I really like this too Arthur. Being roughly the same age I guess and from
the north the atmosphere grabs me in. I think it is excellent writing at the
beginning but think that after the "rouged cheek". The next verse doesn't
seem right some how although I like the line "a feather of terror stirred"
but not so sure about the "scent of zest." Maybe it is because you have
bidden twice I don't know. Anyway I hope you don't mind but I have took the
liberty of bracketing a few lines and words that I think could be eliminated
and also think the last line could be altered instead of "hands that reeked
of death" maybe "the scent of oranges "or words to that effect. I think you
may have too many referals to orange? I think once in the body of the poem
and the title then the last line is enough for me. This is an excellent read
Arthur and I hope you don't mind me playing a little with it.
Bw Sally J
PS I have just had a poem accepted for publication about my grandma's death
I don't think I put it on the works. It was one on a series I was writing
about her and I too could not find her grave many years later, her grave was
unmarked too.
>From: Arthur Seeley <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New Sub: The scent of Oranges
>Date: Wed, 27 Oct 2004 19:03:51 +0100
>
>The Scent of Oranges
>
>
>
>Strangely still that day, no children played
>
>on the fading hopscotch grids,
>
>curtains drawn in quiet respect.
>
>
>
>" Go down and say goodbye to your Grandma."
>
>I had been bidden. Reluctant, I dawdled,
>
>lazy as a trout, down the sunlit stream of the afternoon.
>
>
>
>I hunkered behind the world's cold back;
>
>wet my finger to clean a scuffed knee;
>
>sucked at an orange until my cheeks stung.
>
>
>
>Heavy curtains bulged with prising light.
>
>Plain pine, chromed handles, set upon trestles,
>
>it loomed - choose how I tried to ignore it.
>
>
>
>I covered my face with my hands.
>
>I puzzled how to grieve, an alien art,
>
>(while perfumes of orange pervaded.)
>
>
>
>I was bidden to stroke her brow.
>
>The waxen face slept on, lips slightly parted,
>
>a glimmer of shining dentures, rouged cheeks.
>
>
>
>I gave, too, the bidden kiss
>and a feather of terror stirred
>
>(at the scent of zest there.)
>
>
>
>We buried her in a sodden graveyard
>
>high on the moor road home
>
>(to where she had been born.)
>
>
>
>(Many) years later I looked for the unmarked place
>
>in the (steep) graveyard of secret steps and shades
>
>(but who remembers things like the locations of graves.)
>
>
>
>I (only) remember the thudding knock of homage - sod
>
>on coffin roof, the scratch of rain on elder leaves
>
>(and hands that reeked of death.) The scent of oranges
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