General Chat

Us GReaders usually read and review books, but several of us wanted to include some poetry, so here it is! We won't have any set dates on this thread, it can be something we can dip in and out of when life allows us time to indulge in a bit of poetry! The suggestion is that when we find a poem that we really like, or has some special significance, we can add our mini-review to this thread, together with the poem itself. Other members might then want to read some more from that poet themselves. If anyone has any more ideas, please let us know! Maz. XX

I’m starting this off with a couple of light-hearted poems – cos it’s miserable enough today without sad words! When I had been volunteered (trust me to open my big mouth) to start this thread I had a look through 2 anthologies I got from the library, to try and find something suitable to begin. I found this one in “Poems on the Underground”. It made me laugh because it summed up exactly how I felt with this thread – I had made a suggestion to Dee, then she asked me to tell Ann, then they told me to ‘do it’ – aaaarrrrgggghhhh!! So I have been puzzling over the heading, then the first posting – desperately wanting to ask for help, but not being able to because it was me who suggested it!! The Leader by Roger McGough I wanna be the leader I wanna be the leader Can I be the leader? Can I? I can? Promise? Promise? Yippee, I’m the leader I’m the leader OK what shall we do? Maz. XX

This is the other one I found (also in Poems on the Underground) and it just is so silly that it made me laugh out loud. In fact I'm going to show my kids this one later as I think it will tickle them too. There are plenty of things that sum up 'englishness' but I never would have included 'teeth' as one of them. I don't think we have a particularly shining dental history as a nation! By the way - mine are definitely the Grey ones in the last line lol. Teeth by Spike Milligan English Teeth, English Teeth Shining in the sun A part of British heritage Ay, each and every one. English Teeth, Happy Teeth! Always having fun Clamping down on bits of fish And sausages half done. English Teeth! HEROES' Teeth! Hear them click! and clack! Let's sing a song of praise to them - Three Cheers for the Brown Grey and Black. Maz. XX

Poetry! My absolute favourite thing! HE TELLS HER WENDY COPE He tells her that the Earth is flat – He knows the facts, and that is that. In altercations fierce and long She tries her best to prove him wrong. But he has learned to argue well He calls her arguments unsound And often asks her not to yell. She cannot win. He stands his ground. The planet goes on being round. Gwynne

- I love this one- BITCHEREL ELEANOR BROWN You ask what I think of your new acquisition And since we are now to be “friends” I’ll try to the full to cement my position With honesty. Dear it depends. It depends on taste, which must not be disputed: For which of us does understand While some like their furnishings pallid and muted, Their cookery wholesome, but bland. There isn’t a law that that a face should have features It’s just that they generally do. God couldn’t give colour to all of his creatures And only give wit to a few. I’m sure she has qualities much underrated That compensate amply for this. Along with a charm that is so understated It’s easy for people to miss. And if there are some who choose clothing to flatter What beauties they think they possess When what’s underneath has no shape, does it matter If there is no shape to the dress. It’s not that I think she is boring precisely, That isn’t the word I would choose: I know there are men who like girls who talk nicely And always wear sensible shoes. It’s not that I think she is vapid and silly; It’s not that her voice makes me wince; But – chilli con carne without any chilli Is only a plateful of mince. Gwynne

When I Am an Old Woman When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple With a red hat which doesn't go and doesn't suit me. And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves And satin sandals and say we've no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells And run my stick along public railings And make up for the sobriety of my youth. I shall go out in my slippers in the rain And pick flowers in other people's gardens And learn to spit. You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat And eat three pounds of sausages at a go Or only bread and a pickle for a week And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes But now we must have clothes that keep us dry And pay our rent and not swear in the street And set a good example for the children. We will have friends to dinner and read the papers. But maybe I ought to practice a little now? So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple. By Jenny Joseph, Trenton NJ

Hi Maz Knowing we were possibly thinking of poetry I had got a book from the library, and strangely enough it was Poems on the Underground!! I chose the first poem in the book as it so describes the weather here today, bitterly cold, and the birds here are certainly sheltering from the cold wind The chorus is very apt for me these cold mornings; I would far sooner stay in bed when it is this cold Btw, my copy has some brilliant illustrations; they are posters from the golden age of Underground art. Up in the Morning Early Cauld blows the wind frae east to west, The drift is driving sairly; Sae loud and shrill’s I hear the blast, I’m sure it’s winter fairly. Chorus : Up in the morning’s no for me, Up in the morning early; When a the hills are cover’d wi’ snaw, I’m sure it’s winter fairly The birds sit chittering in the thorn, A’ day they fare but sparely; And lang’s the night frae e’en to morn, I’m sure it’s winter fairly Robert Burns

My second poem is by one of my all time favourites, Pam Ayres. It is one of her shorter ones but gives a flavour of her style. In view of my first choice I thought this was relevant!! On Comparing my Husband to Robbie Burns Oh oft I think of Robbie Burns, Striding through the heather, All manly clad in tartan plaid To spurn the Highland weather, O’er loch and glen, that man of men, His black eyes all a flashing Could any heart not leap, and start, Or fail to find him dashing? Oh oft I think of Robbie Burns, His dirk thrust in his gaiters, And then I think of you dear, And go home and peel the taters

Hi Dee - yep, mine has got the poster art in too! I like that Pam Ayres one - don't think I have seen it before? I've also got The Nation's Favourite 20th Century Poems, so will have a look at that too. ************************************************************************ If possible can everyone please just add a few comments with their poem - tell us why you like it, if there is a special significance for you or for the day. Thanks!! ************************************************************************* Maz. XX

The Night is Darkening Round Me The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot, cannot go The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow, The storm is fast descending And yet I cannot go Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below But nothing drear can move me; I will not, cannot go Emily Bronte I hadn’t until today realised that Emily Bronte wrote poetry. This one gives us an incite into the bleak weather of the Yorkshire moors where she was brought up Maz The Pam Ayres poem came from Pam Ayres The Works 25th Anniversary Edition, selected poems. It’s a very good book, and there are lots of poems I hadn’t come across before in there. Btw Roger McGough, wasn’t he the guy in The Scaffold? They did a song called Lily The Pink in the 60’s

I love this poem - Stevie Smith wrote some wonderful words but these reach deep down - NOT WAVING BUT DROWNING Stevie Smith 1903 – 1971 Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning, I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap he always loved larking And now he’s dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no, no, no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning. Gwynne

For anyone who likes or liked the Christopher Robin books by Christopher Matthew the following is from his book 'Now we are sixty'. Street Theatre (After Jonathan Joe) by Christopher Matthew Wherever I go My Mouth’s like an ‘O’ Because life is full of surprises. When I walk down the street I am certain to meet Performers in various guises. If I fancy a row With an ugly low-brow I’m bound to get into a brawl With a bloke whose best trick Is being violently sick And then peeing over a wall. Or a kid on his skates Who exterminates All and sundry whose path he may cross; And when I point out He’s being a lout, Shouts “s*d off mate, I don’t give a toss. Ann Glos

I like that one Ann - reminds me of this board sometimes lol!! Maz. XX

I love this Christina Rossetti poem cos it's very wistful & bittersweet and reminds of the way I feel about something:)) A Pause of Thought I looked for that which is not, nor can be, And hope deferred made my heart sick in truth : But years must pass before a hope of youth Is resigned utterly. I watched and waited with a steadfast will : And though the object seemed to flee away That I so longed for, ever day by day I watched and waited still. Sometimes I said : ‘This thing shall be no more ; My expectation wearies and shall cease ; I will resign it now and be at peace’: Yet never gave it o’er. Sometimes I said : ‘It is an empty name I long for ; to a name why should I give The peace of all the days I have to live ?’ Yet gave it all the same. Alas, thou foolish one ! alike unfit For healthy joy and salutary pain : Thou knowest the chase useless, and again Turnest to follow it.

Thanks for that David! I like it too. Maz. XX

My fave modern poet is Adrian Mitchell. he can be whimsical, witty, biting and in this case political - THE BOY WHO DANCED WITH A TANK Adrian Mitchell It was the same old story Story of boy meets State Yes the same old story Story of boy meets State The body is created by loving But a tank’s made of fear and hate Armoured cars and heads in helmets Rank on rank on rank on rank The hearts of the soldiers were trembling But the eyes of the soldiers were blank And then they saw him swaying The boy who danced with a tank The tank moved left The boy stepped right Paused like he was having fun The tank moved right The boy stepped left Smiled at his partner down the barrel of a gun You remember how we watched him Dancing like a strong young tree And we knew that for that moment He was freer than we’ll ever be A boy danced with a tank in China Like the flower of liberty Gwynne

Thats lovely Gwynne, I can see it all so clearly again. Maz. XX

Gwynne here is another one by Wendy Cope - she is a woman after my own heart lol lol Loss by Wendy Cope The day he moved out was terrible - That evening she went through hell. His absence wasn't a problem But the corkscrew had gone as well. Maz. XX roflmao

One poet I do like is John Betjeman, especially when his works are read aloud. My favourite of his must be Diary of a Church Mouse. It is a long poem so I am only including the first few lines here, just to whet your appetite. Here among long discarded cassocks Damp stools, and half split open hassocks, Here where the Vicar never looks, I nibble through old service books Lean and alone I spend my days Behind this Church of England baize. I share my dark forgotten room With two oil lamps and half a broom The cleaner never bothers me, So here I eat my frugal tea.

One I wrote last year. Ode to living by the Sea Where sea meets sky There is a magic place. An optical illusion Where ships appear to fly. The colours ever changing The surface ripples flashing, Sunlight dancing, Lights forever rearranging. Ships laden with freight. Cruisers full of Holidayers Travelling in State. And at night in fog, Hidden, mournful. A mighty ship Howling like a dog. The foghorns wail A sad lament For those who now No longer sail. Those lost in storms, No grave for them but, Dancing on the water Misty ghostly forms Storms, and wind gusting. Spray splashing overhead. Wind and rain lashing. Bus shelters rusting. And then the sun. Children on the beaches Swimming through the breakers Having fun. So through the year Changing, ever offering Some new delight. I love it here. Jim Weatherall 2005