2067
6.240
28.viii.25
the astonishment
things persisting
from the dream to light
the map,
as of day made
a word
beaten from just truth
traipse,
eyes up for
the city
of clouds all packed to travel
purpose of
a river
the bud
from fruit with
what is
given to dust
the mouse
away
orchestral
lapses
grip of
just one star
so much
persistence in a body
tangling
to dot dot dot
the fond
remains
a page
untouched, say sky
the wings
of the thing in flight
2065
6.238
26.viii.25
my little corner of the worldmind
a dell and in the underbrush
grim joys so surviving
to live up
to see the dark where we do
much less than any
I’m the leaflit tree
possum up to star
and all the seen to me
to mind
world just this no more
flesh of once living
now ordure rise
begin to believe am someone else
dressed up for the day
think on’t
be king
not kind
it all revolves
I spin
it’s a joke that isn’t funny
you wouldn’t understand
an insect thing I am to be
have been the smoke through the treetops
I will unfold
the music of a mystery
have to remind myself to be here
it was always and ever this way
2065
6.238
26.viii.25
page in another language
a perverse
orthography
Skye
thoughts
the house
at me
pulling
picture
it’s a
window that’s there
as if this
word were all of yours –
the
elements, particle, nothing
as cold as
poison, as tired as the dog
and what
does my hour keeper say?
where is
the one that is at me?
heart
offered to fit a little box
I’m
buttering my brain
you know
yourself
the
water’s there
you’re
seeing
is it a
thing within?
take my
half story
and
another on
how’s your
boat?
right
enough
but the
cloak is winter
if it’s not
on me then
clever as
a salmon
no thing
and thing are same
the tea is
as bladder upon
way’s
walked to be gone
weather’s
not finished with us yet
is it not
in the rain of a day?
a dirty
excuse!
sigh in a
fairy mound
the right
is south
you’d
think
less
words, more uses
up on the
crest of a wave
to the end
of the world
you’re
seeing it
as happy
as a shoe
I am
my head’s
porridge
how’s
yours?
Specific stimuli for long poems
Here are
some types of poem you might consider for the making of a longer work. These
are all things I’ve either done or attempted or plan to attempt.
-
Rhetorical Flourish – take an idea as far as it
can go … e.g. everything is upside down, the world is a tree, what if tomorrow
never comes?, everyone’s invisible ...
-
Unpack one idea, for instance an idiom – skin of
your teeth, bite the bullet, hit the sack, kick the bucket, there are no two
ways about it … take an idiom to task... dig deep - wonder where this formulation of words came from, wonder where it can go
-
Literalize … in this age of the word ‘literally’
being so egregiously misused e.g. – my head is spinning … well where will it
land up? … your pants are on fire … you
could easily apply this principle to footy teams … something I’ve intended to
try but not got around to yet
-
Poem of a particular place – could be where you
are right now, could be a place from memory, could be somewhere you’d like to
go
-
Poem on the way … of the journey, of the place
to place
-
Poem as a particular series – e.g. a series of
ekphrastics /// pictures at an exhibition, a series of poems for a suite of
music
-
A topic (e.g. a particular abstraction) from
many angles – e.g. death, love, life, God, soul, angel, money … I think it’s a
particularly good challenge to create the imagery that makes your reader think again
(and again) about an abstraction, without resorting to further abstraction!
- Missive … write a long letter to a deceased family member explaining how things now are... it might even be to an ancestor you've never met ... alternatively, one could write a letter of apology to one of one's (perhaps unknown) descendants... 'sorry about the weather we've gifted you...'
-
Poem as wild as words can go … read ‘Tom O’
Bedlam’ for a benchmark ... just write the maddest things you can think of ... and when you've gone too far, go on ...
.
The
three long poems for which I am currently gathering materials concern
sex
Gaza
Newtonmore
So quite
different kinds! One about an
abstraction (to be dealt with in concrete and colloquial terms!), one about a
current political crisis and humanitarian catastrophe, one about walking in the
Scottish highlands.
I’ll
share some of the phases of the development of each of these with you, as they
progress. (Although I have no idea what each will be titled, or indeed if I’ll
manage to finish any of them, I’ll probably choose different working
titles for each, so that if they are submitted anywhere there won’t be any
question of prior publication.) Stand by
for fragments!
And meanwhile, please tell us what you are planning in the way of a long poem!
2064
6.237
25.viii.25
death
my best
shot at oblivion
and yet
not yet
invaluable
aid to fame
and still
a dodgy risk
it’s when
the wheels come off
no weather
friend and
foe and all the same
somewhere
in the world
death’s
constant companion
I could
make a list
death is
the falling away of the thought
death in
the dung we do
more death
mere death
and
springs to life
as ordure
of the day breeds flies
we’re up
to our necks in old tricks
by blade
or fade
all this
was, by the way, an homage
exeunt –
the all of was, of me
and still
you find us here
I have
this to hope
we few
don’t call
us
we’ll come
for you
2063
6.236
24.viii.25
a biscuit on biscuit day
tractor
neighbouring and fence
the forest
is we are
all this
weather come to
time takes
on
when and
where else?
has its
many pockets
so
everything can be accomplished
the
biscuit in the bones
up, beg
and by the
way
make
matter
risk it
day is
escaping
nothing to
do
a biscuit
you notice
these things
it’s all
my head indoors
in the after
welcome
big yellow
winterbits
creek run
all away
all day
till
rivers of its kind
salt sea
welcome
sun
though shy
above me
all this chatter
dark falls
and one
step on
the stars
gathering lines in August
here’s the
afternoon reflected
we do it with
a pond
bright
conjure
then the
weather’s back
the grey
mine too
day all up
with
endwards
green yet
tree bent
to a tune
a raucous
caucus up
hear the
creek and know
2062
6.235
23.viii.25
upwardly mobile
the way of
the possum
a scratch
and crawl
cuddle up
day
wistful
scuttle
where
careless
of our consequence
poo trail
too, pissmark
sun
shunning
take my
picture please
a gesture
to gestation
curl,
scamper
knock down
the self help shelf
gnaw for a
moonlit sonata
as pictured
on the box
a
possum-in-arms
a
possum-at-ease
it’s every
possum
for its
pelt
stinky
then let
me call you
a whisper
away
possum is
climbing
held still
to listen
ants to
pick off
for
piggy-back joey
down with
the upsun, as I’ve said
is
bandicoot oblivious
possum is up
in the air
and
springs!
most prey
is leaf
yet
vicious with each other
crippled
with survival scars
up tumble
till
a
curvature called spine
in branch,
to twig, so balance
delicate
of air
face not
unlike
sensate so
claws of a
grapple
and scrap (fierce
fun)
so few and
far
a simple
fact
and in the
rain
what’s
that?
possum’s tweed
to it
in winter
in the fur surprising
know these
eyes and blink
an animal
grief for all before
could get
a wriggle on
ceiling,
fruit basket
tail for a
brush and some ring
a hiss and
a growl in the den
the way of
the possum is touch and go
a prowl
surviving
so far as to dream
the way of
the possum
is where
the bird went
another
dimension now
and the
moon grows with
as heaven
must up
