, I go running towards them, bounding along the stone slabs. Receiving them like long-lost friends I give one of them a big hug, the nearest one, not even one of the women but one of the slightly surprised men" That's our HHH!

Like Freckle, I'm probably easily pleased too but it is kind of nice to be remembered and also to relive the day a bit. It was such a good day too! I don't think I quite realised how desperate he had become in the fog and how pleased he was to see us, although he did tell us at the time, I thought he was being nice.

It is a great momento from a really lovely day. I'd not realised either quite what a time he'd had on Cross Fell. I just presumed he welcomed everyone he met in that way!

[Harry H Howgill]

Indeed! I think it is quite possibly the only time in his fell running career that HHH will be referred to as a "jogger"....such happy times, barry young is asking us to organise another fell poets event...some day ...some day!

Funnily enough I was asked on Friday what we were planning to do next by someone who came to see him at Dufton.

[Harry H Howgill]

"Armitage also movingly recounted his experience of scary moments lost on foggy uplands, and of his enjoyment in meeting strangers along the way, especially four joggers whom he thankfully encountered when he was muddled on Cross Fell, the summit of the Pennines at 893m (2930ft) and allegedly the home of wind demons. They - the joggers not the demons - guided him back to civilisation. And so the walk became less about a poet in the landscape and more about the people he encountered."

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/the-nor...d-walking-home

Well done fell poets, saving Simon like that but calling you joggers :thunbdown:

What a shame they've closed the comments section on that page. I could have put then straight! :-)