Evening Walk in a Seaside Town
By Ewan
- 4807 reads
Prufrock's Companion
Strewn behind us, I can see the skins of former lives,
trousers pin-striped, soldier's parade-serge
and even battle dress, though I fought
at far remove from blood and bullets.
Let us go then, you and I
to where the future surely lies
at the foot of the hill;
where the tombstone milestone
reads our three score and ten,
or the hundred-and-one
of some unlucky men.
And if we'd asked,
looked beyond the gypsy's curtain,
passed the silver to gnarling knuckles,
for crystal-scrying most uncertain?
Imagine, the crone's tent or pier-end
poster-paint clap-board booth.
“Fortunes told, enquire within”
We'd feel the goosebumps on our skin.
Madame Blandini
A corvid figure, crouched in her chair,
her pitch-black scarf covers her hair,
she chooses her words with consummate care,
with the aid of a pin and La Dictionnaire.
No matter her speaking makes no sense,
she writhes with passion, her words intense.
For nothing “begins”- it must commence,
for nonsense predictions, small recompense.
“Woe betide the poetry man,
who writes what he knows,
who writes what he can.”
The palm opens, the coin is gone
“I'll need another to carry on.”
And she tells it all,
such a bitter truth,
looks back at the mis-steps,
the folly of youth.
Of foolish, unrequired love,
still less than unrequited.
We give her unkind, parting words:
“Light a candle, cast a spell,
speak in runes, you might as well”.
Twilight Time
But we did not go,
we passed the pier by
and made our promenade
along the sea-front
as the sun drowned
in flat grey water
off Margate or Brighton Beach.
And if we'd gone,
down the dingy dungeon stairs
into that other world,
of secret, sequinned, he who dares?
Stearns in Clubland
Watchful eyes, used to the dark,
welcome us together,
how can they not?
You and I: we are as inseperable
as Castor and Pollux,
Hermes and Aphrodite,
ego and id.
There are hands linked
across single-candled tables,
they disconnect briefly,
then reconnect as we pass by
and “sit-ye-down”
anent a whispered
request or permission
at an ill-lit table
of our own.
My one drink is cheap
for freedom comes gratis
with it, though there are
no hands across this table.
Coda
And in that bar a mermaid sang
to other mermaids and
-for once, just this once-
for you and me.
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Comments
Beautiful interpretation of
Beautiful interpretation of the IP, Ewan. A really rewarding read.
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I like your own angles on
I like your own angles on Eliot, Ewan. Did the man ever realise how funny he must have looked? Going to Margate on the bank holiday and walking into the pub where the cockney family were drinking and chatting. What did Eliot wear for his day down the seaside? Did he know how to order a pint of beer at the bar? And then going to the clairvoyant. Yes, clairvoyants and medium were serious stuff, people used them to contact their dead relatives and where I live people still go to clairvoyant nights in the Moose Hall. But even amongst believers I am sure there is a remnant of balanced scepticism.
And then the isolation of the man
'On Margate Sands I can connect
Nothing with nothing..'
Eliot was often arrogant and ignorant of people who were not like himself but there is a real pathos to some of his work.
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I would like to see him back
I would like to see him back on the National Curriculum . The Waste Land, the themes about fresh roots growing 'out of this stony rubbish'. That was then, postwar bombsites, it's now when global warming is trashing everywhere that's away from the world's centres of power. Eliot's search for faith and peace, his discovery of Buddha, that was creative then, these days mindfulness meditation is becoming an everyone thing, that the NHS promotes because it's good.
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It's the Bank Holiday and I
It's the Bank Holiday and I have spare time so I am going to yakk on a bit.
When a writer or musician is good and they have something to say my own view is sometimes 'never trust the singer, trust the song' By all means recognise the personal shortcomings of the creator but it seems foolish to discard the work.
For me when I ws 24 and 'got into feminism' the real test case was Pete Townshend and Quadrophenia which I still love and identify with.
The song Dr Jimmy has the lines
'what is it, I'll take it
who is she, I'll rape her'
IMO this simply the state of mind of the central character at that given moment. Jimmy is 16. It is improbable that he has had sexual intercourse as when he is not gadding around with his pals and getting smashed out his nut on booze and speed he is back at home with mum and dad who take him back again and again provided he finds work. Girls his age would prefer young men a couple of years older. So Pete passed my feminist censorship test
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I don't believe Pete was
I don't believe Pete was looking at the child pornography 'just for research.' However he also claimed that he had been abused as a child and I am as sure as I can be that this is true.
BTW Your studies are on a parallel timeline to mine. 1981 Stirling Uni I did a Philosophy and Literature option.
Creative people and horrible behaviour, who knows what goes on in their head? I don't think that when Rolf Harris wrote 'Two little boys' he was dreaming of sodomy at the moment of inspiration and the song works very well in Trainspotting when Spud sings it at his friend's funeral. However Rolf's behaviour to children is inexcusable.
As for Pete let's stick with the music...
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Great thread. Yes. It's this
Great thread. Yes. It's this topic. A column in this week's TLS got me going. Proscribed reading.
Parson Thru
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Great poem, too. You really
Great poem, too. You really are very literary. I feel like I'm playing at it. I've read some of those works by Eliot over and over and never got all that. Do you need to formally study pieces to get it?
Parson Thru
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I'm glad I came back to read
I'm glad I came back to read this again.
Rereading is sometimes not a bad thing.
Your "no hands across this table" cued-in "hands across the water". Funny old things, we humans.
Parson Thru
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How did this never get a POD?
How did this never get a POD?
Parson Thru
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