[‘Westward’ gatepost in Bolton. Picture from the author’s collection }
[Audio introduction]
As you can see above, I’m branching into audio! The script for the audio file is listed at the end of this post, just in case you can’t play the file or you prefer to read!
Memories seem to be strong at this time of year. Maybe it’s meeting relatives from distant places again? Maybe a small collection of old photographs sent to my Mum? It could just be the long nights, more time to ponder, more time to read about other days. Still, it gives me a perfect opportunity to present one of my all time favourite classic poems. I may have included this before but it’s such a good lesson for the vainglorious, seems right to get people reading it again. Shelley had a talent for spotting interesting subjects for poetry. He was also an expert at the kind of poetry that makes you pause and think:
Ozymandias
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792 – 1822
[Broken Statue of Rameses – image from: http://mason.gmu.edu/~rnanian/Shelley&Smith.html ]
My own poem this time is a recent piece, yet another poem written on a train. In this case, arriving into the city of Manchester, the transition from the outlying area into the centre. Town and city planning is a black art to me but the contrast between areas where money is spent and those left to decay is stark. Almost a physical border. Like Shelley, it’s a reflection on what has gone before, what we choose to change, what we leave alone. Must be hard to make decisions such as what to replace, what to restore and what to leave to time. See what you think and maybe look out for boundaries between old and new yourself:
Middle Bridge
Layers of flaking, rusty, worn out iron.
Peeling apart, like puff pastry on a vanilla slice.
Not so tasty, no icing, no custard.
Grey paint, huge rivets, decaying,
ageing ungracefully, groaning and muttering.
The old train fits, clickerty-clacking across
Thumping and grinding, screeching and binding
on the rails, across the bridge,
of forgotten old iron losing its paint.
Above a byroad, leading nowhere, with potholes.
I sing in my head, ‘The morning Sun,
when it’s on your rails, really shows your age.’
Any old iron, any old iron,
chunky, clunky, peeling, yielding, old iron.
Staying the other side of the tracks,
from the blinding glass and concrete
of a shiny new city
hiding its ageing relatives.
Glen Proctor
[The line ‘The morning sun… inspired by a line from the song Maggie May, written: Rod Stewart, Martin Quittenton, from the album: Every Picture Tells a Story (Mercury/Universal) ]
[Iron bridge near Deansgate Station, Manchester – picture from: https://www.gracesguide.co.uk/Category:Bridges_of_Manchester_and_Salford ]
We’ll finish this post with a Shakespeare Sonnet. One of the four about the ages humans pass through. William presents a hopeful view about our own ageing and admonishes us to keep tight hold of the things we love in old age. Don’t ever let go of hopes, dreams, fancies. They are what make us special:
Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.
William Shakespeare, 1564 – 1616
{Old things on a barn bench – image from: https://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/3634346 ]
[Audioscript for the introduction –
Hello and welcome to this special blog post for the Poet Shrub. A short time ago, my lovely friend, Thivashni, was talking to me about audiobooks and how people are turning more and more to the spoken word for learning, pleasure, instruction, all kinds of things. This chimed with a thought I’ve had for a while to include music in blog posts. This entry is the start.
One word before we begin though, I won’t be posting readings for the classic poems I include. This is mainly because there are already some excellent audio versions of famous poems out there. Try the superb Poetry Society and Poetry Foundation websites as a starting point. Youtube is also a good source. You’ll find readings of thousands of poems by people who speak for a living, actors, raconteurs and the like. They do a much better job than I could!
For now, Poet Shrub will be readings of my own writing and maybe some short passages of music. Enjoy and thank you for visiting!]
