Thanks for persevering, Bob, it's a piece I cranked out for a Manifold 
competition. In a real way I love your approach to poetry, and you again hit 
the nail on the head. I'm over-ambitious. Here I try to give an unknown 
historical person a modern voice and all that happens is that I sink all 
into the bog (or 'moss' as we call them in Lancashire).
Philip.



>From: Bob Cooper <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Re: new submission: Before the Storm
>Date: Fri, 3 Jan 2003 22:18:02 +0000
>
>Hi Philip,
>I keep returning to this piece and trying to get into it... but, sadly, I 
>can't get a feel for what's going on at all.
>I like the rhythm (except I can't quite make the line "My grandfather sits 
>and cannot absorb." roll out of my mouth like the rest) but I find I can 
>still only read it as if it's something like that Chatterton lad did: copy 
>an old style and hope to get away with it.
>I know this isn't very helpful, but I'm giving up on it.
>Bob
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>>From: Philip Burton <[log in to unmask]>
>>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>>To: [log in to unmask]
>>Subject: new submission: Before the Storm
>>Date: Sat, 21 Dec 2002 23:40:00 +0000
>>
>>            Before the Storm
>>
>>
>>a perfectly ordinary August 1588 storm sank a Spanish Armada whose 
>>seafarers were unversed in the rough ways of the North Atlantic. The same 
>>equinoctial tempest swept away all last traces of the Lancashire village 
>>of Singleton.
>>
>>The Nereids wept at Queen Mary’s death
>>and the Rossall coast was weal
>>but they shook their spurs at Elizabeth
>>and saltmarsh took the field.
>>                            No more
>>the springing spikes of barley, rye, and oat.
>>Neptune wets the wattle, sucks the daub -
>>our cottage swims like a breached boat.
>>My grandfather sits and cannot absorb.
>>
>>Only Penny Stone Inn near Carlon -
>>the dozing megalith, her Colts Ring
>>and the hollow-eyed oaks of Singleton
>>stand proud.
>>                   I saw a kale wagon swing
>>like a galleass, sink under the mere,
>>drown father and son, and dogs beside.
>>And the good horse, breaking traces, reared
>>like a basking hippocampus, died.
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
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