Yes, I like this, watching our children grow and grow well is a great gift
and to be treasured. I am into grandchildren and great grandchildren now and
the pleasure does not diminish one jot.
In your poem there is one awkward passage that needs to be thought through
again,
"a cord round the handle bars of his first bike
> looped round my wrist and into my palm,
> an unsteady burden that marked my skin
> when he would not pedal, so towed him
> towards the bridge."
Now I understand that pulling the rope when he refused to pedal has marked
your hand but it is said very clumsily, IMHO, it sounds as though the burden
marked you directly the way it is written but in fact the burden marked you
via the cord.
Still a nice poem and a good read for which thanks. Arthur.
----- Original Message -----
From: "Colin dewar" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, January 30, 2004 12:38 PM
Subject: newsub/canal
> Canal Reflection
>
> Last year I took him along the canal
> while his sister learned karatedo at the centre,
> a cord round the handle bars of his first bike
> looped round my wrist and into my palm,
> an unsteady burden that marked my skin
> when he would not pedal, so towed him
> towards the bridge. The stabilisers gripped
> and bumped over each rut and stone
> on the path. We learned leaves as we went,
> one from each tree, held by their stems
> and fastened to a wind-shield of green.
> We admired chestnut spread like a cartoon hand
> and sycamores like stars on stalks.
> We travelled with all the time in the world.
> Each tree's image shone where it fell
> on forgetful water. If some aspect was kept
> he may never tell. I can only say
> how he smiled with wide, voyaging eyes.
>
> This year I sit on a concrete balcony
> with my back against brick, so still
> I forget where flesh ends and numb stone begins,
> observe how his sister has already turned
> the stiff rods of her body to canes of willow.
> He makes his first turns in his crisp suit,
> glances up to where I sit and nod approval,
> lifts feet and curls fists, lesson by lesson.
> Months pass before he looks down
> when the sensei adjusts his stance.
>
> I return to the path by the canal
> where light falls on water and lilies open
> as still as memory in a wind-shatterered world
> where sprung green darkens and chest nut
> in its shell grows its first skin.
>
> ______________________
>
> Colin
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