YOU’RE LOOKING OVER MY SHOULDER

'After war service, the author lived and taught for some years
in London's suburbia; later in adult education and eventually
at Sir Roger Manwood’s School in Sandwlch, Kent. He has
an arts degree and has travelled extensively in pursuit of
interests in history, archaeology and architecture.‘

YOU'RE LOOKING

OVER MY SHOULDER

Rex Franklin

 

ISBN 0 9521243 0 7 ' £3.00

,1»! 


FOR MADELEINE

YOU'RE LOOKING

OVER MY SHOULDER

Illustrated and published by the author
ISBN 0 9521248 0 7 COPYRIGHT R. FRANKLIN 1993
(No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted
in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical,

including photocopy, recording, or any Information storage
and retrieval system without permission of the author)

R.J. FRANKLIN
20, WINDMILL CLOSE,
BRIDGE,
CANTERBURY.

KENT. CT4 5LY


CONTENTS CONT.,

Nearer To God In A Garden?

Wind Of Mercury

Ascension Day Service

Hiatus 4.

Love

April’s Fool

Song Of Summer

Daughter Of Janus

Autumn

Four—way Conversation Piece
All-Elizabethan:

The World's Fairings
False Heart, I Sigh!
Fair Eye, False Heart
The New Elizabethan Swain

A Quintet of Cinquains

Fiat Lux

Where Blows The Wind?

Everesters All

Hiatus 5.

Twilight

Salute Et Vale

Brother John Has Just Passed On
Nonentity - Individuality

Laudator Temporis Acti

Prologue - Saga - Epilogue

Nocturne

PAGE

36 - 37
37 — 38
38
38 - 39
40
41
41 - 42
42
43
44 - 45
45
45
46
47
47
47 - 48
48 - 49
50
50 - 52
52 — 53
53
54 - 55
55 — 57
57 - 58
58 — 59
59 - 62

PREFACE

I am an inveterate |ooker—over of shoulders. When |’m out
walking, if I see an artist at work, I can't resist peering over
the shoulder and asking questions.

This book is something which may be read at shorter or
longer intervals, to suit time, place, or mood: in surgeries,
whilst waiting for train or plane, or on a bench in the park.

|t’s a mélange of both serious and light-hearted pieces which
may encourage a relaxed mood but, paradoxically, might also
be thought-provoking.

Some attempt has been made to collate material of like kind
but, apart from that, there is no intentional continuity.

If you are of the inquisitive kind, I invite you to look over my
shoulder.


REQUIEM FOR RELUCTANT WARRIORS

(Remembering a scene during the Allied advance through Normandy during
the Second World War). '

l’ve no more tears to shed
So weep for me:

When prayers cannot be said,
And Bibles can't be read
Because the Dead are dead,
Then weep for me.

There is a surfeit here I see

On this green Norman dew-decked lea,
Where fifty times ten tons of tanks

In metal-twisted broken ranks,

Like meteors when their course is run,
Lie smoking in the morning sun.

Whose son was this, whose severed leg
Grotesquely hangs like coat on peg?

Whose soul-mate that, whose splintered head
Once lay beside her on her bed?

These were the sons of Canada:

Last night, as we passed by

The screening boscage where they try
To hide ‘surprise attack’,

Their voices had a lustre-lack

Far different from a few days back
When, boisterously, they beat the foe
in tavern bar. How could they know
That Generals play roulette with lives,
And ‘need’ is ’must' when Devil drives?

They came with youth-bright in their eyes
And bawd—song on their lips,

From Commonwealth, and Fatherland,
And Motherland, and State,

Persuaded by their elders

This was their rightful fate:

That war was right,

And God was Flight.

And God was on their side:
And this, oh List’ner in the mist,
is how They, nameless, died.

SPITFIRE

I chase cloud shadows with the gods
Upon my Iumined wings,

And skim the skies with spear-sharp eyes, N
While birdlike, my heait sings.

    
 

A shark-sharp skin enmodules me,
A predator supreme;

My prey, a life-like entity,
A sable cross its theme.

And when I sear towards my mark
And sing my song of fire,

It's then that Merlin’s magic spark \
Consumes me with desire.

When I and brothers few commune \ \
in consort in the clouds, \ \
Fortune and Fate will importune, \

And some are left in shrouds. 1

My name was with ’The Few’, they said;
I see you from afar;

I came this way when I was dead.

Per ardua ad astra.

B. 17’s '

We are, in kind, the sister Fates, all three,
Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos we be. _
But we have extra powers, to them denied,
As dragon's teeth we multiply, and_ ride
The ether's wide horizon side by side.


Girded around with spiteful tongues,

And powered by four celestial lungs,
Ambassadors of that impartial king

Who regulates the life of everything,

We seek our place, with fire and steel to ring,
And dutifully to our mission bring

Our Nemesis, and shed a scattering.

' The Boeing B. 17’s or ’Flying Fortresses'.
CONVOY PD. 17

Convoy P.Q. 17 was made up of 35 vessels (22 American, 8 British, 2 Russian,
2 Panamanian and 1 Dutch) and sailed from Reykjavik on 27th. June, 1942,
bound for Archangel. with an escort of 6 destroyers. 4 corvettes, 4 armed
irawim. O minuwaapm. 2 aubmarlnes and 2 anti-aircraft vessels.

in Ifldiliflfii Hoar-Admiral Hamilton provided 4 heavy cruisers (2 American) and

UIIIMVOPI. to which Admiral Sir John Tovoy. in command of the Home
Hill. “IN MI battiaahipu ‘Duke oi York‘. ‘Washington’ (U.S.A.). the cruisers
‘Nigeria’ and 'Ouml:iariand' and 14 daatroyers.

With hands on hips and leet astrlde,
Old Hanry Eight would smirk with pride
Could he but see these steel giants ride
The granite-grey Atlantic tide.

But far removed from wooden walls,
Once more the country's war-horn calls,
And salt-stained men sail out again

To test their courage on the main.

in Fourteen hundred ninety—two
Columbus sailed the ocean blue;
In Nineteen hundred forty-two
Was time for Seventeen P.Q.

From Reykjavik to Archangel.

With tanks and planes and precious fuel
Thirty-five sea—scarred merchantmen
Pulsed on towards the Great Bear’s den.

The ‘Washington’ and ‘Duke of York’,
‘Victorious’ and other sort

Of cruisers, trawlers, sweeper-teams,
Destroyers, corvettes, submarines
Were guardians of these ’in—betweens'.

The Norway-Greenland seaway span,
The hazard which the convoy ran,

Was scourged by U-boats, Luitflotte Five,
Torpedoes from the Heinkei's dive.

The First Sea Lord, Sir Dudley Pound,
Had turned the convoy's guard around
When he had heard that 'Tirpitz', ’Scheer’
And ’Hipper' were expected there.

An order, ‘Most Immediate’

Was also sent, which sealed the fate
Of carriers dispersed and lost,

And presently they count the cost:

Of thirty-five good ships and true
Eleven only will get through:

Of men, perhaps we’ll never know,
But never will more courage show.

V, Lt; «(fa

 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 


 

THE LAST EASTER

This was written some little time after the burial of a lone German soldier
beside the road from Honfleur to Rouen, on the 31st. August, 1944.

A cross stands now where once a hemlock ruled;
A narrow mound broods o'er the dust

Through which — but lately cooled -

Scorched lesser dust.

"Seven thln ears, and seven lean years!"

But seer’s lone voice is drowned

Ere the first echo of the Swart Herald's cry,
‘This night thy soul shall be required of thee!"

Must I yet stay, and deck myself again
In colours drab, and steel my heart
And nerve - direct my feet

To tread once more the crimson way’?

And legion feet beat down on dusty road
That torts and Mines from Genesis
Through Babylon and Rome.

The cloud obscures and, legion gone,
Flesettles on a million mounds.

With fallen Babe|’s bricks are built

A hundred tottering towers,

Whose tops the legion feet shall sway,
And dust once more shall seal the stone.

A million crosses rise, and in their midst
One, rugged, and with fire inscribed
Makes shadows of the sunbeam shafts:
A broken reed bleeds rifted side,

And from a shattered foot there falls
Into the dust a ruby red.

The grey—robed vein leads on and on

And from the sidestreams ebb and flow
The life-blood. Silently upon

The scene more shadows grow

And lengthen, cruciform and cold:

Now is a stillness. Fainter the last footprint.
Silence, impregnable, stands.

‘PER MARE PER TEFlRAM'
22-9-39

Without the slightest sign or warning

They died one unexpected morning.

They left behind their music; many a friend,

But this is not how such lives end:

Their music gave us beauty, smiles, and pleasure;
in this, each gained his life's true measure.


HIATUS 1.

You, who are reading this, have almost certainly had one of those moments -

a hiatus - when the pressures of everyday life have given a brief respite, and
you got around to thinking, "What am I doing here, in this place of all places
in the Universe, and here, at this moment in the inestimable span of Time?
What is my ’raison d’etre’?"

I have thought this myself, and have been asked the question, more than

once, by enquiring young minds, and I felt that I ought to have a reasoned
opinion of some kind.

My first response I remember was vague; mostly a case of parrying question
with question. After a lot of thought, I got down to this brevity: ’We are here
to be creative, procreative, and recreative.’ You will most likely have different
ideas. I rationalised my answer by deciding that I gained my greatest
satisfaction from living when I was following that pattern in some way. In
using the word ’procreative' I am not limiting it to the sexual dimension: a
sculptor, a painter, an author, a gardener perhaps, leaves part of himself in
something he has made from rudimentary materials. In the recreative sense -
say of a piano concerto - if a dozen or so artistes played the same piece, no
two would be exactly alike in the interpreting of it. This just seems to
underline our individuality within the framework of our collectivity.

Rene Descartes, French philosopher, and advocate of what he called
analytical geometry (the unification of all science by means of geometry), in
his ‘Discourse on Method’ (1637), said that to arrive at clear and simple ideas
which preclude doubt, one must first school the reason by systematically
doubting everything.

By this means he formulated his famous statement, "Cogito, ergo sum" (I
think, therefore I am). Will someone, at sometime in the future, arrive at the
next step: ’'I am, because .........  or will the answer to this philosophical
question remain as evasive as the Philosophers’ Stone?

MISSA SOLEMNIS

You, whoever you are.

Are the only real individual

In the Universe: _
Essential, entire, hyper-ecumenical,
Alone in Absolute.

Stark in Sterility:

Aware of the unreality of all
Outside this aeon of soul-element;
Co-existent with a schizoid link -
Mind to non-matter -

Within which endlessly revolves
The quisitative, "Me?"

And all the answers come back
Multi-multi—mirror-wise, _
And echo .... ..echo .... ..mocking|y in emPt'"e53-

 

WAGONS - LITS

Th‘ written at a time when a colleague and I with two classes, were
is was ' .

. t watched the
detached from the main school. Each day at the same me we

‘Golden Arrow’ pass on its way to Dover.

Under a steep embankment, I

Have daily deeped a groove, and sigh,
With drooling tongue and avariced eye
To watch the Wagon-Lits go by.

Between us bends a thousand |€_38QU95
of twinqroned path and soft intrigues.
pop|ars and palms, and liquid leas,

With dinghies, dhows. and bum-boatees

Blackboard and chart and coloured chalk,
Dinners and milk and frescoed walk.

Pi-r to square before we talk

Of ranging on to Chitta90"<-

 


10

Through woody maze of desky den
The high-up hands are beggar men;
Six squared and four are forty, then,
As surely find my way again.

A door to close, a bell to ring
Before we end our journeying;
Disposal made of cabbage, king,
Of sealing-wax and untied string.

"Forsooth, a weary day," say we;
Tomorrow's an eternity:

And though I smile sardonically,
One unsuspecting mom will see
Myself inside a Wagon-Lits.

 

10.

11

RATIONAL MATHEMATICS

Spending more money than you've got = financial
wizardry.

One and one can make three, or four, or more.

The cost of bread depends on how you use your
loaf.

A ratio of 2 to 1 means that you are outnumbered.
If it starts at twenty to one, it means you’ve got two
minutes to phone your bookie before the odds

shorten.

Five minus two means you didn’t take care with the
chopping knife.

If one tap fills a bath in 10 minutes and another takes
5, how long will it take to call a plumber’?

The difference between ‘quadratic equation‘ and
’quadrupedic equitation’ is just plain horse sense.

When you discover that £2 = 1.4142135 you will
perhaps agree that ’surds’ should be rationalised to
’absurds’!

An axis another name for chopper.


12

DISCO DAZE AND NITES

A'Wefn. tew, a~wern-tew-three-foah

Dum. dum, dlddle<Iaddle—dubble-dubble,
Dar. dar, deeditdar,

Dum. dum, dibbledibble—dabb|e-dabble,
Dum. dum, dl-dee—dit-dar:

gince yew wennaway Ah bin sahin’ (2,3,4,)
33:9 YeW We""aW3Y Ah bin crahin’ (2,3,4,)
e yew wennaway Ah bin dahin’ fer yew
Oh, darlm’ woncha please kerm bacl(? (2,3,4)
(Repeat: Dum, dum, etc .... ..) ,

All day Iahng Ah bin sahin’ fer yew (deedoo-dee)

All naht Iahng Ah bin crahin’ fer yew (ee—ow-ee)

All that Ah bin trahin’ ter dew

'3 h°'d YeW in mah arms wernce moah, (2,3,4,)
(Repeat Dum, dum, etc .... ..)

Please don‘ say, "Return to sendah " (2 3 4)
Ah jus’ wanna heartbreak mendah, (2,3,4,),
So mah Iurv be sweet an’ tendah (2 3 4)
An’ end mah miz-er-ee, (2134) . , .

B399. flash, a damn big crash,
Chmg» Chang‘. a-Wang-a—dangdang,
Dum. dum, dIbble-dlbbledabble—dabb|e,

Dum, dum, di-dee4:Iitdar.... (Repeat last 2 lines morendo).

13

ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WITH NELL

‘Twas on a Sunday mornin’

When I got out of bed;

I'd been out on the previous evenin’

And swollen me poor old head;

And now as me legs were wobbIin' about,
The wife began to shout,

"Oh! There you are mate, again rather late,
An answer as true as you’re born.

What time was it, Ned,

You were sneakin’ to bed,

At twenty to four in the mom?"

"l'l| tell you no lie,'' I quickly reply,

''If you'll only stand still while I'm talking’,

After pint number ten

I was ready, an‘ then .... ..

‘Cause I missed the last bus I was walkin’,

And you, Nell, know well

I never can tell

Which direction the sun has gone down,

So the way that I chose was to follow me nose,
And I ended up back at 'The Crown’!"

"Excuses! Excuses!

Encore the grape juices!

I s'pose you expect me to swallow

That pie in the sky.... that thunderin' Iie...."

"But wait!" I cry out, "More’s to follow!

When I reached ‘The Crown’, on the step I sat down
And tried to think where I'd gone wrong.

I was thinkin‘, ‘Poor Nell, She'll be worryin’ as well’,
Soto help things I struck up a song.


 

14

Best thing to ‘ave done, ‘cause at twenty-to—one
P.C. Whatsit came by on his cycle.

To my consternation, we went to the station

And I shared the same room with Old Michael.

I need tell you no more: Michael lives just next door,
And just on this special occasion,

With mutual support, and legal escort,

(Old Whatsit took little persuasion),

We valiantly strove, and soon we arrove

At 'Chez-nous’ an’ flamin’ 'Dunromin’."

"Now is that a fact! What a flippin’ good act!
And what fig this ‘special occasion’?

"Well now, l’_m pleased to say, that while 3@ were away
At your mother's an’ others relatin’,

I thought I'd devise a little surprise:

It's your homecomin’ |_’m celebratin'!"

"Oh, you fie awful, Ned, and since we've been wed
You've always been thinkin' of others!

Now here's one from me; you're straight back on tea,
And next time yo_Li'fl go to me mother's!"

EPIMURALS

(No! Not epidurals, Fred, Epimurals — fings wots rote on
worlsl

Oh! Gruff feety yer meen?)

William Wentworth Xavier Spode

Never used the Green Cross Code:

His care of traffic thus got worse,

He was hit by a hearse in Rickmansworth.

Lady Celia Spiffin-Blore

When golfing, heard someone shout ’Fore!’
She though it ‘infra-dig’ to dive

And was holed in one by a Nicklaus drive.

15

Mortimer Meagre grew so thin

His belt no longer supported him;

His trousers slipped, and so he tripped.
And now he's Meagre, Mort - i’ - mer.

Lucy Shaw, on a package tour.
Took the lift to the fifteenth floor;
Her error she should have foreseen,
To date, they'd only built fourteen!

You, who like your food too much,
Here be warned by gourmet Clutch;
One who put his stomach first

'Til eventually — it burst!

If you can but spare a minnit, I
Think how fate served Horace Linnrt;
Each new day he fasted harder,
Then got locked in an empty larder.

Be forewarned by what was done

To Sybil Smith by a currant bun;

Her bite was big, her throat was small,
And currently, she don't eat at all!

Rinso Tomkins, famed for sculpture,
Tried one day to sculp a vult‘-r .,
But this vulture wasn't meek

He carved up Rinso with his beak.

William Wallace went to the 200

And found himself in the elephant queue;
He tried to ride with legs astride

But elephants are mighty wide,

in consequence, a body slide

Reversed him to the underside:

Now elephants can weigh a ton.

And thus poor Willie was undone!


16

Carstairs was a nature lover;’

For months on end he watched a plover:

From a hide which gave him cover
Naught distracted whatsoever:
Creepers wound their strangling arms
And Carstairs now is warbling psalms_

Cyril's face was pale and pimply,
And he felt that he was simply
Not one of the human race:
Creams and lotions were just toxin
30 Instead. he took up boxin’
Now he's got a brand new face!

Montmorency Chevely-Spanne
Was an important nobleman;

His blood was blue,

But he got ‘flu

And had to have transfusion:

They scoured the land

For blood so grand

Until, in some confusion,

when M°"tY 9aVe a mighty wheeze
The)! Pumped him full of anti-freeze.

The sewage ran into the sea
As he ran out of luck;

He threw himself into the tide
And so committed ’sewerside’.

Smfter Cripps was keen on ships,
Especially those in bottles;

To keep his hobby in supply

He had to drink the cellar dry.

Inch by inch he raised his head
’Til he read the notice:

‘Half a million volts’, it said,
'P.S.: So you should be dead!’

17

WORDS OF WISDOM FROM LITTLE KNOWN PROPHETS

Llor Teligt Welsh author of ‘The Smallest Room’:
“At each new turn I find I know less of myself."

Redart Lemac French Desert Explorer:
"Some dunes are harder to find than others."

Liam Layor Irish man of letters:
"All authors need the stamp of approval."

Sten Gard Danish trawler skipper:
""| vunce gotta supmarin teleskop. Dot's howl gott dis glarss
aiee."

Rai Yen Tuhc Eastern Spice Merchant:
"You've got to know your onions too, in this business."

Xob Draobdrac Balkan freedom fighter:
"Our success was that we learnt to contain things.“

P. Murcs Devonapple-grower:
“Ooh Aarh. oooh aaarhl Eee ummm, that be!”

Abtggl Regal Stallholder in the Kontiki Bazaar:
''If we get trouble-makers around here, l’ve got the
qualifications to deal with them."

Eve N’Mada Mesopotamian environmentalist:
"We want apples with pesticides!"

Max E. Shtam German socialist economist:
"If we get our sums right, we won’t end up in the red."

Pgm Etuor Portuguese woman rally driver:
''I might lose my way but if l’ve got my crash helmet I'll be
alright."


18

Noal Kg!) Swedish financier:
"We need more people willing to put in more than they take
out."

(Of course you read some of the names backwards!)
TRUE-BLUE HUGH

No, no, all men are not the same,
However oft you say it;

There's Michael Jackson, Frankenstein,
Narcissus and Hugh Prewitt.

"Hugh Prewitt’? Who the heck is he?"

I hear the people ask it;

Well, gather round, and l’ll expound
This jewel in the casket.

Young Hugh was born of course, in bed,
One January morning. The doctor said,

"By gum, he’s red! He's probably an Indian!"
In fact the cold did so persist

The little chap was amethyst!

So he remained whilst still a child,
A true-blue little meek-and-mild:
But as he grew towards a man
He met a poli-ti-ci-an.

Said this M.P., "You could be me,
And lord it in the Commons."

Hugh liked the sound, and so he found
When next elections came around,

A seat as member of, and for

The district known as Blymiecor.

He took his seat - there was one each,
And from it made his maiden speech.
The message rang out loud and clear,
So clear it reached the P.M's ear:

He soon became her ardent fan

And then her right, gfl left hand man.

19

His talent was so trans-par-ent

That straight to Downing Street he went.
By being extra diligent .

He made his mark in Parliament.

The honours came both thick and fast.
Until a crisis loomed at last: ' ’
Now Hughie wasn't ‘crisis-trained

And neither was he ’Mensa-brained’.
In short, he quickly fell from grace
And just as quickly lost his place.

But he is still at Number Ten_.
Although a long Wall "Om 3'9 39"?
This ’Ten’s’ a seedy snooker den
Much frequented by ’fallen'men ,.
And round a table green Wlth ballev
Half hidden in a smoky haze.

Among the bent and busy heads

Is one, expertly potting reds:

And who's the man behind the cue?
None other than our True—b|ue Hugh!

 


20

HOMAGE TO LAURA

Laura. Laura. What a snorer!
Every night the same refrain;
Rhythmic, rasping, everlasting,
Scores of decibels surpassing.

Empty vessels it’s been found
Often make the loudest sound;
Laura’s sonant heady hollows
Scientific practice follows.

When the hours of dark are falling
And owls nocturnal calls are calling,
Far above all Nature’s voices

Laura, in her power rejoices.

"Hark," the neighbours say in wonder,
''It's either Laura, or it's thunder!"

For her there’s no respite-taking,
Neighbours sagely nod their heads;
"Laura’s past the stage of waking,
Better batten down our beds!"

Sucking, blowing, tremoloing,
Beats a hunting horn’s ’Hal|oing!;
Mattress-quaking, window-shaking,
This deserves a Richter rating!

When lions roar, their quarry freezes;

Compared to Laura’s snore they’re sneezes:

Laura's never satisfied
Until her quarry’s petrified!

When there's talk of mountains moving,
Someone's faith someone is proving:
No-one needs to doubt our Laura,
Even mountains can’t ignore her!

21

As with all phenomena

People come from near and far
Just to hear the doh me Iah

Of Laura’s nightly seminar.

With all night-time hours before her,
Training occupies our Laura;

For miles around they all adore her,
Laura, National Champion Snorer.

A BREATHLESS HUSH

False‘ is the man who ne'er has said
Of one, behind his back,

In terms decidedly alack,

"Blow you, Jack!"

Crack went the plank, and earthwards Jack,
With Jill not far posterior;

And what 53 said behind h_i§ back

Inferred he was inferior.

Noble all Jacks to stand such ignominy;

What's said behind their backs reduces each to ninny:
As for myself (Whose name might well be Jack),

I'll fight back!

B|ack—hearted dame, bereft of shame,
Where stand you at the finish?

Not where you might, for Jack is right,
Silence will you diminish!

HIATUS 2.

Perhaps, during another hiatus, you may have asked, "Can there be such a
declaration as ‘absolute infinity’ in respect of our Universe?"

Progressively, over the years Mankind has probed ever more deeply into
Outer Space. We have now a little better comprehension of what Time and
Space mean in relation to our physical world.


22

We are told that astronomy has now advanced several thousand million light
years into Space. When we look at the Milky Way we are looking at the plane
of our galaxy seen from the inside - a galaxy which is 100,000 light years in
diameter and, that as far as we can look into Space, clusters of other galaxies
come into view!

Voyager ll has given us a closer look at Saturn and Neptune and is now on

its way to the outer limits of our knowledge of Space, but Infinity remains
Infinity!

One dictionary definition of ‘infinite’ gives us: "that which is not only without
determinate bounds, but which cannot possibly admit of bound or limit; the
Absolute, the infinite Being or God:" and of ‘infinity’, "boundlessness; an infinite
quantity; an infinite distance; vastness; immensity."

Some people are atheists, others agnostics, pantheists and so on, but
whatever one is, or is not, we are still left with the total conceptual inadequacy
of realising our own appreciation of ‘Infinity’.

We are still, in a way, on the same level as the Ancients who may have asked

the question, "On what is the Titan Atlas standing whilst holding the heavens
on his shoulders?"

We might ask, "What is the Force - if there is one - that governs and orders
our Universe? is there an actuality in the unexplored Universe beyond the
limits of the most vivid imagination?"

There is an obstinacy with which, what I call ‘the cyclic attitude’ occurs. The
obvious patterns: day, night; the seasons; birth, life, death; Earth spinning on
its axis; the motions of the planets; the Circadian cycle; the vaporising and
distillation of the Earth’s water; our means of locomotion (even walking, or

rowing if you come to think of ’cyclic’ as being the continual repetition of a
movement).

The completed circle has no beginning and no end. is the ‘red shift’
(indicative of the ‘Big Bang’ theory about the origin of our Universe, and its
expansion by reason of galaxies receding from each other) part of this ’cyclic’
attitude, by means of which this expansion slows, stops, and a contraction

begins? is it possible that this has all happened before - an infinite number
of times?

 

23

- - - t th

Is there, at the extremity of this expansion, a darkness so absolute tha . ere
is no capability of this darkness having boundaries? Think of the density 0
matter which comprises the so—ca|led ‘black hole‘; something We a matchbox
. - ' ' ‘ :3" /3 1'
full of its substance possibly being equivalent to the weiélf“ l U’ 9" "9
planet!

The nearest I can get to appreciating this non-capability is in a simple
example. You have probably visited a Cave -°_—Y:19lE deeg ::dS::g;%‘;3d6§;O?
castle dungeon, such as at Non/vich, and thelig ts ave el _ h ' _
a few minutes. Have you felt a complete - and possibly fng rtenlng

, . - - ' re
disorientation of your senses of time, |0Catl0_lf1f_3l}tC‘t'93:::ti:’1i( of she‘: xgrd
prolonged indefinitely, it would not be too di icu o

’infinity'!

We are unable to comprehend ‘Infinity’ and therefore don't know the right
questions to ask. Perhaps there exists a SPl'it“a' dime”3l0" Which maY be
appreciated only by the spirituality of mankind?

TO EACH HIS TIME AND PLACE

lt’s gold for the gods, and purple for kings,
Sackcloth and ashes for all lesser things:

The seeker, the Grail, and little respite,

Mute are the muses and still he must write;
Vapour trails sear the skies, seas are compacted;
Time is more avid thief, Space is contracted-

Yes, the whole world's the stage.
And we each read our page;
Our exit's applauded.

Or goes unrecorded.

 


24

 

WHY. OH WHY, WYOMIN’

At a ranch in Wyomin’

There sat in the gloamin’

On a wood fence without any splinters,
A bow-legged cowhand

Who greeted a sun-tanned

Tall stranger who tied up two 'pinters’,

"YO, a-ta|kin' ter me son?"

He eased out a six-gun

A"d SP~'j1”"TY Yards at a hen:

Then Wlth slow measured tread

He strolled up and said,

Ah m a-lookin’ fer ‘Hair-trigger‘ Ben."

The <;‘0Wb0y climbed down,

On his forehead a frown,

' guess then you need look no further
Fe’ Yesterday noon. in yonder saloon,
He shot Dan McGrew an’ his brother"

")9 S"a"Qer's eyes squinted,

HIS gun-barrel glinted,

He reached for a wad of ’terbakker‘;
He bit Off a chew

And without more ado

Put 3 SW9 ‘hm’ 3 Pack of cream cracker.

Towards the saloon
HIS spurs rang a man

And reachin' the steps, up he swaggered;

He’ kicked the door wide
An then fell inside

But calm to his feet he then staggered_

25

A hush at once fell,

An’ with ear-piercin’ yell

The stranger these words then did utter:
"Ma name's Dick Pickwick,

With a six-gun ah’m quick,

An‘ if any man here thinks he's quicker.
He can go fer his gun

But before yer count ‘One!’

I'll ha’ drilled a hole plumb thro’ his ticker!"

Ev’ry man caught his breath

An’ froze still as death

As the dreaded name dropped in the silence:
It was only just then, that ’Halr-trigger’ Ben
Made his move, an’ erupted in vi'lence.

With thin lips a—tightin’

His hand moved like Iightnin’

An’ before you could count even ’H_al_f-a-one!’
A hair—trigger’s click

Had finished off Dick

Who was just about reachin' his gun.

They stuck him on Boot Hill

An’ if you go there you will

See for a quick laugh poor Dick’s ’epi-ta—taph’
Which reads — if yer l_<_i_r_1 read

’Thout makin‘ yer heart bleed,

The followin’ words, genui_ma_ calligraphz

 

"A quick click finished Dick,

Now there’s no more Pickwick;
He thought he was quick but by Flicker, '
Ole Ben’s draw was slicker,
His click was much quicker,
He drilled Dickie’s ticker: ~--’ _-~
Makes a change from dyin’ o’ llcker!" _ .

 
 
 
  


SCENE SHOT BY HAND-OPERATED CINE CAMERA

Lashed to the track, as on a rack,
With minutes left to wait,

Boy Jack, Girl Jill, confront their fate;
But fortunate for them a mate

Came by and saw their plight:

With fingers deft, right over left,

Left over right he juggled;

But somehow knots were not untied
No matter how he struggled.

Oh yes, ‘untied’ ggid rhyme with ‘died’
But there are other ones beside
Such as, the track was extra wide
Or, trains don’t run at Christmastide.

As it turned out the train was late,

But more unfortunate, their mate,

(Whose name was Jeff), was somewhat deaf,
Or rather hard of hearing;

The batteries in his aid were flat,

And so was Jeff,

And that was that!

 

LES NOUVEAUX PROVERBES

He that casteth himself upon a bed of nettles and covereth
not his nether parts, shall surely sit sorely.

’Tis a sober man that knoweth the how swearin’ he dwells.

A good wife is worth waiting for,
Waiting for, waiting, for waiting .... ..

They that dwell in the Belt of the Stockbrokers
Shall surely beat their neighbours into Preference Shares.

Whichsoever fisherman's arms are longest
Catcheth the largest fish.

Whosoever abscondeth from his debts
Shall in no wise be note-worthy.

CONFUCIUS PROBABLY NEVER SAID

Whoshoever shippesh shoup whilsht whishtling shroo falsh
teesh shall shurely shound dishgushting.

When dragon sneezes, grandmother stops knitting winter
woollies.

Irishman not covetous: has own paddy fields.

When tiger smiles, he has welcomed his friend inside.
in Justice we sometimes have injustice.

A drop of dew distilled at dawn
is like a rose without a thorn:

Another drop, distilled at night,
Hides its beauty out of sight.

 


28

Each year a man adds to his age
Brings him nearer to a sage:
Each year a woman will admit
Makes another doubt of it.

He who puts his ear to many walls may hear many storeys.

A happy man is one who has no cares:
A happier one, another's trouble shares.

When Cook of Heaven’ has sore throat, time to put clocks
back one hour.

' In Chinese mythology this Cock roosted on a great tree in
the south-east. Each sunrise its crowing started off all the
other cocks in the woI1d.

A WOMAN'S INTUITION

There was a man in time long gone
Who sat him down and pondered on
The reason why, in Cave By Track,
The two of them were night—time black.

He pondered daily, for at night

The both of them were out of sight:
He couldn't find the answer so,

To wiser brains he had to go.

Cave Woman had a ready wit

And told her man she'd mastered it:
“I don't know why the man’s like that,
But she is — just to match her hat!"

SHORTSIGHTED SWAIN

A mantis would a-wooing go.
A respite from his praying.

And so, to let all females know,
He soon began displaying.

But would you your true colours show,
Beware of who's enfranchised!

He thought, "Oh my, a giant ant!"

And he was soon dismantisedl

IS THE DODO REALLY DEAD?

Who would think a rocking-horse
Could have feelings? But of course.
It's a thing inanimate

Like Pinocchio, but wait!

Why is your car called Elaine?
Why is Roger's moped Jane?

You believe they are personae,

Make response to your repartee:
How much more then should a child
Know that horses, tame or wild,
Carthorse, racehorse, Shetland pony.
Flesh and blood, or wooden only.
Have a magic, when they’re lonely.
To become a child’s best friend,
Rocking him from end to end.

 


30

JOURNEY FROM CATHAY

When I am sitting six miles high in 747,

Watching the rainbow sunrise paint Arabia’s night,

A proposition spurs into my sentient mind:

if I could hold one grain of that vast sand

On my right palm, and Everest on the plateau of the other,
I, like ’Jade Buddha’ in his house of glass,

Could watch the fluid flow of human sand

Pass my omniscient, timeless gaze, and bead-draped hand.

HIATUS 3.

My God, (and I say it with reverence), what a wonderful, awesome, and
confounding maze this varied and conglomerate World of ours is!

imagine yourself standing on the summit of Everest. You are alone in a very
special and detached sense: isolated from the commingling, able to be totally
dispassionate and, to some extent, disembodied; with telescopic eyes and
superhuman transitory powers - a Zeus, if you will.

Look northwards. What do you scan with your hypervision? There lie before
you nearly a million square kilometres of high plateau which hold the heights,
the valleys and the scattered lakes of secretive Tibet. Imagine a swim in the
ice~cold waters of Ziling Tso on the way to another high place, nearly 1,000
kilometres distant and more than 7,600 metres high: Ulugh Mustagh, giant of
the Kunlun Mountains.

In a super-stride you could be there with a panoramic view of the multi-ethnic
republics which go to make up the patchwork quilt of mighty Russia,
stretching away to the Arctic Ocean and the great white silence of the North
Polar region.

But look around. On the eastward side vast China, Mongolia, Japan and the
enormity of the Pacific Ocean.

Westward, you span the sun-drenched deserts of Iran, Iraq, Syria, Nubia,
Arabia, Sudan and Sahara and, in the meantime you have probably never
given the slightest thought to a camping weekend in the Gobi desert, or a W.I.
outing to a village in Baluchistan, or perhaps a fishing trip to Lake Ozero
Balkhash in Soviet Kazakhskaya!

sf;/'

31

if you swing around, you can observe the lazy smoke rising from the burning
ghats beside the Ganges, the sun-baked plains, the gleaming marble palaces
and, to your right, the luminous blue-green of the Indian Ocean sweeping the
east side of one-time Darkest Africa. Onward you go to the islands of the
southern seas, scattered like glistening pearls on blue satin, the coral reefs,
the great continent of Australasia, and so to the muted solitude of the
Southern Pole.

You have traversed but a small part of this amazing planet, our home — and
that but hurriedly travelled. There has been no time for you to see at work the
indescribable numbers of ants, termites, fleas, plankton, polyps, the
multitudinous species of the plant and animal kingdoms, the awesome fury of
wind, wave and fire, and the disparate attitudes and locations of that present
ruler of the planet, Mankind.

Now, stripped of your super physical powers and back amongst your peers,
look at that diamond-bright star up there. You hardly exist!

KROLL

On planet Kroll

There are five thousand different kinds of trees;
My word you'll have to take for this

Because for now, your ignorance is bliss.

One day an Earthling may, by spatial probe,
Our outer atmosphere disrobe

And, in amazement gape

At my tree-covered Krollandscape.

He then will know

That things could have been worse;

There is at least one planet still perverse
Enough to keep birdsong in this our Universe.

  


32

 

MEMORY LEAF

We walked, and in the forest leaves were brown;
Mature, with stately mien. "963 '00k9d d_°‘”"
And watched us as we passed with rustling feet
Into the heart, where sun and shadow meet.

A softer rustle, and another leaf

Has severed from the tree a life. 30 brief.
That even as it falls, it seems a sigh
Goes with it to the earth to die.

Upon a slope we stopped, your hand in ‘mine;
And as we stood, no consciousness of time
Disturbed our thoughts. 0' made us frown.
One heart — an idyll In a russet gown.

Sometimes a spider's web, as soft as down.
Entangled with your hair, and wove a crown
More lovely than the ancient queens had Worn.
When this same forest had not yet been born.

Again we stopped - to watch a sprite at play;
Was it the same red squirrel here today

That we had seen - more than a year ago.
The day it rained - when love bega“ to 970W?

Too soon the forest's leaf-lined edge W33 reachedv
Too soon the haloed portico was breached:

Two golden leaves we kept, and parted there.
And from that moment all the trees were bare.

33

That mem'ry lives, because the leaf I hold
Whispers - to match its colour - words of gold:
Again together, as the trees look down,

We'll walk, when all the forest leaves are brown.

THE FOURTH ESTATE

I was the I-Was of What-Was;

Now I'm the I-Am of What—ls:

But What-Was, once was What-ls,

And the instant that l boast of it

What-ls becomes What—Was,

A two-tétred chameleon

Called Then-and-Now.

So seize the moment;

Wind it up; it's clockwork if you knew it:
Clockwork contorts - distorts, you are aware,
And ultimately comes to disrepair:

But Compensation’s one of Nature’s arts,
So now there are available, spare parts,
And that includes, of various sizes, hearts.

ALL CREATURES GREAT AND SMALL

The greatest man I know

Is rather low in mental stature:

Modesty - he greets Her with a kiss,
And he aspires to naught but what he is;
There is then, not much doubt

That he will grow.

What profiteth a man

Ambitiously inclined,

ls trumpet-playing

Brazenly - the double forte kind:
This drowns the rest,

Which proves him best,

And thus it was since Time began.


A PAIR OF BROAD BEANS HAVE YOU GOT THAT DOWN, MISS SMITH‘?
Many years ago the late Gilbert Harding made a request for couplets on the What did the Black Prince really say
brief season for enjoyment of broad beans. Here are some which were jotted At Poitiers, in France,

Before an archer primed his bow

down at the time.
And knight secured his lance?

Sometimes you’re white, sometimes you’re green,
Did his feet ache?

But all too soon, poor Broad, you've. been!
Did his head take long to re—align

With bacon graced, ah Bean-so-Broad, From last night's wine?
What little time for pleasure you afford!
Was his wife worried?

.V_’‘ _i_ :.:- \\
Like worldly youth before its time. His decisions hurried?    .

Broad Bean, you’re tough before your prime. Did an ordinary soldier become any bolder W” -4-.--_.,._ _ , _,__. ,_ ,
Because ’Y°U”Q Ned’ was there? -A 3

 

Broad Bean, Broad Bean, you've come, you've gone,

Bacon is here, but you’ve moved on! Whose hands were bflstel-ed?
Whose conscience whispered?
l’M TIME Whose arm was pestered

With wound that festered?

Years are but arbitrary measurers of Time.
It's shedding tears, and unknown fears, Was it raining?
Or when a newborn child appears, And when aiming, did an untrimmed beard

And hands together saying prayers. Become arrow-seared?

It's laughing, loving, lying, sighing, Unfortunately, we'll never know,

Winking, thinking, living, dying: But future folk can see our Show

Oh, History's the thing to read, my dears, On any family video.

It tells us, consequentially, Wou|dn’t it be fun, a thousand years from now
That Time is in arrears. To hear one’s voice on ancient tape ’
And watch the listeners’ mazy gape!

  
 
 
  
  

Time marches on, a laugh, a song,
With banners bold, and crocks of gold,
And timeless stories told, retold;
While History, my dears, unfolds
What was, what is, and what’s anon.
When we are all long dead and gone
Old World, you’|l still be flowing on.  '

 


36

I'VE GOT THE BLUES ABOUT ‘GREEN’

Where is the river that flows on to Rome?

Where is the song of the wild?

Where are the flowers of the lone wayside shrine
And the sight of the next village on?

Escarpments to climb, and rivers to ford?

Tracks thro’ the shade to find jungle’s striped lord?

Will Spring still be Paris,
And Summertime. Spain?
Will Autumn be Alpine
And Winter..... our shame?

Byways, now highways; forests aflame;

Fauna is falsified: game-reserve tame.

Morning mist myst‘ry once shrouded the plain,
Only the dazzling white Poles now remain.
Adventure, and testing time?

Seldom again!

NEARER TO GOD IN A GARDEN?

Just over the fence is my conception

Of an immaculate lawn;

Cloverless, daisyless. My weedometer

Tells me it is virgin born.

Edged with slide-rule accuracy,

The borders hold no flower with hanging head.

A ‘Garden of Rest’ I would not say:

No 'Heart’s Ease‘ stands at ease,

All shrubs, rub-a-dubdub, are strictly at attention.
I need not tell you that the gardener’s hair is parted
Straight down the middle!

37

H53 temper. |’|| tell you, ls not equable:

Would yours be, If next-door one, just on your left,
Was fenceless, contentious, and never got ‘done’
was "0"Cha_|ant. twisty, a wilderness fine,

Where the VIcar’s wife's knickers are gracing the line?

 

WIND OF MERCURY

It is the selfsame wind that blew
Two thousand years agone,

That clung his cloak to Socrates
And sailed Odysseus on.

The selfsame wind beat Moses‘ brow
Beside the Red Sea strand,

And with Sirocco, Simoon flew
Across Sahara sand.

Like 2998, in guises apposite,
In transience, random-free;
Sometimes a zephyr soft, effete,
Sometimes a wild mélée,
T9'_"P9_St and typhoon’s savage gust,
A Iron-like hurricane,

A sinistrorsal duct of dust,
A Squalling rage of rain.

  
 


33

One day my Love went with the wind,

I know not where he wanders:

Oh, would the wind could take my songs
To him to whom my heart belongs!

ASCENSION DAY SERVICE
(Sir Roger Manwood’s School 1978)

Bodies mull along corridors,

Through doors, plonk into seats: _

All shades of hair, from black to strawstack white.

Bob left and right in tousled chitter-chat.

Members of Staff perambulate

Like well-trained sheepdogs:

Hymnsheets are rolled and pellet messengers are blown."
"Will you please stand when the Platform Party walks on!

Outside the high Hall windows, sun and spring.
A slender-fingered silver birch

Scratches a pale blue sky: _
High-pitched, precise, the Padre's voice
Delivers us from evil;

Then voices motley, in a medley.

Crown again a Head with thorns.

HIATUS 4.

We are all aware of certain influences which, although not visible in the
material sense, we are conscious of in the consequences which they produce:
‘Hidden Forces’ shall we say.

Take electricity as an example. We might, in some instances, see the light
which it produces travelling from one point to another as in _|iQh"“”9 0’ "90"
signs, but we don't actually see the force itself. One frightening consequence
of this can be seen in a news headline such as, "Two golfers killed by

lightning".

The air which we breathe and which surrounds ouryplanet can_be contained
and compressed to exert terrific force - but we dont see the air itself.

39

Magnetism, that strange force which can both attract and repel, is another
instance. It is interesting to note that the magnet was known even in Classical
times and got its name from the fact that lumps of lodestone - variously called
‘way-stone’, or ’guiding-stone’, and chemically magnetite - were found in the
earth near Magnes (now called Manisa), north-east of ancient Smyrna (now
Izmir), in Turkey. As early as the 12th. Century, Alexander Neckham writes
about the pivoted needle which was carried on ships to indicate the course.
It was, however, William Gilbert in his dissertation ‘On the Magnet and on that
Great Magnet The Earth’, published in 1600, which brought it into perspective
as a modern science. As a youngster, and an ingenuous would-be inventor,
I used to imagine that, ifl stood in a box-car made of metal and held in front
a magnet, dangling from a fishing line, I could draw myself and the car
forward! Giant electro—magnets have been made to perform great feats of
strength but I feel that there is greater potential still in this force.

Sound is another of these ‘Hidden Forces’. It has been used at frequencies
that have shattered glass and melted metal. Then there is radiation from x-
rays, atoms, and infra-red and ultra-violet emissions from the sun itself.

It might be said that another consequence is a separate development from the
primal source - a development such as ’light amplification by stimulated
emission of radiation : the laser beam.

These separate developments could cause us to think about those less easily
definable forces — some benign, some malignant: those about whose very
existence one could be sceptical. I'm thinking about things such as telepathy,
voodoo, hypnotism, spiritualism,auto-suggestion and perhaps even the power
of prayer.

We can only believe - or not believe - in these arcana as, when, and in what
circumstances they affect us as individuals. Therefore we respect, and
indeed, are sometimes aware of these forces, only insofar as they affect us as
individuals; namely, by the consequences. It is a pity that we are sometimes
just as little aware of the consequences to others of our own ’Hidden Forces’:

hate, envy, jealousy, greed, lust, even love when there is a lack of expressing
it!

 e


LOVE

l have lived long and bear the scars of battle;
Have sung war songs and heard the sabres rattlef
And politics interminable heard

And all resolved upon a single word,

‘Pax’.

’Pax Hominibus’, the priests chant;

’Pax Romanum’, the statesmen want;

’Pax at any price’ the sycophant.

And this tired old world - _

From Age of Stone to Post Atomic hurled -
What does she want?

It all resolves upon a single move -

To compass all her children round with Love.

Therefore love everyone,
All colours under the sun,
All prejudices gone

‘Til all your days are done.

But what is ‘Love’?
Bedtime frolic, and fleshly pleasure-bent?
Cheaper by the dozen, and coarse in sentiment!

Hold hands: feel the warmth,

The intertwining of like spirits.

Feel the age-old ambience of great minds.

Whatever you will call your ‘self’,

Whatever you will call your ‘god’,

There is within our being one small part

Which answers not to ‘soul’ nor yet to ‘heart’ -

The ultimate in essence of our ’Wherefore?’ and our ’Why/?’

There may be one fleet moment

In the timelessness of thought

When our Feelings and our Reason each confront:

The ‘momentary truth’ that flies as if it never was,
Analysis and synthesis denied.

And therefore, Love; as evident as mortal ken of Space,
Remains as the enigma, and Man's ’|nfinity’.

41
APR|L’S FOOL

Impatient pall-bearer of hoary March

And chief sponsor of lusty May,

April had drawn her primal breath.

A dew-drunk thrush, harboured in lilac,
Enamoured of an echo, tentative, sang his yen.
There was a vibrance in the night,

Threaded and woven as by a nest of busy ants.

Shall I one day not feel this surge of Spring?

No more respond to birdsong, blossom, and the like?
Unheeding, pass the chestnut’s warrior plumes

And not remember chivalry and knightly deeds?

The natural cyclic wonder of the newborn Spring
Tells April's fool that love's a fleeting thing,

And dew will stale if not distilled,

And echoes fail if not fulfilled.

ls ApriI’s fool then doubly fool,

Whose season lasts through April's rule?
A kiss, a sigh, a half-closed eye,

A prismic tear to gratify

The brief of time for her to die.

SONG OF SUMMER

We wandered where the wild doves coo
And loitered in the valley;

The subtle shade, all dapple-swayed,
Was Summer's ghostly ballet.

The snaking shadows of the corn,

The straw-scent hanging heavy;

The hedgerow striding with the sun

And birdsong rich and ready.

We came upon a quiet glade
Where Time itself was resting,

And there at noon we saw a bloom
Amid the thorns a-nesting.


42

This was a rose,

Its days were few.

Its beauty was but fleeting,
But oh, the scent it gave the While
Was like two lovers meeting.

   

DAUGHTER or JANUS ‘

Winter’s not the cold and haughty dame some might
suppose; _ _ _ _ ,

Do we forget a warm heart s waning In the Antipodose?
Pickwick, Winkle, Snodgrass, Dmgley Dell,

Were all very Well. but I00 Pa"°Ch'e"e-

Once a jumbo took you on safari;

Now it flies trans-Kalahari: _
So when painting Winter, one gets schizophremci
Not all is glitzy frost and photogenic:

Blueness, and coldness, and sombre close of day.
Are downside up six thousand leagues away!

     
  

 

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AUTUMN

Clings every brown-gold leaf uncertain now,

And rouge-skinned apples bend protesting bough;
ln spiders’ webs persist

The sequins of the mist.

A song-thrush sings a soft belated lay;
The air thins now, and russet ferns decay,
While overhead there band

Migrants to balmier land.

The sunflower lower sags its seeded head,
Creeper on broken wall inclines to shed;
Fragments of foliage lie

Where they are soon to die.

A pumpkin bland on loamy pillow rests;

The thinning hawthorn bush shows ragged nests,
And in a thin-walled keep

The moth begins its sleep.

Beside the stack a mound of chaff is strown
Which, undisputed, sparrow squadrons own:
From rafter in the barn

The pensile bats harangue.

The mellow sunset’s streaky gold has gone;
Denuded woods of all their dress undone:
Only ivy lingers

With tight-clutching fingers.

 


FOUR-WAY CONVERSATION PIECE

Maybe some martyrs are bigots,
Justices sometimes unjust,

But all the little people,

Big eyes lit with lust,

Heedless of their golden health
Reach to grab some worldly wealth.

"Mummy, what is ‘allegorical’?
"Oh, it's just something historical, I think. Now is that a clean
pair of socks? You can't go to Sue’s party looking like a

. tramp. Oh, hello darling. How's your day been?"

"You wouldn't believe how bloody awful! I sure could use a
drink".

"Daddy, what does ‘allegorical’ mean?"

"AIi who?"

"Allegorical, Daddy. It says here: ‘This is an allegorical
representation'."

"Ah.... I think it means that something is made out to be
something else, if you know what I mean. Now, where's that
drink?"

"You haven't forgotten that we're going over to Jill and
Andy's tonight, have you?"

"Damn it! I could do without that. When am I going to do
my sales projection figures? Parties don't make for
promotion you know."

"Well Andy is christening his new car tonight so he seems to
have the right formula!"

"False pretences, Jean. He works harder at pretending to
work than anyone I know! Oh well, if we h_avg to go... Mind
you, I haven't done so badly myself this half—year so perhaps
vi_Le might manage a new car as well."

"That would be marvellous. What a clever lad you are! I
must tell Jill about it. Did you find some socks, Louise? Well
off you go then. Gran will be here when you get back.
Have a good time, darling. See you in the morning."
"Could perhaps have managed a B.M.W. if Louise's school
fees hadn't gone up. Might still manage it with a bit of
manipulation."

45

:Gran's got her key so if you're ready .... 
Yes, lets go. Eat, drink, and be merry and all that, eh?"

So where do you rate in this jostle and jumble?

With the high and the mighty? The lowly and humb|e?
Are you on the horse that cavorts, whirls and twirls,
Pivots and prances, skitters and skirls,

Programmed precisely to work in a team?

or are YOU lU$t You in a wide-awake dream?

ALL-ELIZABETHAN

C.S. L ' - ' - . _
, a e an ' -
he called ‘the golden and the drab’. poe ry two opposmg Stwes Wmch

I th f ' ' - - . .
hlveemglgéwlng P06?“ l have tried to make a combination of this anthesis. I
some use of the variable spellings In use at that time

THE WOFlLD’S FAIRINGS

When the worlde in me delights

And my Iaboures come to rights,

My Mistresse with Sparkling Eye
Spies a lover sans a sigh.

Worldly fortune turns, ywis, '

Colder than a past Iove’s kisse;

From the same skie, summer blue,
Winter pluckes her season's due.
When the worlde against me armes,
My Mistresse with the Soulfull Charmes
Takes small note of worldlie knowing;
There my love hath goodlie growing:
But Fortune, Constancie, and Mayd
Are games, but brieflie, by fools play'd.

” certainly

Th 1 ' - - . . ,
bmeer $1883 ‘Of the poem IS intended to be philosophical but with a hint of


46

The style, a sonnet of three quatrains and a couplet, has the first two lines in
trochaic rhythm and one line in iambic; two lines catalectic and one line
acatalectic.

The first three lines of each of the other quatrains are different again but this
does not seem to affect the flow of the rhythm.

Alliteration is spread fairly evenly through the poem: ‘when, worlde,' line 1;
‘same, skie, summer,’ line 7; 'good|ie, growing’, line 12; and ’but, brieflie', line
14.

A ‘conceit’ (in Elizabethan times a witty juxtaposition of words/ideas) was
intended by the words ‘Eye - Spies’ (lines 3-4) and with the line ’Winter
pluckes her season's due’. ‘Sparkling Eye’ represents Fortune wearing one
aspect and ’Sou|fu|| Charmes’ as Fortune with another face.

’World|ie fortune turns.....' can be likened to the concept, at that time, of the
Wheel of Fortune as a gigantic ceaselessly revolving set of circumstances in
a metaphysical Universe.

Line 1, ‘When the worlde in me delights’ is balanced against line 9, ‘When the
woilde against me armes’ and prepares for the apparent antithesis, but the
poet is how rich in true love rather than in wordly goods. By deprecating
these ‘games’, Fortune, Constancie, and Mayd, it serves to emphasise
Mutability.

The following three poems are simply in the general idiom of the first
Elizabethan Age.
FALSE HEART, I SIGHI

If ever heart were made for love,

It also was for breaking:

When my True Love less true did prove,
Mischief was in the making.

"How could my love be false?" she said,
"No lust was in the taking."

''I know not why," I then reply,

"But oh, my heart is aching!"

47

FAIR EYE, FALSE HEART

Today I caught my True Love’s eye,
‘Twas not for me a-weeping;
Another swain was object of

The eye thro’ curtain peeping.

And you, my foolish heart, be still
And do not go o'er-leaping,

For you would sigh, and I should die
Were you in such false keeping!

THE NEW ELIZABETHAN SWAIN

I bind my love to you so fast

That naught has power to move it: _
Not just as long as life shall last, I -
Eternity shall prove it. I

In weather fair, or weather foul, "
In waking, or in sleeping,

My heart, My Love’s computer-locked
Forever in your keeping.

 

A QUINTET OF CINQUAINS ‘

I woke;

Day was too young:

My eyes could not perceive

The beauty of the break of dawn
Unborn.

Go then, Where none has been:
Hope not for your return

Until the final battle's fought
And won.

Friendly

He gave his hand,

Where friends were hardly won,
And when the time of trial was o'er,
Was gone.

 


One day

Came Promise fair,

Her form and face divine;

She looked, and turned another way,
Not mine.

Laughter

Is Freedom found;

Fleeting the time it lasts;
Smile is deceit when Liberty
ls bound.

' A cinquain is five lines of a poetic nature, having 2,4,6,8 and
2 syllables respectively.

FIAT LUX

Out of the steaming slime

Of foment, fire and fume,

A Spark survives, which Time
Shall presently presume

To fashion into living thing.

A Being glutinous

In substance; the faint spark

In its breast mutinous,

Clutching the curtain dark,

Sensing the gleam above the gloom.

The Spark is fanned, and still

It reaches, gropes and strives
Through mist and time, until
The Force possesses, drives
Towards the unknown ultimate.

Then transient shapes unfold;

And now the reptiles reign;

Eyes lift above the mould

To find the cave, to name

The stars, and wonder at the dawn.

 

And from the cave there starts,
Uncertain in its walk,

A Shape of complex parts,

Which now has learned to talk
And feel. I0 fear, to love and hate.

An urge compels and grows,
The Wheel relentless turns;
The breath of Purpose blows
The Spark, that brighter burns,
Concealed in temporal screen.

The Sparks becomes a name
That is the Soul of Man:

Shall these new eyes disclaim;
Retrace the form and span

To the cave again .... ..?

 

49


WHERE BLOWS THE WIND?

I beg your pardon, but

This is a bag of nondescript.

How else could one explain the feebleness
Of ectoplasmic mimicry?

We are ourselves but half the time,
And half the time is surely

Less than half the time we need
To find ourselves?

With avaricious flesh

And semi-dilettantic mind,

We conjure up our own kaleidoscopes.
And suck up, slave to,

Suborn, or struttingly subdue.

It is a world of scientific equity:
Steadfastness marries up with Bigotry,
And Liberty is twinned with Libertine.

In secret, we are nearer to unmasking,
But Bias has become our ambient Creed.

EVERESTERS ALL

51

Here it is that titan tors

Bare and fleck their jeopard jaws;
Bleak and blast-cast blue-tint chasms
Die in spasms.

This then, was another world
Where snow curled, and ice hurled,
And the wild witchcraft of the wind
Dinned and danced.

One there is whose magnum pulse,
Measured by a glacier’s gulse,

Flaunts a pennant cloud, and white palled,
Walled by Nuptse.

One who sits in high hauteur,
Liege of all her kinsmen there;
Coldly supreme, and stark aloof,
The World's Roof.

Do we sin to envy him,

Him, of mortals first to glim?

Through those taut veins the challenge surged
And urged, urged?

Here too, came the souls of men;
Came, and went, and came again,

This is dedicated to Brigadier Sir John Hunt, C.B.E. D.S.O., and the British Replying m the scepfids stare;
Mount Everest Expedition Team 1953, and this was kindly acknowledged by "Because it's there!"
Sir John (now Lord Hunt).
To this world, of worlds apart,
Here from out a molten womb Came a band of matchless heart,
Belch and boom and liquid loom, And faced here the supreme test:
Immense in their immensity, Everest.
Congealed giants.
Brief among the gods they stood

Here it is that aeons frown On that sere and virgin hood;
From a near-celestial crown: Nature waived for once her laws,
In massive stillness meditate « For conquerors.

Time and Fate.

 


52

Few there be to journey hence.
Hazardous the way is thence; _
They, the few that gained the height.
That to the beacon‘s top set light.
Their names shall always us enthrall.
To them this toast I bid you call:
"Everesters all!"

 

HIATUS 5.

. . . - ' thing of
In the ‘Golden Oldie Movies one of the cliches._which_ became stzwfiit

a dialogue joke, was the instance of a Red lndian Chief saying. 9 ma"
speak with forked tongue.

- - - - i ' it , b came accustomed to an openness
D:g3tgs$<:alEn?ahttt|:r:  i‘1’:ve Seen unthinkable even in the so-called
a . . . - - ' ' 2 it h d e
‘Swinging Sixties. With one voice we saY- wrhis '3 3 9°°_“ mm? as 0"
away with hypocrisy which used to.accompany such dlSCllJ)::\|;)2:na;;‘rehr::
produced an atmosphere in which dialogue can tf£=Il:tr3ml:lra<:«:nes The wide
and children wnhom the- embarrassmepf 0‘ (ft orn‘ literature from sex
dissemination of so-called sexually explicit or so P _ _ _
shops, book clubs and some newsagents. and there‘ sCrie,ftl'l]l';ge|\flleC|lc1i¢::l‘5|‘m:n:f
on T.V., of sex as an integral part of what  mlg t C3 _ _ vry da , and
ordinary Pe0P'e'. has sewed °"'y to make It commonp|acel' (?- tiadyuaisymust

3 ' ' ' IV
’hardly-worth-a—second-glance reading Of V'eW'"Q mane“ ”
have freedom of choice“.

53

The other voice of the forked tongue, however, argues that: '‘It is this kind of
public prominence of sexual display, and the readily available pornographic
literature, which stimulates the debased mind to commit acts of rape, child

abuse, and to indulge a sexual appetite with no thought for the
consequences."

As in so many other circumstances in life, the rational attitude lies somewhere
in the shades of grey - between the black and white of the matter.

Weak minds, depraved minds, uneducated minds, will always operate at a low
moral level - either in the open, or in secret.

Perhaps today the Red Indian Chief might say: "Wouldn’t it be good medicine
to educate young minds by precept and example so that when they come to
the ‘forked tongue’ bit, they know with which voice to speak and by which
means to act." And all his braves would give him a standing ovation!

TWILIGHT

Light is not yet quite bygone,

Soft cloud cloaks the dying sun.

Today is old but lingers on,

Loth as yester to become.

A stillness creeps into the air;

Few sounds, but now acute and clear,
And netherness, anticipating night,
Makes shadows thoughtoeceiving sight.
Birds cease to sing:

Shy bats take wing, cleaving the air of ‘in-between’,
When much is heard and little seen.

But ‘twilight’ by its very name, we know

Is ‘twice light’, therefore, also morning glow
When, tentative, the first bird sings,

And sated bat again furls leathered wings;
Day in; day out; this is the twi|ight’s way:

A priest with sacrament for dying day,

And midwife to the sun’s first ray.

 


54

SALUTE ET VALE

When threescore years and ten or more

Sit with me in the sun,

And less my legs and more my stick,

Between the noddings of my fitful rest,

When beard a cushion makes for chin on chest,l’l| think: and
think of you, and you,

And where we met the first;

My own projections make in Time and Space,

And bid the one, or both, suspend..... or end.

The greetings and the first of wine were always sweet,
And so the partings were

If keyed with that expectancy which thinks

"Just for a time....."

And like the keenest edge of stone

By water smoothed,

The days between, indefinite.

The old wall greens.

The church tower leans,

And mottled marble tombstone gleams:

The vicar’s door, and old oak beams

Are mellow fields where woodworm gleans.

From adolescent blemished iace

Once youthful voice now booms a bass.

And choice-of-voice choristers savour their cricket
Under the long lean trees.

And quickly slipped we down the years.
As quickly set the sun;

And from the tightening circle slipped
With imperceptible adieu

Friends, one by one.

55

Alone, alone with hollow voice,

And Memory’s misted stage:

A swan has sung

As all swans sing,

Of endless age. m  H

 

BROTHER JOHN HAS JUST PASSED ON

I was just passing through but my car had broken down half-a—mile short of
the village.

it was one of those villages which most travellers ‘just passed through’: main
street, church, Vicarage, manor house, secretive little side lanes and the pub -
In this case a 17th. century coaching inn - where l had seen off an excellent
meal and was now sitting outside, enjoying the early autumn sunshine, waiting
for my car to be repaired.

Opposite me was a quaintly-dressed statue, its walnut—brown face, crowned
by a battered flat—topped felt hat, the undulating brim of which indicated the
innumerable times it had been doffed and donned in the heat of a working
day. A dun-coloured neckerchief led the eye down to a brown chequered
shirt of indefinite age, framed by a faded green waistcoat. Through the slatted

wooden table top I could see a pair of brown corduroys and the shiny buckle
of a wide belt.

The statue suddenly lifted its chin from a cupped hand and supportive elbow

and spoke in a broad flat voice addressing no—one in particular. ‘'I shot
Brother John last night."

 


56 .
Somewhat taken aback by this strange statement, I looked keenly at the man -
no longer statuesque but now the object of keen speculative study. "A
loony?" I wondered. "Perhaps a psychopath?" Whatever it was, it now spoke

again. "Had to d'yer see. He told me, in his own way, how much he were
sufferin’, and I couldn't let that be, now could I?''

"Of course not," I replied, almost involuntarily. "Was er.....Brother John er...
living with you then?" I asked tentatively. -

''well 0‘ course he were." The reply was not indignant but matter-of—fact, in
the same broad, flat tones as he had begun his conversation.

He looked at me directly for the first time. His eyes were bright, blue as a
cloudless sky and sad. This was no loony. I must choose my words
carefully. "I’m sorry that he was suffering," I said for wantof a better reply.

“Ah,..... we worked alongside each other for many a sowin’ and many a
harvest. We even knowed what each other were thinkin’. Now l’|l be away to
bury ’im." Having said this, he drained the last quarter of his glass and got up
with it in his hand. "Well, I'll say ’Goodday' t’yer then, maister." He lifted the
glass in a kind of salute, turned and walked, with the measured tread of a man
who has followed the plough, to the inn door.

"What ought I to do?" I wondered. The man reappeared, turned towards the
road, which ran alongside the inn, hoisted himself over a low fence and made
his way across an undulating meadow.

At that moment the innkeeper came out to collect empty glasses. "I see you
met old Jarvis then." he remarked. "Er.... yes," I replied. ''I understand he lives
with his brother John," I continued. "Yes, and now you mention it, it seems
very strange that he wasn't with Jarvis just now. Always come together for a
drink, they do."

The innkeeper’s wife called from the doorway, "The gentleman's car is ready
now!"

I made my way to the little garage less than a hundred metres from the inn.
My car stood between two bits of agricultural machinery awaiting repair.

 

57

 inside the double doors, cleaning his hands with an old rag and half filling

y green overalls, two sizes too large, was the diminutive garage owner, He
was of indefinite age, with little hair left and was known locally as ’Cabby’
BUFFOWS. Simply because he owned the only taxi for miles around.

"We". GUV," he began, "no real problem; just the coil burnt out. Lucky I had

another by me. This way and I'll give you the bill." He turned and walked the
few yards to a small office.

I couIdn’t leave with questions unanswered, so I began awkwardly" "By the
way, do you know brother John?" and lapsing into the local familiar address.

"Oh yes, everyone knows Brother John. Lives at the seminary, top o’ the hi||_

Must be gettin’"on for ninety now. Been a Iaybrother at the seminary for nigh
on sixty years.

"_old JafViS, whom I met at the inn, said that he had shot this bloke but they
lived together."

'C?f‘bt_’Y' Seem Unperlurbed "Pity, that," he said briefly. Then, seeing my
quizzical look, went on, "Old Jarvis was very fond of Brother John. Went
rabbiting together for more than forty years. Named all his sheep dogs after
Brother John, he did. Old Jarvis shot the right one, never fear!"

NONENTITY

This Thing’ that is a zero, a ‘something’ still unwrought,
A negative, a not-at-all, a nothing or a nought,

A cypher and a vacuum that vanished into void,

A nix, less seeming than the ghost of morning mist
That Was, then was not at the time of dawn’s sun-tryst.
There. Somewhere, as an unvoiced whisper, unaware
Without a shape, an unformed solitaire

Waits in the darkness for identity,

Selfless, Nonentity.


INDIVIDUALITY

You are You, and I am Me;

He is He, and She is She:

Never twain are just the same,
One can never be again:

Solely so, and called unique.
Duplicate, you get a freak;

Like as peas, or, chalk and cheese,
Clones are clownish syntheses:
Therefore You, and therefore Me,
Love or hate, but separately,
Wed or single, bound or free,
Individuality.

LAUDATOR TEMPORIS ACTI '

In times long past there was an ordered way
Of charger, amour, sword and lance,

Of knights and squires and courtly dance,
And villeins, serfs, and "Yes, Your Grace,"
And scullions in their proper place.

   
  

Ladies there were, of various degrees,
Consorts of lords, whilst others bent their knees;
When quick dispatch was made of dangerous foe
By means of night and stealthy dagger-blow;
When laws were made, and broken but by kings,
And Time sat still with silent folded wings.

59

The World then stirred and only fitful slept;

Some men still warred: some women wept;

The Tree of Knowledge golden grew

And of its fruit Man picked a random few.

Whilst that great Tree would greater fruit dispense,
"Man’s Master of the Universe," is his pretence.

"My chariots to planets I'll disperse;

Ere long, who knows, l’ll rule the Universe
And like Orion, through the starlit Space
As Lord of Heaven, l’ll take my place!

l’ll leave the scarred, denuded Earth,
which aeons ago had given me birth,
And moving through the starlit host
I'll see Her, a celestial ghost."

But now, I think, the circle full has turned:

The torch that lit the way has fully burned:
Truth, as a mirror large displayed,

Reflects an image retrograde:

Can I yet hope to see another time

When war’s a mystery word, along with crime?

' A eulogiser of times that are past: (Horace) e.g., old people
are often such ones.

PROLOGUE — SAGA — EPILOGUE

The Pope has a cope that is bullet-proof;
Tennis stars’ tongues are insured:

My picture - ’M.C.' is a Chagall, mull see!
Fiddlers aren't always found on a roof.

Adam met Eve in the Garden,

Bonaparte met Waterloo;

But we're told that the place where everyone meets is
Vis—a—vis with a cage at the zoo.

 


62

Butterfly’s blue, fritillary,
Humming bird's red;

Both flew the fields, willy-nilly,
Both now are dead.

No more they'll fly hill and valley,
Beauty has fled:

Why do we still dillydally?
Earth, white, has bled.

Hey! Here's a riddle:

A man in a module,

Another two stand on the moon:
But where is the laugh

If you stand in the path

Of a mu|tip|e—headed mushroom?

EPILOGUE

Oh, the noble use of thought,
Prerogative of men,

We drag it out for a ‘Summit’, then
We put it on the shelf again

And, when we go multi-lateral,
We’re happy as can be,

But when we go uni-you-know-what
We're half way up a gum tree.

Squiggledy, squiggledy, my black pen
Writes these lines just now and then;
Some that nod and some that wink
But, right now,

It's out of ink.

  
 

NOCTURNE

All has been said:

The Book closed upon its creaking hinge:

The dry dew-dust appends its silent seal,

And shadow slowly tentacles the day's last limb of light.

The guttering gas in its garish squarish cage

Glimmed the sentinel-stark stairs of the tenement towers.
And rain kissed, rain hissed in criss—cross tones

Across the cobblestones.

Plectrum drops plucked on puddles
Gloating with murk-mirth bubbles

Along the lane.

in a skerrying wheel, a solitary orange peel
Curtsied in the sewer's foamy gape.

The high and galléd soul—|ess wall;

The gaunt and ghoulish market stall
With slimy shivering drapes a-fall;

A far-off cat-like hunting call:

The listening hours of night grow small.