Poems Of The Week

[jazzy_dave]

When i did my arts and humanities courses way back in the late seventies Tony Harrison was one of the modern poets we studied , and in fact i wrote an essay on him . Here is a couple of his poems , the first was the one we studied in the O.U. course.



Marked With D.

Poem by Tony Harrison


When the chilled dough of his flesh went in an oven
not unlike those he fuelled all his life,
I thought of his cataracts ablaze with Heaven
and radiant with the sight of his dead wife,
light streaming from his mouth to shape her name,
'not Florence and not Flo but always Florrie.'
I thought how his cold tongue burst into flame
but only literally, which makes me sorry,
sorry for his sake there's no Heaven to reach.
I get it all from Earth my daily bread
but he hungered for release from mortal speech
that kept him down, the tongue that weighed like lead.
The baker’s man that no one will see rise
and England made to feel like some dull oaf
is smoke, enough to sting one person’s eyes
and ash (not unlike flour) for one small loaf.



Turns

Poem by Tony Harrison


I thought it made me look more 'working class'
(as if a bit of chequered cloth could bridge that gap!)
I did a turn in it before the glass.
My mother said: It suits you, your dad's cap.
(She preferred me to wear suits and part my hair:
You're every bit as good as that lot are!)

All the pension queue came out to stare.
Dad was sprawled beside the postbox (still VR) ,
his cap turned inside up beside his head,
smudged H A H in purple Indian ink
and Brylcreem slicks displayed so folks migh think
he wanted charity for dropping dead.

He never begged. For nowt! Death's reticence
crowns his life, and me, I'm opening my trap
to busk the class that broke him for the pence
that splash like brackish tears into our cap.

Comments

[deborahw37.livejournal.com]

Tony Harrison! I love his stuff

Timer (1981)
Tony Harrison
Gold survives the fire that’s hot enough
to make you ashes in a standard urn.
An envelope of course official buff
contains your wedding ring that wouldn’t burn.

Dad told me I’d to tell them at St. James’s
the ring should go in the incinerator.
That “eternity” inscribed with both their names is
his surety that they’d be together, “later”.

I signed for the parcelled clothing as the son,
the cardy, apron, pants, bra, dress-

The clerk phoned down, 6- 8- 8- 3- 1?
Has she still her ring on? (Slight pause) Yes!

It’s on my warm palm now, your burnished ring!

I feel your ashes, head, arms, breasts, womb, legs,
sift through its circle slowly, like that thing
you used to let me watch to time the eggs.

[wantedonvoyage.livejournal.com]

Heavy.

[hamsterwoman]

He is a new poet for me -- thank you for the introduction. I like the first poem especially.

[everville340.livejournal.com]

You had my attention from the very first line (chilled dough of his flesh)...

Thank you for the poems!

[ladyblue56.livejournal.com]

Thank you. :)

[a-phoenixdragon.livejournal.com]

*HUGS*

[thespian15.livejournal.com]

Dare I admit, it mostly goes over my head? :o
Although I think I like/understand Turns more then Marked With D.
Hugs, Jon

[kabuldur.livejournal.com]

Ah you did an arts degree in the late 70s. I did mine in the mid 70's :)

[cloudsinvenice]

I didn't know his work before, but I really like these. Thanks for introducing me to him!