Poetry Forum

Felixstowe (v2)

She lies easy at anchor, in darkness - easy
on the frayed nerves of a hard passage.
My face burns from a day's exposure

to the North Sea's giddy violence.
Alluvial mud and the night cries
of wading birds. The clouds lit orange,

the Channel alive with winking lights.
Across the estuary, the cranes at Felixstowe
are capital letters from an unknown alphabet.

They silently rearrange themselves
above ships painted with kaishu glyphs.
I'm counting container stacks, doing sums

in my head: volume and mass, logistics
and the shelves must always be full. A jerk
as she tugs her head at a passing eddy;

chain clinks, working from strain
to slack; halyards slap on spruce.
A soft splash, then quiet again.

==================================

Felixstowe

She lies quiet at anchor with just an occasional
muscular jerk as she tugs her head
at the Orwell's passing tidal eddies.

Alluvial mud and the night cries
of wading birds. The clouds lit orange,
the Channel alive with winking lights.

Across the estuary, the cranes at Felixstowe
are capital letters from an unknown alphabet.
They silently rearrange themselves

above ships painted with kaishu glyphs.
I'm counting the Lego container stacks,
doing sums in my head: half a million

patio heaters, a million iPhones,
fifteen million plastic flags -
white, red cross, for the football.

Beautifully constructed with really nice visual touches - the cranes silently rearranging themselves and the lego container stacks conjure up some strong images. I also very much enjoyed the end and the sense of all that effort for such trivial items.

Although "at the Orwell's passing tidal eddies" is a nice line, it feels a little cumbersome to me. Perhaps something like "at the Orwell's passing tide"? Also, "muscular jerk" doesn't quite resonate with me. Muscles and metal are two polar opposites, one full of life and flexibility and one not. It just doesn't give me a sense of the ship's mass bobbing in the water (sorry, tried to explain that several times, but still haven't explained myself very well!).

For me, the rest of the poem flows beautifully.

Joe,

I agree, this is full of images of the port—I can see and hear it so well and I've never even been there.

I do feel, however, that the business (busy-ness) distracts from the unity of your poem. Lots of adjectives, for one thing. And we start with a "she" (Is it a ship, or the port?) and move on through alphabets to end up with counting. I'm not sure why it ends this way; what you're saying about the port.

I did enjoy this trip to Felixstowe!

Jackie

I like this, too, Joe. Really nice. Keith's point about the muscular jerk is a very good one, though, isn't it? Not entirely happy with "she tugs her head" either.

Alluvial mud and the night cries
of wading birds. The clouds lit orange,
the Channel alive with winking lights.

Across the estuary, the cranes at Felixstowe
are capital letters from an unknown alphabet.
They silently rearrange themselves

above ships painted with kaishu glyphs.

I think those lines are stunningly good, so I'd prefer something in the same vein, less bathetic, for the ending.

Cheers

David

Thanks all. I'm working on another draft...

Terrific, Joe. This especially...

Across the estuary, the cranes at Felixstowe
are capital letters from an unknown alphabet.

Loved the "alive with with winking in light"!

Something in me resists "punched"...that implies a kind of solidity to the blow on the face?


Seth

Thanks Seth. I pondered over 'punched' myself. There's a particular sense to the wind and the water that I wanted to try and catch, especially strong wind in shallow water as on that bit of the coast. It's not majestic and dramatic; it's hard, choppy, short and tough, and after a day out in it you do feel a bit battered. But the fact that you also picked up on that one word makes me think that there might be a better one as yet unconsidered...

I like this a lot. It's got so much authentic detail, I think you don't need to try so hard with:

punched and abraded

Or

giddy violence

The next three lines are then flatter than the rest, and could go?

, Alluvial mud and the night cries
of wading birds. The clouds lit orange,

the Channel alive with winking lights.

I really like the end.

Best

R

hi Joe,
I think your revision is an improvement and, like Richard, I also enjoyed that concluding line.

are capital letters from an unknown alphabet.

Maybe me, but if they are from an unknown alphabet, how do you know they're capital letters?

mac

Maybe me, but if they are from an unknown alphabet, how do you know they're capital letters?

It was just you, but now it's me too. Damn.
Actually, I think it still sort of works in that you see the cranes as being like capital letters first -all long straight lines - but then you see that you can't pick out any actual letters that you recognise. I'll stick with it unless I can think of a way to express that in four or five words...