Happy New Year, grasshopper, and thanks for your linguistic points. All are
taken. I had thought of taking on an Elizabethan voice more fullbloodedly,
and even spellinge, but chickshyed out of it like tobacco from Sir Walter's
pipe. Not sure that a 'timeless' voice wouldn't be better, but it's a
struggle and I may kick the bathwater out into the world to fend...Philip
>From: grasshopper <[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: Mon, 30 Dec 2002 02:06:25 -0000
>
>Dear Philip,
> I'm not sure how the introduction should be read in terms of the poem
>as
>a whole,(perhaps this is a dlitch in layout) or of the title -as the
>narrator of the poem seems to be speaking of the effects of the storm, From
>the diction, I presume the narrator is a contemporary of the event, but the
>line :
>My grandfather sits and cannot absorb.
>sounds too modern to me- but, of course,I could be wrong.
>The last line seems too truncated to me, especially in terms of Elizabethan
>speech:
>like a basking hippocampus, died.
>The hippocampus suggests something in its element- so perhaps a conjunction
>is needed,- died' isn't a natural outcome of the sentence,I felt. Also this
>trimming of conjunctions is very much a feature of a modern voice, and more
>specifically, a modern poetic voice, and sits oddly with the use of unusual
>words current in those times.
>Kind regards,
> grasshopper
>
>
>----- Original Message -----
>From: "Philip Burton" <[log in to unmask]>
>Sent: Friday, December 20, 2002 7:17 PM
>Subject: new submission: Before the Storm
>
>
> 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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