This year's fears

This year’s fears

So some of us are scared of airports;

The flatness of them,

The waiting,

The type of possibilities.

Also tunnels;

Smoky, dark tunnels,

Where there should be light,

And air.

Some of us fear forgetfulness;

Being useless,

Not helping,

Letting the rest of us down.

‘The rest of us’ fear night and day,

That nothing will ever be right again,

That ‘home’ and ‘safe’ are old words,

For other people.

And some of us are just scared;

That soon even fear will disappear,

That it is nearly over,

Whatever it was.

RF 2016

Simply this

What we want

Just to get on with things,

ordinary things,

exceptional things.

To take an unmolested walk,

or to the floor,

or our own time.

We want to be somebody,

and so do you,

you want that too.

RF 2016

I posted this elsewhere the other day - one of those places where things move quickly and you don't even get to be fish and chip paper afterwards. Here it can live a little longer... maybe till it gets to be a postcard or something. There are a lot of 'we's, and a lot of 'you's.

Visits past

Photo by Mark Stephenson

So, a few years ago, around this time of year, we were in Vermont (details here if you want them). I was reminded of this yesterday, thumbing through a book of Robert Frost poems that I found lying, unloved, in one of the many piles of books that clutter this house. I studied Frost at school, have even written a poem that mentions him before (back here, now a little altered) but now I have a new one (below). Well, a draft anyway.

Just recently I have been reading (via daughter) the Jackie Kay poems that she is studying in school. I know some people probably manage to take in nothing from the poetry that they are exposed to at school but for others these poems can be life-changing, mind-enhancing. You may not realise this at the time of course!

Bennington, Vermont (2011)

It is a crisp day,

Suitably Frostian.

A March Sunday,

New England,

History in the air.

In the graveyard

There are pointers

Only to your name.

Who else has that?

You’ve arrived, they say.

We walk on grass,

Visit a white church.

School poetry,

That old uncle,

Whispers in my ear.

RF 2016

Back on blog

Haven't done this for ages... blog that is. It feels weird.

Another thing I haven't done much of late is write poems... but here is one. May it be of interest to somebody.

Peace out

I do not google myself.

These days I am happier viewing others

who just happen to share a same name

(this name and that, and even the other).

I study their grand achievements:

doctors of psychiatry, literature,

an author of children’s books,

and whilst there was a time

I would have felt pressure,

disappointment and even a sense of shame,

I think that nonsense has finally blown away

and now, on some possibly insane level,

I just feel pride in their names.

Call me ridiculous.

I mean - look at this one:

Professor of cultural something or another,

Producer of academic tomes,

and, with the inevitable Fox/Quaker connections,

Promoter of peace to boot.

What a woman.

Today it feels enough, more than that,

that they are doing it,

that they are all so hard at work;

neat army of busy minds.

And me? What of the messy mes?

We just potter about quietly,

no need to panic,

for there are safe hands,

somewhere else,

getting important things done.

RF 2016

Bad blogger, good song

I know. I've been a bad blogger, an absent blogger, a person doing unbloggable things. Luckily, however, others are at work doing things I can post publicly about so here is Montrose singer/songwriter/musician Gary Anderson with his new song. Gary took my Michael Marra poem as a starting point but he has put in a lot of his own words and ideas into the song (and even some Marra too). It's good work. Enjoy. Sing along, why don't you?

Death in the family...

So, today there's the big auld enemy funeral down south... and much has already been written and said about the whole business. As I commented somewhere else, Thatcher died in my mind a long time ago (pretty much as soon as she was out of office in 1990) and I've really tried to think about her as little as possible since then. I know one thing though - for a lot of feminists in these countries (and I do still call myself that, if anyone asks...) it was a source of some sadness that our first woman prime minister was that bloody woman but then that's the deal... let women be as good (and as bad) as men... equal rights... equal opportunities... and after all most feminists aren't terribly keen on the whole idea of leadership anyway. It is largely feminist tendencies that have kept me away from the whole 'witch is dead' business too. I hated Mrs T but calling women witches is not something I want to get involved in really (and I'm quite surprised that I haven't read anything anywhere about that... I guess if you're that hated the rules change...). It's understandable but still not right, for me.

 

But I most definitely digress... because today we pay a lot of money for a big pompous ceremony that a lot of us don't want and, in particular, don't want to pay for (did someone make Thatcher royal without telling us because we do things like this for that lot all the time..?). I can't see how it is anything other than just plain wrong to be spending all that money on this day when so many cuts are being made in all areas of public life. Plus the one thing the political right always has is money (that's another deal - they get the money, we get the smug feelings associated with not being as greedy as they are... at least that's if it all goes to plan...). So let Rupert sodding Murdoch pay for this grand event, for example (because I seem to remember he did OK out of the Thatcher years). Let it be sponsored by Sky TV. I could play this game all day.

 

I don't have a Thatcher poem (now there's a relief). Mainly this is because I wasn't writing poems back in the '80s (apart from a sad love poem here and there...). I do, however, have a funeral poem. I wrote it after attending one of those funerals where nobody says what everybody is thinking ('this person was an arse/totally selfish/ horrible') but instead all the usual bland rest-in-peace malarkey. It isn't totally suitable for today (I don't think she did only care about herself, for example, that wasn't her driving power... that was more to do with her way, her philosophies, her just being right... also there will be people crying, I'm sure... people swathed in union jacks... talking about making Britain great and all that... see this for an alternative view) but the poem isn't totally irrelevant either. Someone died. It happens. Let's move on. Much to do.

A funeral affair

There must be lots of things to say
About you now you're gone away
But most of them might seem unkind
At least the ones that spring to mind
You were not fair or good or true
You only seemed to care for you
You showed no heart or sympathy
So let us end you honestly
No one will cry for you today
At most a little prayer they'll say
Perhaps they'll urge you try again
But for god's sake be still till then


RF 2007 or so

Recommendations...

 

Me and the young 'un passing through San Francisco, 2011

 

 

 

So, the new issue of the online poetry place the Passionate Transitory is live. I have a little set of poems up there (my page is here) and I especially like the editor's introduction on the current issue page. Lots of interesting things to read.

 

 

Which reminds me... back at the beginning of 2012 I read Langston Hughes' "Not Without Laughter" and mentioned it on here. One commenter suggested I read Bonnie Greer's book about Hughes ("Langston Hughes - the Value of Contradiction") and I did recently just do that. It's a good overview of Hughes' life (including a lot of background detail on his family and their history) and it just shows... it may take a while to get round to reading recommendations but I get there in the end!