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Ah, desks. Thanks for that Max. I'm so captured by the narrative link to the subject I have no edit points :-) On 2 July 2015 at 09:52, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]> wrote: > My father made me a desk, Max, he being a more than capable carpenter. I > still use it. It's a bit hacked about but on it, essays have been written > about everything from the unification of Italy to explicating Eliot's 'What > the Thunder said'. Like you, I was the only one in the family to be > provided with a desk. It did give focus. No road to riches however. My two > deskless brothers bother the taxman more than I ever have or will - if that > matters. > > In stanza three below, I did wonder whether it was your father's spindly > shanks for a sec before I recognised the card table. I wonder too, in > stanza 15, whether you could afford a comma, which you use elsewhere to > good effect eg stanza 16. Otherwise readers may wonder what on earth a > 'plank essay' might be. 'Unfinishable' I like. > > Bill > > > On 2 Jul 2015, at 5:21 am, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote: > > > > Tables and Desks > > > > Mother never needed a desk - > > she had the kitchen table > > and her sewing machine. > > > > Father, knowing his colleagues > > had desks - in ‘studies’! - > > made do with his card table, > > > > set up in the living room > > as and when needed - > > wobbly legs, worn green baize; > > > > writing longhand reports > > on teachers he’d inspected, > > to be typed at the office. > > > > Sister did her homework > > on her bed or in it. > > Or on the bus to school. > > > > If I was to excel > > I needed a desk. > > One was got, tiny, > > > > with shelves on the side > > from desktop to floor, > > my French dictionary > > > > the biggest book we had. > > There I Englished Caesar, > > browsed The Golden Treasury. > > > > Work, seldom excellent but > > judged passable, was done. > > On it was confected verse, > > > > parodies and pastiche - > > ‘The Motor Mechanic > > to his Love’ by Max. > > > > Judy next door, my age, plump, > > friendly, stole a look on that desk > > at my secret watercolour art - > > > > nude slim girls copied from underwear > > ads in The Herald, without their bras. > > She said she wouldn’t tell on me. > > > > Verse? - no stopping me. When > > I moved to a share house > > with Phil and Denis > > > > and I forget who, > > my desk might have gone too, > > but Mother put her foot down. > > > > On a cheap typewriter > > on a wide plank essays > > were concocted on Shelley > > > > and the like, overdue > > but tolerated. Once hired > > to teach, I’d hog big desks > > > > at work and at home > > almost invisible under > > books and papers, others’ > > > > essays, work unfinished, > > unfinishable in the clutter. > > Pensioning me off was a mercy. > > > > Now who needs a desk? > > My old knees support this > > laptop. Printer? - upstairs. > > > > Dictionaries? - nowhere. > > Shelley and the like - just > > google them, or trust memory. > > >