A tour-de-force, Max, needing I think that opening stanza, Sheila, to set up expectations and more. At poem's end, the image which first sprung to mind was the 'morning play/of light on plain walls', so evocative, and providing such a contrast with cluttered walls everywhere these days. 'Stiff windows' is a good detail too, Max. Windows were once built to enclose views but have a look on their own. I am presuming it doesn't just mean windows that jam and are hard to raise. Glimpses of family life rendered with restraint. 'Distant Rush' captures train sound perfectly and 'rinsing road-dust from feet' is lovely. My only reservation is the ending. I'd leave off the last stanza, even perhaps ending with 'Dawn their destination' if it could be wangled.
Bill
> On 30 Jul 2015, at 3:15 am, Sheila Murphy <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
> Max, this is wonderful. I cannot help the question:
>
> Could the first stanza go? The piece is stunning, and I think it works
> better without that. Just a hunch.
>
> Sheila
>
>> On Wed, Jul 29, 2015 at 9:11 AM, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>>
>> Knowing His Places
>>
>> Looking back, he sees
>> places worth the knowing -
>> those early ones - waking
>> to the morning play
>> of light on plain walls,
>>
>> soft green leaves framed
>> by stiff windows
>> with birds in, birds
>> on the lawn, birds
>> with worms; first stirrings.
>>
>> Death is everyday.
>> Bobby calves no-one mentions
>> wait by the roadside.
>> In the butcher shop
>> hang lamb, veal, pork.
>>
>> Clouds pass over. Some days
>> the mountain’s in place,
>> snow the sun shines on;
>> others, it's in hiding.
>> Dad comes home from work.
>>
>> ‘Good evening, father,
>> here are your slippers.’
>> Food is in the kitchen
>> with Mum and sister.
>> ‘Look how the boy grows.’
>>
>> Lightning splits a tree.
>> Somewhere a war ends,
>> elsewhere another.
>> Father has a new job,
>> a new place for him
>>
>> to move to, find some place
>> to live. When it’s found,
>> he’ll send for family
>> waiting in a country
>> place, marking time.
>>
>> Removed to that place
>> two days’ journey off,
>> son sees the same and
>> more - a river all summer
>> runs under its bridge
>>
>> through shallows; rinsing
>> road-dust from feet,
>> they paddle in cool wet;
>> slow across blue sky
>> sun on their shoulders
>>
>> is red hot reddening.
>> Mum has pink lotion.
>> The distant rush
>> of a train crosses
>> somewhere downstream.
>>
>> Walking back is through
>> a field of tall maize,
>> a place in itself,
>> sweet corn ripening
>> in green wrapping.
>>
>> Beyond is the sea.
>> Inland are bare hills.
>> In autumn, they burn.
>> Winter brings frosts,
>> ice in the gutters.
>>
>> What is spring? life returns
>> to tall green poplars.
>> School: there’s your place,
>> sit still, sing, count,
>> draw, write, shush. Play.
>>
>> Shun that smelly place.
>> Walking home, hold hands.
>> Dad’s small car will be here soon
>> to take them all to Wellington.
>> His piano fits its new place.
>>
>> Other schools, houses, streets,
>> places to get to know.
>> Big trains: steam locomotives,
>> overnight trips, pillows
>> one shilling; dull red carriages.
>>
>> Settle to sleep - through
>> tunnel-smoke onto the viaduct
>> high above some river.
>> Dawn their destination.
>> Settled now? placed?
>>
>> One day he’d travel
>> alone changing
>> old places known
>> for the fresh unknown
>> why not forever?
>>
>> [Taranaki and Hawkes Bay 1945-6]
>> Seattle July 2015
>
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