HOW TO STAND

I was looking at a poem I had thought finished when I realised it still needed work. You can read the last version here. I then discussed it with a friend and concluded it really needed alterations.

YOU PLAY THE HAND YOU’RE GIVEN 1

Tallinn Old Town – Friday afternoon

What catches your attention

as you turn a corner

is the woman with the camera

chivvying the others into shapes

she sees on a screen in her head

It’s only then you notice the Bride

in ivory silk with a bouquet to match

being told where to stand

how to pose

who to look at

when to smile

and you wish her

against all the odds

a happy life

I've removed the word bossy as it was not needed, too much tell, not enough show. I felt I'd missed a trick by not using how, why, what and when. Also my friend suggested a triptych - watch this space. 

Archie Fisher died last week. He was a folk singer I'd liked since the early 70s. Here's the song that introduced me to his work.

Lo Borges also checked out of planet earth as well. I adored his work with Milton Nascimento on Clube de Esquina. This is Tudo O Que Você Podia Ser

Until next time. 

THOUGHTOGRAPHY

When I was a child I read a magazine article about a man who could hold photographic plates to his head and think images on to the paper. The resulting  fuzzy dream like black and white images fascinated me. Years later I wrote a poem about it. You can read it here. Recently I discovered that his name was Ted Serios. I was surprised to see the images again and wrote this about it.

THOUGHTOGRAPHY

See him hold the plate to his forehead

drunk as a skunk with

eyes screwed shut

and he must sit down when the task is done

He will produce images time and time again

and be called charlatan for his trouble

I’ve walked down such captured streets

tottering along with migraine head

searched through the blurred black and white

but can never stay long enough to find you

I think that a common theme of my work is the act of searching for another who is not there. The poem is too fresh for me to assess. Watch this space, it might well return.

I've been avidly listening to The Decemberists lately. They are one of my favourite bands. 

Until next time. 

THE MEN SHRUGGED

Spacing is important, it effects how people perceive a poem. Some poems can look too compact, at other times, too much air and the poem can appear slight. The previous version of this poem was probably too squat. You can read it here.

SALT

They found it where

he said they would

A day’s digging in the field

dirty brown crystals

It was, he maintained

proof there had been an ocean above our heads

To begin with it was whispered

he had placed it there himself

but as the seam expanded

and gave up pound after pounds worth of profit

They accepted it was natural

though none would go as far as to agree

this land had once been the sea bed

He claimed we limit ourselves

settle for the least we can

In the spring he left for who knows where

The men shrugged

content to hollow the earth for coin.

Thanks must again ago to the Secret Poets for their invaluable perspectives. I'm still not sure that the poem is in its final form but it's getting there.

Here's Ruben Blades with Pedro Navaja. 

Until next time.