Hi Sally,
I've never seen Oban on a summer night, more like midwinter in the pitch 
black descending from the Glasgow train. This has a proper summer langour 
though held up at times by extra words that don't need to be there. I've 
done a tentative hatchet job in the text, tentative because I'm sure you 
will want to make your own changes.
bw
James


>From: Sally Evans <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Oban, summer night
>Date: Mon, 5 Aug 2002 22:29:56 +0100
>
>Oban,  summer night
>
>We were only there for an hour -
>no plans to travel on
>so strolled around the piers
>where a train slept terminally * (not sure about the adverb, feels awkward)
>and the Mull steamer lay docked
>as the smooth bay of the night
>took its hot, short holiday from light, (the sudden rhyme here and later on 
>disturbs the rhythm, maybe a revamp here)
>
>remembered stories of the past:
>how the young busker stood up to the laird, *(how about just "busker")
>how all the seals would bob along the harbour,
>and how three well-respected Gaelic poets
>had walked into the Royal Bank of Scotland *(maybe "staggered" to enhance 
>the sibilance of this passage)
>sozzled, and ordered whisky. (³Sorry, sir,
>this is the Royal Bank of Scotland.²) *(like Sue I love the story though 
>want it to swing a bit more)
>
>The same old pubs with open doors and singing
>spilt into the square, the quay, while boats
>crept out on midnight trips around the bay,
>a place to eat fish suppers in the presence
>of old and unembittered seagulls. A town to keep
>through years, though we wonıt stay away
>so long this time, we said, and drove away.
>
>
>Sally Evans




bw
James


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