Let's have a bit of culture shall we?

A couple of poems from a Northumberland writer, Peter Bennet, who runs courses for my new employers. He's had a couple of anthologies published and I'm much impressed.

Testing Tanks on Chesterhope

Land-lice hauling ochre clouds
Churn moorland into battle tracks.

This always was a cut-throat place -
Northumberland,
The old stiff neck of Britain.

It's all so vilely eloquent,
This war dance of technology,
This bump and grind
That has the skrike of sawmills in it,
The grunt of pigs.

It's not the metal or the ground that speaks.

Newcastle upon Tyne

Longbows are bent against the sky -
A road sprung to a metal hull
Projects their freight through snarls of chimneys.
Below, the river's unschooled pull
Defelcts the city's archery.

-- Anonymous, September 27, 2000

Answers

Wonderful stuff Softie!(:o)

-- Anonymous, September 27, 2000

One of my favourites by Seamus Heaney; takes me back to childhood summer. What I love about Heaney is that his work makes you read it out loud; it needs the measure and pace of the voice to direct it. Death of a Naturalist All year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun. Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragon-flies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water
In the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampotsful of the jellied
Specks to range on window-sills at home,
On shelves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst into nimble-
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy from was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.

Then one hot day when fields were rank
With cowdung in the grass and agry frogs
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hedges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross-bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like sails. Some
hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it.

-- Anonymous, September 27, 2000

Cautionary Tales for Children

Matilda told such dreadful lies It made one grasp and stretch one eyes

Her aunt who from her earliest youth Had kept a strict regard for truth

Attempted to believe Matilda The effort very nearly killed her

And would have done so had not she Discovered this infirmity

For once towards the close of day Matilda growing tried of play

On finding she was left alone Went tiptoe to the telephone

And summoned the immediate aid Of Londons noble fire brigade

Within an hour the gallant band Were pouring in from every hand

From Puckney, Hackney Downs and Low With courage high and hearts aglow

They ran screaming through the town Matildas house is burning down

Inspired by British confidence sang loud Proceeding from the frenzied crowd

And ran their ladders through a score Of windows on the ballroom floor

And took peculiar pains to souse The pictures up and down the house

Until Matildas aunt succeeded In telling them they were not needed

And even then she had to pay To get the men to go away.

It happened that a few weeks later He aunt was off to the theatre

To see that interesting play The second Mrs Tankeray

She had refused to take here niece To see this entertaining piece

A depravation just and wise To punish her for telling lies

That night a fire did break out You should have heard Matilda shout

You should have heard her scream and ball And throw the window up and call

To people passing in the street The rapidly increasing heat

Encouraging her to obtain their confidence But all in vain

For every time she shouted FIRE!!!! They only answered LITTLE LIAR!!

So therefore when her aunt returned Matilda and the house were burnt.

-- Anonymous, September 27, 2000

Poetry ?? Just a wanky way of writing something that ain't worth saying in the first place.

Heed these words, the poets will be first for the chop come the glorious revolution.

Culture shmulture :o)

-- Anonymous, September 27, 2000