A Poem for Thursday

I bought a book from the shop last time I was at the McWilliams Gallery in Banbridge N. Ireland.
F.E. McWilliams was a sculptor associated with many other well known 20th C. sculptors, including
Henry Moore and Barbara Hepworth.
We, that is Rosie, Alan and myself were there primarily to let Alan see the sculptures, but there is usually a good exhibition of paintings in the other gallery rooms as well.
But this book caught my interest as soon as I saw it.
The poet is Paul Yates and the artist Basil Blackshaw.
Basil Blackshaw's work I knew,  from exhibitions that I had been to with Rosie. But Paul Yates was a new name to me. Together they have produced a book of magic that  captures the essence of the area of South Down that is "MOURNE". [published by Tom Caldwell Gallery Belfast]
Here is one of the poems that struck a chord with me, although obviously it was the Ladies Toilet and at Donaghadee!



GENTS TOILETS
KILKEEL HARBOUR
for Graham and Jude


A
Moog synthesis of oil skin glazed terrazzo acoustics, discotheque
Timpani of flushing stained steel urinals and the relentless air raid
Jazz of flies hunting in packs, psychedelic sun flare automatic
Writing on the walls; And
Through the open window, squalls of swozzled Swahili from
Squabbling gulls, the scream of a car tyre turning suddenly on the
Spot, the kind of sizzle silence makes when it touches against an
Ocean.

Paul Yates.

More Camels!

Two more camels in the studio.
Another has it's boots on but the other thinks it really is The Ship of The Desert  actually the ships of the desert!

They are waiting in the kiln room to be fired to biscuit.

I think that they probably feel a bit above the other fellows waiting on the shelf.

Camels have that look...don't they?

From A Railway Carriage [with many thanks to R.L.Stevenson].

Last week the family treated us to a day out on the Heverthwaite Steam Railway, in Cumbria.
There were lots of serious men with even more serious cameras who seemed to have gathered there from the four corners of the earth. And they were examining the tracks and the carriages and all the accoutrements of the wonder of steam locomotives.
But I was taken back in my memories to outings that took me with Aunt Helen, on the train up to Portstewart and the north coast of Ireland . Then even further back to the age of five and the very first day that I was introduced to the joy of rhythm and rhythme. I walked through a door, egged on by my mother, who possibly wanted an hour or two for herself on a Saturday morning, and was confronted by a gaggle of five year olds all sitting in a row facing one way and Mr. Graeme Roberts [teacher] reciting this with gusto!
So here is the updated version courtesy of family.

" Quick get in the carriage before it goes"

" All aboard"

"

Off we go.

Faster than fairies, faster than witches,

Bridges and houses,

hedges and ditches;

And charging along like troops in a battle,

All through the meadows the horses and cattle;

All of the sights of the hill and the plain

Fly as thick as driving rain;

And ever again, in the wink of an eye,

Painted stations whistle by.

Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,

All by himself and gathering brambles;

Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;

And there is the green for stringing the daisies!

Here is a cart run away in the road

Lumping along with man and load;

And here is a mill,

and there is a river:

Each a glimpse and gone forever!

So we reached the end of the line and all got off the train,

 and went to see the driver,

 and the fire in the belly of the engine .

And then it was off to the next bit of the adventure.

But that is a story more for Swallows and Amazons and it would take a better man that I am to tell it!

The Poetry Bus

I hope that I'm still in time to get on this week. I've gone for the summer memories and feelings.

Messina

They walk in pairs

       along the edge

      And diamonds sparkle

 in the blue.

              While thin winged swallows

  race across

                  the early moon.

   And scream for joy.