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I like the poem. The only criticism could be that the language isnt quite 'special' enough, heightened that is. But on a few readings that idea of mine will probably vanish. As to 'villages' it is well-known that the 'City of Bath' is made up of numerous villages all sharing a town centre. These 'villages' are demarcated by the pub, or pubs, at the centre of them which people walk to, or between. A lot of middle class people in their cars dont know about this. But the locals do. Douglas Clark, Bath, England mailto: [log in to unmask] Lynx: Poetry from Bath .......... http://www.bath.ac.uk/~exxdgdc/lynx.html On Tue, 4 Sep 2001, david.bircumshaw wrote: > It's very _rural_, Roger. It always fascinates me how this country, the most > and longest urbanised in the world, with the possible exceptions of Belgium > or Holland, continues to produce a poetry of villages and fields. I feel the > drag myself, whenever I go walking in the countryside lanes and fields I > start getting a compulsion to go into village churches (as well as the > pubs!) > > As if the countryside were a religious substitute. Or Mother. > > I very much like the image of the tree settling its roots in the final > stanza, not sure about the dialect transcription, sounds a bit Thos > Hardyesque, but it's always hard to put non-Standard English into written > form. > > Best > > Dave > > > ----- Original Message ----- > From: "Roger Collett" <[log in to unmask]> > To: <[log in to unmask]> > Sent: Monday, September 03, 2001 6:39 PM > Subject: Poem of mine > > > > Am looking for comment and crit on the following as I don't have a group > to > > work with at the moment. > > > > > > The 'Ipsy 'Awsy Tree > > > > > > Midsummer's eve. > > The village nestles under the downs > > beneath the stick figure of the white horse. > > > > On the hill above > > there's a rattling of twiggy branches > > as the tree lifts its roots from the chalky soil > > and strides off across the down. > > > > In the 'Baker's Arms', > > a fat, rather grubby old man > > sits in the corner of the public bar > > relating local legend > > to the team from the BBC. > > > > Old Tich puts down his empty glass. > > "Used to be giants hereabout, > > they'm all gone now, et by the dragon. > > Still see their footprints alongside the Manger, > > the valley by the 'orse. > > Only baint an 'orse really, > > tis the ghost of the dragon. > > > > Old George killed the dragon > > on top of Dragon's Hill. > > There's a patch on top > > where the blood ran out. > > Tis bare to this day > > and nuthin ever grows there. > > All the fairy folk are gone now > > and all the bad wights 'cept one". > > He looks at his glass and waits. > > > > The interviewer fetches another pint. > > "Which one's that then, Tich?" > > "The one he's been scaring the kids with again" > > comes a voice from the bar. > > > > "You mark what I sez, > > the 'Ipsy 'Awsy tree walks the Vale > > each Midsummer's eve. > > It'll have the blood of a child, > > the wrong 'un what's out after midnight, > > whose folk don't care for 'un proper. > > Mark my words, someone'll regret tonight". > > > > He downs his pint, > > leaves the bar to the murmur of angry voices > > and goes back to lock himself in his cottage. > > The BBC team pack up their gear and leave > > as the landlord cries "Time gentlemen please". > > > > Just before dawn, on the hillside, > > not quite in the same place as before, > > the tree settles its roots into the thin earth, > > its berries bright with the colour of blood. > > > > Roger Collett > > 2nd September 2001 > > >