{"id":11988,"date":"2021-09-15T12:08:13","date_gmt":"2021-09-15T11:08:13","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11988"},"modified":"2021-11-02T21:19:49","modified_gmt":"2021-11-02T20:19:49","slug":"3-poems-5","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=11988","title":{"rendered":"<strong>3 Poems<\/strong>"},"content":{"rendered":"<h3><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" src=\"https:\/\/i.postimg.cc\/TP6qDxPR\/08-Across-and-In-Between-1-3-MB.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"400\" \/><\/h3>\n<h3><strong>footprint<\/strong><\/h3>\n<p>sometimes sorrow<br \/>\nlooms for years<br \/>\ndark cloud inching closer<\/p>\n<p>there\u2019s time to prepare<br \/>\nyou\u2019re braced for the blow<\/p>\n<p>sometimes sorrow<br \/>\ncomes out of the blue<br \/>\na clear sky<br \/>\nnever-dreamed of woe \u2013<br \/>\nyou\u2019re unprepared<\/p>\n<p>yet recognize your sorrow at once<br \/>\nas Electra recognises Orestes<br \/>\nby his footprint<br \/>\nbe it in mud or sand or blood<\/p>\n<p><!--nextpage--><\/p>\n<h3><strong>the room<\/strong><\/h3>\n<p>after the man I want<br \/>\nhas swallowed Germany<br \/>\nand France<br \/>\nI\u2019m allowed back into the room<\/p>\n<p>he\u2019s quiet as any creature<br \/>\nafter such a meal<br \/>\ntoo sleepy to fight with me<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019ve been looking forward<br \/>\nto a scrap all week<br \/>\nbut he holds me at bay<br \/>\nsteaming in his wicked sleep like a sauna<\/p>\n<p>he\u2019s mine, fruit o\u2019 my tongue,<br \/>\nmy weal and woe,<br \/>\nbut maybe I don\u2019t want him now<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h3><\/h3>\n<p><!--nextpage--><\/p>\n<h3><strong>afternoons at the bedside<\/strong><\/h3>\n<p><em>a sequence<\/em><\/p>\n<p>changeable life<br \/>\nof a cloud<\/p>\n<p>chair<br \/>\nwith nine lives<\/p>\n<p>glow-worms in Wales<br \/>\nbuckling and unbuckling the night<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>my bygone fortune<br \/>\ncrouching<br \/>\nlike a dwarf in a well in a fairy tale<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>the pleasures of being so<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>white concrete steps<br \/>\nof the new dam at Argal<\/p>\n<p>long troughs<br \/>\nfull of white foam<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>a coincidence of zebras<br \/>\nbeehives of the world<br \/>\na cobweb of common sense<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>to keep the colours fresh<br \/>\nshe dips her paint brush<br \/>\ninto the clear water of the burn<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p><em>when the hare dies<br \/>\n<\/em><em>the fox mourns*<\/em><em>\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>cedar tree by a waterfall<br \/>\npinches of light<br \/>\nseven Septembers done in shadow-stitch<br \/>\nthe field\u2019s nickname<br \/>\nafternoons at the bedside<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>near-dark darkening away<br \/>\non the drumskin of estuary water<br \/>\nlast faint light going<br \/>\nfrom the water runnels<br \/>\nnight coming<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>blue-painted shrine<br \/>\ncut into the massive trunk<br \/>\nof a old chestnut:<\/p>\n<p>the holy family<br \/>\n(votive scraps tied to the lower branches)<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>these are the paintings he painted<br \/>\nafter his wife\u2019s death<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p><em>cats<br \/>\n<\/em><em>have inspired<br \/>\n<\/em><em>many choreographers**<\/em><em>\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>day shining<br \/>\nlike a new pitchfork<br \/>\ngrace-notes<br \/>\nof the clouds veering away<br \/>\nabstinent light<br \/>\nslanting through the open fan<br \/>\nof the birch tree<br \/>\na grammar of light<br \/>\nlong-lost alphabets of light<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>a bridge built<br \/>\nsolely by women<br \/>\nover sixty years ago<br \/>\nacross a wild stretch<br \/>\nof the river<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>a compendium of ancient sighs<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>the prayer room<br \/>\nand the prayer garden<br \/>\nwith a fountain<br \/>\nwhere the saint washed his hands<br \/>\nbloodstained<br \/>\nfrom carrying his severed head for miles<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>this year<br \/>\nso much daughtering<br \/>\nso much mothering<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>only a ditch of muddy water<br \/>\nremains<br \/>\nwhere the Tower<br \/>\nof Babel stood<br \/>\nbut when the Babylonian scribe<br \/>\nmade a clay map<br \/>\nof the known world<br \/>\nhe put Babylon at the centre<br \/>\nringed by a protective circle<br \/>\nof bitter water<br \/>\nand paid great attention<br \/>\nto the houses of gods, monsters and heroes<br \/>\ndwelling at the rim of the world<br \/>\nin eternal deliberation<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>a tiny thought<br \/>\ntakes heart in me<br \/>\nhow beautiful to be used<br \/>\nby unknown hands<br \/>\nespecially those I was friends with<br \/>\nlong ago<br \/>\nin the wedding ring era<\/p>\n<p><em>\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>Sources:<\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>when the hare dies:<\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>from the Middle English poem, sourced here from The Leaping Hare by George Ewart Evans and David Thomson, Faber 1972<\/em><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><em>cats have inspired:\u00a0 source untraced<\/em><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<p><strong>\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<p><strong>\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<p><strong>\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>footprint sometimes sorrow looms for years dark cloud inching closer there\u2019s time to prepare you\u2019re braced for the blow sometimes sorrow comes out of the blue a clear sky never-dreamed of woe \u2013 you\u2019re unprepared yet recognize your sorrow at once as Electra recognises Orestes by his footprint be it in mud or sand or [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":180,"featured_media":12082,"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":[401,405],"tags":[404],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v20.2.1 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>3 Poems - The Manchester Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" 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