Hi Mike,
Poems appeal for different reasons, I like the shape, the feel of this one!
Brings back memories, this does!
(Was it William Carlos Williams who described memory being the place where
we find the whitest of white? The only place where things can become
perfect?).
I'd ditch the 1st stanza. It ain't needed in the poem. The 2nd stanza is so
dramatic it works far better!
Does "the blockage" mean a crowd of children in front of you? (the
sense/metaphor is good - but not with the words you've used).
Wet gabardine can only be smelt by a nose! (Miss off the nose phrase!)
I'm also thinking the poem's good reminiscence/memory. Maybe a title with
more than description in it might add to what's happening - for the writer
and maybe more for the reader.
Bob
>From: Mike Horwood <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New sub: Soaked
>Date: Mon, 15 Mar 2004 14:09:55 +0200
>
>Soaked
>
>It was a wet morning in `61 or `2
>when the rain streamed down in rods
>from a grey sky and shattered round our shoes.
>
>There were jumping pockmarks on a ground
>where we could not separate asphalt from puddle
>on a day before we knew the word `torrential´.
>
>The playground was deserted and hazy,
>the school entrance a frame for heaving backs
>pushing the blockage in front, and wet, grey socks.
>
>The jostling mass carried me on to the cloakroom,
>the muggy atmosphere full of the jabber of voices
>and smell of wet gabardine heavy in my nose
>
>as I squirmed and squeezed along the line
>of uniform navy-blue raincoats to the haven
>of my familiar peg, determined by my rank
>
>in the height range of my class.
>Then the struggle with belt and sleeves,
>a residual dampness, single file, bang of desk-lids.
>
>
>
>
>Mike
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