Hi James, Arthur, Mike, Bob,
Thanks! interesting someone thought it 'slow'. In fact its the first poem
I've written for a long time and perhaps the theme & approach show this.
(bursting banks.)
Water thoughtful - here I was linking, the garden-things with the writing
things (trowel and pen, tree and nib, thought and water).
Fourteen lines does seem to have some magic about it, the exact right length
for many a focussed piece.
Sometimes we are trying a bit to hard to be impressive (morrow)?
I didnt mean tomorrow, I meant every future day.
But it did occur to me that it would be awful if someone read it as
each marrow opens as white as paper!
There were tomatoes in this poem when I started it, but they got kicked out.
bw
SallyE
on 3/6/03 10:56 am, Bob Cooper at [log in to unmask] wrote:
> Hi Sally,
> A fine slow read!
> Even tho you're run-on the first two lines (often a sure sign that the
> poem's energy is going to keep it quick) - and the whole poem nudges me from
> one line to the next - there's still a gentleness there!
> There's a natural slow rhythm to the words in the first line: "The bench
> gleams wet as light dims late" and that stays with the whole poem! Canny!
> I'm a tad worried about the last line... "morrow" looks a poeticism! But I
> know, in some parts of the UK) "the morrow" is how "tomorrow" is said! It
> still looks as if as if Procrustes has been at it! (How about "Tomorrows
> open as white as paper"? Or whatever!)
> H'm, the title... I wonder if George Herbert like flowers? Or was he a fruit
> and veg man... LOL!
> Bob
>
>
>> From: Sally Evans <[log in to unmask]>
>> Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>> To: [log in to unmask]
>> Subject: New sub; seen through glass (visible)
>> Date: Mon, 2 Jun 2003 19:11:33 +0100
>>
>> (sent this blank just now: sorry.
>> the system may throw out the blank email.)
>>
>> Seen through glass
>>
>> The bench gleams wet as light dims late
>> after an evening's work with pots
>> and rooted things, as though the trowel
>> had offered a holiday from the pen.
>>
>> Then hot pink geranium petals
>> spin into summer twilight where the scales
>> branched round a nearby conical cedar
>> spear the darkened sky like a bent nib
>>
>> stemming my greenhouse grammar. Water flows
>> indoors, outdoors, thoughtful under treeroots,
>> linking present to future more than past.
>> The hawthorn berry swells in the hedge.
>>
>> A climate and season where words burst banks.
>> Each morrow opens as white as paper.
>>
>> Sally Evans
>
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