I've been to Paris in between the last blog and now and could not resist sitting in a cafe in Montmartre jotting lines for a poem. Pretentious? I don't care! So it's time to finish this one (for the time being).
at this sharp end of the year scrawny hawthorn hedges scrape a living entwined with winter hardened briars whose cruel barbs rasp unwary hands and in the fields corn stubble scrapes and scratches with its yard-broom bristles on roadsides, frost makes grassy tussocks pointed spears where desperate blackbirds stab, stab hard earth beneath the beeches' printed outlines on sky-paper and only the snow drops, new comers to the scene, suggest a softer time to come.
A lot of little changes. I've also removed most of the punctuation. I hope that doesn't make it unreadable. Spring has obviously affected me because I also felt like arranging the words in this way. Probably very silly but it's my poem, after all.
I think this is improving. Sometimes you just don't know where you're going with a piece of writing.. Trees needs replacing with something more specific! I think they were, or some were, beeches but I need to look at a book of tree outlines to check.
at this sharp end of the year
scrawny hawthorn hedges scrape a living
entwined with winter hardened briars
whose cruel barbs rasp unwary hands.
And in the fields corn stubble
scrapes
and scratches with its yard-broom
bristles.
On roadsides, frost makes grassy
tussocks pointed spears
where desperate blackbirds stab,
stab hard earth
beneath trees’ stark printed outlines on white sky-paper
Quite a few changes. Sharp end of the year appeals, making use of a familiar phrase. Hawthorn and briar are more specific - and I'm now emphasising the sharp raw unpleasantness that this time of year can have. I think the idea of picking out all the 'sharp' words is going to go.
this is a sharp end of the year
stunted hedges scrape a living
hawthorn and briar thorns rasp the
unwary hand
and frost makes of grass tussocks
pointed spears
desperate blackbirds stab hard earth
corn stubble scratches ankles with
yardbroom bristles
Playing around with the possibility of deliberately repeating sharp and perhaps arranging the poem so that sharp comes at regular intervals. It seems to be a unifying element at this time of year.
Some notes I made on my way to a school in Scarborough on Monday. They might make something - though nothing very springlike, I guess.
telegraph poles - stick trees - clear blue sky, newly washed - dry valleys - stunted hedges - trimmed one side of the road, otherwise unkempt - frost on verges - black birds but not necessarily blackbirds - ditches - brown stubble in fields beyond lik upturned yardbrooms - tractor tracks - dead leaves still hanging on - snowdrops dotted between trees - other birds, seagulls?
As I've been out and about, the writing blog has been a bit neglected. Some special sonnets had to be written, but they'll only appear here from time to time. And yesterday and Monday I was in schools working with Y3, Y4, Y8 and Y10. During which time we wrote lots of things, including some raps and some personal pieces. The Y3s made a great collaborative poem about Colours for a performance they are going to do next week. Good luck to you all - what a lovely group of kids. If I can get a copy of their poem, or rather our poem, I'll post it on the site.
And as soon as I get going on something of my own, I'll be back...
