Poetry Forum

Original 1st verse

a hard man, Grandpa
but not one to share the mantle
callous-ground, coarse from bruising isolation
bleakness drilled tight
a matted shyness grown over
few glimpsed the guarded murmur of his soul

Re-worked 1st verse

a hard man, Grandpa
but not one to share the mantle
coarsely ground by bruising isolation
his bleak matted shyness
grown over
so few glimpsed the guarded murmur of his soul

at fourteen, the eldest orphan of four
he went to hedge-lay the pastures
to ditching and dry stone
and orchards emptied to far, desperate trenches
left tenderfoot
alone in a potter's field


he grew up hacking briars
pruning out deadwood
scraping hollows with a D-spade for soft waters to run
hungry brothers to be fed
and buckling the oak handle re-made by night
while border rains roofed in ambition

Original 4th verse

years empty of words except for weather and graft
empty of mischief, silent of friendship
obliged with tilth
a man banned for the second war
to weave rugs on cold clifftops
to beacon the joyless harvest he sowed

Re-worked 4th verse

years barren of words except for weather and graft
void of mischief, silent of friendship
obliged with tilth
a man banned from the second war
to weave rugs on cold clifftops
to beacon the joyless harvest he sowed

'shut that gate, boy, and keep it shut'
the most I ever received
days of watching his twitching for ceaseless soil-care
not a weed, a rodent, an excess shoot
not a lichen allowed
eyes only for skies and flower, berry and shaws


no invader could stand that relentlessness
or evade that wych-elm vision
your best honed maul rebounds on his knot
simply dulls its' edge on his twisting grain
wise as the earth
and sprung with no underbelly


only Gran could split the torsion blocks off
could prise apart his curtain-ivy heart
give hope for a home
to his iron hands
give him reason to tweak open the ration jar jam
with the ease of a man given time for words


two soft sons came of bowling-green summers
scholars spoilt with butter and bread
a priest and a teacher
preaching to the new world
she cross-stitched for the cathedral
while he dug on, diamonding a rose garden

Enjoyed this. I know Llandrindod well and didn't notice anything specific to it - just a thought, as to the title.
I think lines 3-5 are a bit overdone. callous-ground doesn't work for me.

while border rains roofed in ambition - nice line

You've got 3 empties

Wouldn't a man banned from the second war be better?

Final verse is very nice

Thanks Ray, I agree with your points - the poem took a few days, and so some bits are a bit 'heavier' than others. Ironically I know very little about Llandrindod, but quite a bit about my grandfather's life there, which was quite tough.
I will try to re-work the first verse.

Iain

I think the first line is unnecessary. It just states the subject of the poem in a non-poetic way. Which is not to say delete it, but find a better way into the poem.

I think you should rethink some of your epithets. "Coarsely ground" is redolent of the kitchen for me, a phrase usurped by Good Food magazine. "Bruising isolation" isn't really evocative of isolation. You're really just saying it's unpleasant, not saying how or in what way.

S2 is much better, last three lines especially.

S3 is good too, I like the "D-spade" and any more technical colour you can include will only add to the poem. "Hungry brothers to be fed" however is not at all interesting. You need to express the hunger more viscerally.

4th stanza, I think both versions are fine. Maybe the original is slightly better, I quite like the repeat of "empty". "To beacon" is a marvelous verbing!

S5 is the best, fantastic. S6 is also very good.

Thanks k-j, you seem to have hit upon quite precise niggles I had myself - how to introduce a person whose nature was framed by a duty to family, and explain why it had to be that way,and try to be consistently lyrical.

I do like using repetition, but I think Ray's observation in this instance was well worth making the changes for S4.

Glad you like S5, which is supposed to be a bit climactic.

I will incubate for a bit, and try for another edit.

Iain

Hi Iain,

I take this as rather touching tribute to a loved but difficult character.

It's working well on the whole, but there are odd phrases that I can't quite decipher and stopping to puzzle over those breaks the flow and stops me completely appreciating the rest. I'll just list the bits I tripped over:

"and orchards emptied to far, desperate trenches" -> can't quite parse... what is emptied? and in what sense "to"?

"while border rains roofed in ambition" -> at first I couldn't get this, but now I think it is "roofed" in the sense of "limited"? If so then it look me three reads but I am getting it now...

"to beacon the joyless harvest he sowed" -> again slightly uncomprehending over the verb... "beacon" suggests "display" but since it feels like he is alone on the clifftop, I am not sure who he is displaying to? Also not quite clear on what the harvest is? The rugs? Or his family? But in the latter case "joyless" seems too harsh...

These were just isolated phrases, however and all-in-all I enjoyed the read.

Hope this is useful...

Ian

I like this, Ian. Just a few thoughts, though ...

IainMichaelBryan wrote:not one to share the mantle

I think I know what you mean, but it's a slightly strange way of putting it.

IainMichaelBryan wrote:so few glimpsed the guarded murmur of his soul

This is a nice thought, but just wondering about "glimpse" (sight) and "murmur" (sound).

IainMichaelBryan wrote:and orchards emptied to far, desperate trenches
left tenderfoot
alone in a potter's field

I love the sound of this, but the sense eludes me.

IainMichaelBryan wrote:a man banned from the second war

Is "banned" right?

And what are "shaws"?

And S6, again, sounds great, but lost me at some point.

But I found it an engrossing and rewarding read. A good tribute to a difficult man.

Cheers

David

Thank you for your comments, David and Ian. I see a bit of explanation is required.

The orchards in question were emptied of the men who worked them to First World War France. As a consequence, my Grandpa spent his latter teenage years and most of his twenties working by himself for the local estate at Llandrindod Wells to support the family. During the Second World War he tried to enlist, but being a highly skilled agricultural worker, was moved to South-East England to oversee mass-planting of potatoes and brassicas - fairly dull if you have been looking after a kitchen garden and estate orchard.
There he spent time in the Home Guard, manning (in isolation) a cliff-top watchtower above the fields as part of a line of beacons that would warn of incoming bombers, weaving wool rugs to pass the time.

'Shaws' is an old fashioned name for the stems of potatoes and leeks - the healthier they are, the better the crop.

As regards him not being 'one to share the mantle', it is really an acknowledgement that he didn't feel sorry for himself, despite a life of comparative hardship to many. I always felt that the 'soul' of a man with so few words had to be seen through his actions, which as a gardener, were meticulous if uncompromising. Only my Gran really saw a soft side.


All the best,

Iain

That's an interesting history then, Iain. The challenge, I guess, is to get a bit more of it in the poem so that we don't need the explanation?

Ros