In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk

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  • For relevant Notes, see previous post !

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    Notes : 

    The Parrot has been speechless for quite a while now. But in the fairly recent past, leading up to the UK Brexit vote, this bird in a cage had quite a lot to say. See Parrot-Addenda-distilled-2.pdf (roganwolf.com)

    The Parrot is an old friend of mine, borrowed from John Skelton, a poet in the reign of Henry 8th. Skelton wrote a longish satire called ‘Speak Parrot,’ all in strict Rhyme Royal – a seven line rhyming stanza. His Parrot is a bird of paradise who ‘speaks all languages aptly.’ Perhaps his cage restricts him. There again, perhaps it protects him. Or is it a rib-cage ? For the parrot must speak the truth and from the heart and that can be a dangerous business and he has to go carefully.

    And my present-day Parrot has transferred his cage to the top of the Tyndale Monument (pictured). This was built by the Victorians in honour of William Tyndale, a man who died for his truth. The monument stands on the edge of the Cotswold escarpment, facing due west. The Parrot sees the UK as being covered over and almost overwhelmed by a Great Flood of lies. He is a kind of Noah, riding his Ark, robed in bright colours. He might venture down again from that high tower, when and if the Flood retreats.

    The Hoodlum Toad referred to in this latest stanza is of course Alex Johnson (‘call me Boris’), ex-Prime Minister of the UK, sacked for his successive abuses of the nation’s sovereign people (a number of whom, at the time of writing, would seem to want yet more). My title for Johnson is partly in reference to Mr Toad of Toad Hall, a character in Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame. In that book, set in Edwardian times, Mr Toad puffs himself up quite a lot and talks reassuringly to himself in front of the mirror. And there’s also that popular phrase : ‘Lying Toad.’

     

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  • Poems for Rising Ten

    I run a project called Poems for the wall. A new collection for the project is now complete. It is called Poems for Rising Ten and is for children approaching the end of their time in primary school.

    There are 25 poems in this new collection, each one accompanied by art work. In most cases, the images are not literal illustrations as such. I think they offer something actually richer than illustration, carrying or suggesting the spirit of the words, rather than prescribing shapes for them. They are by Rachel Stevens who has given her work free to this project.

    These poems/compositions have now been uploaded on the project’s website https://poemsforthewall.org . As with all the other poems on offer there, they are available for downloading free of charge.

    The image above shows them enlarged to A3 size and printed onto foamex board. Through the first three weeks of October, they were exhibited in a quiet country church.

    Years Five and Six from the local primary school visited and seemed impressed and responded in kind.

    At the end of November, the UK Poetry Society advertised the new collection in one its regular newsletters it sends out to schools across the UK.

    Here are some initial close-ups of the poems on display, taken by smart phone : https://www.facebook.com/photo/fbid=7949865511750928&set=pcb.7948868918517254

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  • Here in the UK, knowing that it’s National Poetry Day today, I have just written the poem above. Things seem to happen faster in old age. The name Danby in the poem’s text refers to John F. Danby, a literary critic who wrote a rather wonderful book called ‘Shakespeare’s Doctrine of Nature – A Study of King Lear.’ The book’s scope and reach seem larger, somehow, than just literary criticism.

    In the play, Edgar is young where Lear is old, but Edgar belonged to Lear’s court, he was of that played-out world. Well disguised, he accompanies Lear in his exile and stays with him on the heath and in the tempest. He doesn’t share Lear’s madness but all his privations he does. Through being broken with Lear, he is allowed to succeed him.

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  • Click on the text and the poem will expand a bit and be easier to read. It had to be this small, to fit onto a single page. 

    Only a few months ago, we were celebrating the Platimum Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth, a living symbol of stability among so much in the world that is anything but stable. But then, soon afterwards, both Queen Elizabeth herself and what she represented to so many, fell away from us, into our past. On Sunday, September 11th, I recited this poem at an open air event, to thousands of people who had not come here to grieve, but were now doing just that, even while we played. The poem was followed by a minute of near perfect silence.    

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  • September 6th was, of course, the date on which Mr Johnson stood down as prime minister of the UK. On the other hand, the poem (in its two parts) might be described as a celebration of adolescence, a developmental stage in which the growing human being discovers and explores self, its wonders, its powers and its boundaries.

    But human society and its survival depends on the ability of enough people, above all our leaders, to move beyond that juvenile (and of course potentially delinquent) stage.

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