Well baked Andrew-what sort of decorated biscuit? Was it iced or creamy
-digestive -chocky? We have to know !!those army bickies in the first world
war were supposed to be summat!!no decs though
Cheers P
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
Behalf Of Bill Wootton
Sent: 28 June 2012 02:00
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: poem on 'snap' day
Andrew,
I like the way you evoke the notion of hospital as 'theatre' which of course
it doubly is, or can be. The doubled colons at dead/living I presume is
deliberate too. The biscuit in there to be baked works for me too. Generic
faces popping up, dreamily and self dissolving. Things all out of your
hands. Light, ride, swim, images coming unbidden. Very affecting. Submitting
to the hospital world. Or the hospital claiming another.
Bill
On Thu, Jun 28th, 2012 at 9:32 AM, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]>
wrote:
> hugely promising, this, Andrew. Do send further drafts!
>
> Makes me apologize retrospectively for my many unspontaneous 'snaps'.
> All mine should be labelled - 'snap, somewhat doctored'
>
>
> On 28/06/2012, at 2:01 AM, Andrew Burke wrote:
>
> > thanks, Sheila - I'm sorry about the double spacing. I forgot it did
> that.
> > andrew
> >
> > On 27 June 2012 23:42, Sheila Murphy <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> >
> >> Andrew, I am quite taken with the imagery here, the accuracy with
> >> which
> you
> >> show the truth of what happens there. Thank you for this! Sheila
> >>
> >> On Wed, Jun 27, 2012 at 12:25 AM, Andrew Burke
> >> <[log in to unmask]>
> >> wrote:
> >>
> >>> *Anaesthetic Aesthetics*
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> I enter hospital, not knowing
> >>>
> >>> who I'm going to see :: dead, living,
> >>>
> >>> actors slipping into their roles
> >>>
> >>> for theatre. I greet all I meet
> >>>
> >>> with a happy face, reflecting
> >>>
> >>> the intelligence of a decorated biscuit
> >>>
> >>> at a birthday party. I am their balloon
> >>>
> >>> to pump up with their machines, to
> >>>
> >>> pop with their sharp knives. They wheel me
> >>>
> >>> down long corridors of light, I'm facing
> >>>
> >>> a *her* face and a *his* face, upside down,
> >>>
> >>> clowns taking me for a ride. They
> >>>
> >>> stop and put me on a serving tray.
> >>>
> >>> *Me!* Soon I am floating in liquid air
> >>>
> >>> where I keep my true self, mid-deep
> >>>
> >>> in a lake where naught swim but I.
> >>>
> >>> I surface to play my role, an impro
> >>>
> >>> where parts are tagged and we
> >>>
> >>> create our own diurnal dialogues
> >>>
> >>> and midnight monologues to those
> >>>
> >>> playing dark night nurse. My balloon self
> >>>
> >>> sags in a field where the tent is up, a circus
> >>>
> >>> of before nows, yesterdays, the dead ones
> >>>
> >>> who have stayed for one reason or
> >>>
> >>> no other. Once they circled
> >>>
> >>> coming into focus as faces smiling
> >>>
> >>> before their skin flaked off
> >>>
> >>> and death faces blew away in
> >>>
> >>> a silent breeze. Again I am
> >>>
> >>> in their hands, again I float from
> >>>
> >>> their theatre to my circus domain -
> >>>
> >>> now my mother approaches
> >>>
> >>> with a friendly grin made all
> >>>
> >>> the more horrific by her death. It isn't
> >>>
> >>> about her - it's about me. Yet
> >>>
> >>> I still don't understand, as I return
> >>>
> >>> with my laughing biscuit intelligence
> >>>
> >>> fresh from the baking fire.
> >>>
> >>> --
> >>>
> >>> Not truly a snap because I have worked on it - this is draft six.
> >>> Any comments all welcome.
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> Andrew
> >>> http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
> >>>
> >>
> >
> >
> >
> > --
> > Andrew
> > http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
>
>
>
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