{"id":11432,"date":"2020-07-28T08:49:07","date_gmt":"2020-07-28T07:49:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11432"},"modified":"2020-07-29T11:21:04","modified_gmt":"2020-07-29T10:21:04","slug":"2-poems-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11432","title":{"rendered":"2 Poems"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/h4>\n

Disillusionment<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/h4>\n

rain glints on the copper beech<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

standard cirrus motionless above<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

that will do \u2013<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the poem has been here <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

or hereabouts<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

many times<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and what does it do <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

with its words?<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

where does it take us to?<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

are these rain glints<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the very ones I think I saw?<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

disillusionment can fall<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

at any hour<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

nine eleven or twelve<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

just as words do<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

in or out of poems<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

remorseless<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

their pitter-patter<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

COVERDALE\u00a0<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

From a train, as so often noticed, the backside of the city:<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Dead motors, fly-tips, tyre-dumps, unclaimed rubble,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0sunless repair shops, any old iron.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Amid this, its grass surrounds striving to stay spruce,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 the Coverdale Baptist Church, eccentric in Ardwick,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 built to be different in 1970, Ernest Geoffrey Seddon,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 architect, good, careful brick, plentiful glass, <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 a merit mark for the Twentieth Century <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

built to promulgate the ghostly psalms.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

How amiable are thy dwellings thou Lord of Hosts!<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Yea, the sparrow hath found her an house and the swallow<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0a nest where she may lay her young.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

~<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Nothing amiable in the end about Fort Ardwick, or Fort<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Beswick, nor any of Hulme\u2019s royal crescents,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0the 70s systems built to solve the problem of the poor.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Their old lavatories down the yard (that fearsome drop), fitful<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0gas mantles, cold clinker in the hearth of a morning,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

all that needed clearing and how different, how systematic<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0all this looked,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

pueblos of progress but soon leaking, crumbling, <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0so much shoddy.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

And the poor were spilt there.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And the systemisers were confounded, regretful that<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 the modern had not worked out and said:<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

God thou knoweth my simpleness, and my faults are not<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0hid from thee.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Let not them that trust in thee, O Lord God of Hosts be<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 ashamed for my cause \u2026<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

for thy sake I have suffered reproof; shame hath<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0covered my face \u2026<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

(Now we are trying to do better.)<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

~<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

But Coverdale\u2019s church, the plaque to the Glory of God<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 hidden by weed-stalks,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

stands undefeated: drums, vocals and bass guitar are lifted up:<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Behold how good and joyful a thing it is to dwell together in unity!<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A clutter of dressers,<\/span><\/span><\/span> <\/i>beds, settees and chairs, domestic stuff, <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0a kettle,<\/span><\/span><\/span> <\/i>pots and pans, occupy the nave,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

each re-claimed, fixed up to make a home again.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

And reaching with a smile across the kitchen-counter and trestle-tables,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0the true of heart<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span>,<\/span><\/span><\/span> <\/i>the cooks and servers, <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 the sweepers-up, the gardener tidying the outside<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 and in the office-corner the totters-up making the ends meet.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

These shall not be defeated.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Not by the girl shooting up into her eyeball,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0not by half-taught plutocrats,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0not by the shit-stained drunk,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0not by the hedge-fund pensionaries,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0not by the battered, not even by the batterer,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0not by all those enjoying their desserts,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0not by she who cannot care,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0not by the comfortable like yours truly,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0not by those who <\/span><\/span><\/span>for his own lust doth persecute the poor.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

For the poor shall not always be forgotten; the patient<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 abiding of the meek shall not perish for ever.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Disillusionment rain glints on the copper beech standard cirrus motionless above   that will do \u2013 the poem has been here or hereabouts many times and what does it do with its words? where does it take us to?   are these rain glints the very ones I think I saw?   disillusionment can fall […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":337,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[394,395],"tags":[398],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n2 Poems - The Manchester Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11432\" \/>\n<link rel=\"next\" href=\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11432&page=2\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"2 Poems - The Manchester Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Disillusionment rain glints on the copper beech standard cirrus motionless above   that will do \u2013 the poem has been here or hereabouts many times and what does it do with its words? where does it take us to?   are these rain glints the very ones I think I saw?   disillusionment can fall […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11432\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"The Manchester Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2020-07-28T07:49:07+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2020-07-29T10:21:04+00:00\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Jeffrey Wainwright\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Jeffrey Wainwright\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"3 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11432\",\"url\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11432\",\"name\":\"2 Poems - The Manchester Review\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/#website\"},\"datePublished\":\"2020-07-28T07:49:07+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2020-07-29T10:21:04+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/#\/schema\/person\/dea60b4a0ff3ddc869e2c59867c452ee\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11432\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/#website\",\"url\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/\",\"name\":\"The Manchester Review\",\"description\":\"The Manchester Review\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":\"required name=search_term_string\"}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/#\/schema\/person\/dea60b4a0ff3ddc869e2c59867c452ee\",\"name\":\"Jeffrey Wainwright\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/wp-includes\/images\/blank.gif\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/wp-includes\/images\/blank.gif\",\"caption\":\"Jeffrey Wainwright\"},\"description\":\"Jeffrey Wainwright's most recent book of poems is As Best We Can, published by Carcanet Press in August 2020. 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