Hi Bob, knowing your calling I will leave it to you to find the Christ
story, the Nativity and Passion, in the poem. See if you can allocate the
Carols too. A bit of a Christmas puzzle for you. Arthur
----- Original Message -----
From: "Bob Cooper" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Tuesday, December 07, 2004 4:12 PM
Subject: Re: New Sub: Christmas Shopping


> Hi Arthur,
> There's some great images here. It's an interesting way to present a
> narrative poem: small snatches that appear almost like photographs all
taken
> on the same day.
> I'd be tempted to think more of each image as a snapshot or photograph.
Just
> let the reader see "that image" and then "another image" - so I'd suggest
> making more of the moon line, maybe adding something else that belongs way
> above your heads...
> I think number 5 distracts me too much (how do you know all of this about
> him?). I'd like this section to be visual or maybe aural, like most else
> that's here. You're not describing the person in the same way as the res
of
> the poem - you're telling me things, not showing me things.
> And could you introduce the small child at the start? Even by saying
"We" -
> inferring you travelled with her on the train? (I think that's what's
going
> on...).
> I also can't work out what "the carols" - as a line - is doing right at
the
> start?
> And the line: "the cold came sudden and hard" might fit better somewhere
> else (at the end of the first stanza, perhps?) or may not be needed...
> Bob
>
> >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: Christmas Shopping
> >Date: Mon, 6 Dec 2004 17:26:40 -0000
> >
> >   Christmas Shopping
> >
> >
> >
> >             The Carols
> >
> >
> >
> >(i)
> >
> >
> >
> >The cold came sudden and hard.
> >
> >
> >
> >Through the city's back ways,
> >
> >metal on metal, heavily
> >
> >over the tangle of  bright rails,
> >
> >the train shudders and terminates.
> >
> >
> >
> >( ii )
> >
> >
> >
> >frost along the leaf
> >
> >sunlight golden through the frost-
> >
> >the city swung with lights
> >
> >
> >
> >                         (iii)
> >
> >
> >
> >The open market is a cornucopia
> >
> >crammed for a heaving hoi-polloi.
> >
> >
> >
> >Perched on a roof, a starling, beak agape,
> >
> >boot-black beads half-lidded in bliss
> >
> >
> >
> >harks to the rippling murmurs
> >
> >that flow from the dark rainbow of his throat;
> >
> >
> >
> >and then above the traffic noise,
> >
> >from every shelf and ledge,
> >
> >
> >
> >the thrilling murmuration chimes.
> >
> >Milk-white, the moon breasts the profile of the city.
> >
> >
> >
> >                         (iv)
> >
> >
> >
> >Mother Earth billows up Briggate,
> >
> >all arse and anorak,
> >
> >rolls like a laden galleon along Kirkgate,
> >
> >four carriers per fist,
> >
> >and a family to feed, for God's sake,
> >
> >sashays to the music of the streets.
> >
> >
> >
> >                         (v)
> >
> >
> >
> >Insulted by poverty, badged with age,
> >
> >he musters the last crumbs with his grimy thumb,
> >
> >drains to the dregs and dares the streets.
> >
> >
> >
> >Away for the day,
> >
> >from the unreasoned rages of the estate
> >
> >that lap against his window
> >
> >like a morning tide of pain;
> >
> >shits through his letterbox;
> >
> >tries the latch after midnight;
> >
> >wants him dead.
> >
> >
> >
> >The night wind down by the bus stop,
> >
> >sharp as thorns, cold as malice,
> >
> >plucks at his trousers,
> >
> >burns portents in his eyes.
> >
> >
> >
> >                         (vi)
> >
> >
> >
> >The city falls away, dark grips the train.
> >
> >I hold my granddaughter tight.
> >
> >We watch oases of light drift past.
> >
> >I marvel at her small hands
> >
> >pressed against the pane of night,
> >
> >the miracle of her spread fingers.
> >
> >My ear to her back
> >
> >adores the tides of her young life.
>