The Poetic Freckle

Tag: poetry

Chimney & Bobbin

I  Chimneys

He flows down,
down the familiar stubble path.

Only the tall chimneys see
his quietly exuberant descent;

his jazzy swing
towards the factory door.

Industrial Landscape by Julian Trevelyan, 1937 (© Trevelyan Estate)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


II  Bobbins

Sound evaporates in rows
of endless bobbins.
Fellow workers
freckle blurred light.

She selects a bobbin and
tests the yarn between her fingertips.
A strand more precious than
the forest spun neatly round her head.
She returns the bobbin
to its shelf of spinning desires.

Girl with Bobbin by Humphrey Spender, 1937 http://boltonworktown.co.uk/photograph/girl-with-bobbin 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

poems © Hatty Mare 2014

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when i grow up

 

Pets Rise

A velvet figure ripples past,
the Dachshund is on the move:
‘All for one… ’

Scimitars clash,
chatter flies from the Parrot’s beak:
‘One for all… ’

A warm cloud arches down from the balcony,
young Kit stretches:
‘United we stand… ’

‘… and Divided we fall!’


When I grow up please can I be the Fifth Musketeer?

©Hatty Mare poetry
1947 MO popular photography survey (including Country Life)

 

Ganesha’s envoys

Guardians from afar
balance nimbly
on the gate posts.

The elephants
carry castle turrets
between factory chimneys.

Two angels glistening in the gloom:
their trumpets silent
in the foreign monsoon.

© Hatty Mare 2014

Elephants on Gates of Bridson’s Bleachworks, Humphrey Jennings 1937

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sea Dreams

 

123

Brig 1856 (Gustave Le Gray)

 

Sea Dream

We stray
in early shadows
on the shore.

The city melts inside your eyes,
its shoreline blurs between my toes.

A lone yacht sails
on sepia dreams,
in open sky,
and sea
and
dawn.

©Hatty Mare 2014

 

 

Beach Babes- the prototypes

 



a Poem, a Photo & some Music...

 

Beach Babes

Deckchair at the ready.
Let a little weather stop Nan?
Never!

Coat goes over school shorts.
He grabs his bucket, spade and
wooly hat.

Bundled up, they join the
be-suited coat-clad crowd.
They wash over the sand
like city seaweed.

©Hatty Mare 2014* 


Photo
http://boltonworktown.co.uk/photograph/crowded-sands-2/
The picture that inspired the poem.
(Mass Observation exhibition, The Photographers' Gallery 2013.)
Music
http://youtu.be/gAlEuNFAJIg
I think the mood fits.



					

Insomnia on Ice and Coldplay’s Ghost Stories



a Poem, a Photo & some Music...

 

Insomnia on Ice

Eyelashes turn to icicles
to slash the milky sea
where twin black galleons
rock in iris storms.
The evening star flickers
as snow binds the lids to sleep.

 

©Hatty Mare 2014*

Photo
The Royal Collection: Grotto in an iceberg.
Insomnia on Ice is partly inspired by a photo taken over a 100 years ago.
I saw it slightly more recently at The Photographer's Gallery London.
Music
Coldplay's Midnight
A suggested track, from their new album Ghost Stories, out today.
Thanks for leaving the light on Coldplay!


Hinoki

 

Hinoki

after Kengo Kuma's installation RA London 2014.
I was sorry to see this Japanese piece leave London
but happy to celebrate its enlightened beauty here...

London, bright as a brass band
bouncing off a stack of tins,
fades in the dark shadow-walls
of a Japanese courtyard
whose spring of acoustic glints
slips between the night threads
of my eyes.

Dreams drawn with hinoki lights rise in bamboo wisps.
A copse of birches, a bank of clouds; a vertical sea in stasis.
A ballet corps, frozen in its encore.
And curving up in double triple eights
an acrobatic troupe:
A violin on viola shoulders, resting on cello hips, embraced by a double bass.
A hinoki jewel which hate cannot penetrate.
Its tear-shaped facets still, suspend, repair
all worldly animosity.

Visitors ignore the signs
their camera flashes strike Kuma forest,
lightening hits a crowd of wings
which flap and break newly claustrophobic space.

Waves of wings rock the shore
of my insomnia; yet
I am curiously happy
knowing Kuma-san sleeps
sweetly to the scent of tatami.
Tears fall through a criss-cross rain,
roll along receding sheets,
coalesce into a single drop
before scattering in far-flung dots.

‘Please do not touch!
I circle the trees
seven times, like the Jewish bride her groom
twenty-four, like the hands the clock
until our binding.
It is written that on Dismantlement Day
the forest will blow away
but I will hold its breath inside my lungs
until rivers of wings fly
through forest voids
into
sky.

 

© Hatty Mare 2014 *

 

REVIEWS
Kengo Kuma: Your poem would draw my inspiration.
Helen Ivory: Lovely imagery in your poem.
Toby Thompson: Thanks for the poem, it’s a beautiful thing.
VIDEO
Be transported by Kuma-san's eloquence...

 

* COPYRIGHT Notice:
© [Hatty Mare] and [thepoeticfreckle.wordpress.com], [2014]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Hatty Mare] and [thepoeticfreckle.wordpress.com], with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Protected by COPYSCAPE do not copy.