Poetry Forum

I’ll follow glacial streams from lake to source
and sketch the shallow pools of pastel green,
then walk the woodland tracks from Aira Force
to photograph the row of Seldom Seen.

At Abbot Hall I’ll roll a biased bowl
across the crown to find a favoured line,
aware of every end I can’t control,
defenceless to the carelessness of time.

The fleeting years that fleck my greying head
and touch my face with shadows born of age,
will fail my tired eyes and feet, instead
of greeting me with fields of trampled sage.

So if you see a pilgrim near the ghylls,
respect him, please - and leave him to the hills.



Revision 4

I’ll follow glacial streams from lake to source
and sketch the shallow pools of pastel green,
then walk the woodland tracks from Aira Force
to photograph the row of Seldom Seen.

At Abbot Hall I’ll roll a biased bowl
across the crown to find a favoured line,
aware of every end I can’t control,
defenceless to the carelessness of time.

The fleeting years that fleck my greying head
and rake my face with furrows born of age,
will fail my tired eyes and feet, instead
of greeting me with fields of trampled sage.

So if you see a pilgrim near the ghylls,
respect his way - and leave him to the hills.


Revision 3.5

I’ll follow glacial streams from lake to source
and sketch the shallow pools of pastel green,
then walk the woodland tracks from Aira Force
to photograph the row of Seldom Seen.

At Abbot Hall I’ll roll a biased bowl
across the crown to find a favoured line,
aware of every end I can’t control,
defenceless to the carelessness of time.

The fleeting years that grey my weary head
and rake my face with furrows born of age,
will fail my tired eyes and feet, instead
of soothing me with heaths of trampled sage.

So if you see a pilgrim near the ghylls,
respect his way - and leave him to the hills.


Revision 2

I’ll follow glacial streams from lake to source
and sketch the shallow pools of pastel green,
then walk the woodland tracks from Aira Force
to photograph the row of Seldom Seen.

At Abbot Hall I’ll roll a biased bowl
across the crown to find a favoured line,
aware of every end I can’t control,
defenceless to the carelessness of time.

The fleeting years that grey my weary head
and rake my face with furrows born of age,
will dry my tired eyes and skin, instead
of helping me to bear this mutinous rage.

So if you see a pilgrim by the ghylls,
respect his way - and leave him to the hills.


Revision

I’ll follow glacial streams from lake to source
and sketch the shallow pools of pastel green,
then walk the woodland tracks from Aira Force
to photograph the row of Seldom Seen.

At Abbot Hall I’ll roll a weighted bowl
across the crown to find a favoured line,
aware of every end I can’t control,
defenceless to the carelessness of time.

The fleeting years that grey my weary head
and rake my face with furrows born of age,
will dry my tired eyes and skin, instead
of greeting me with sprigs of perfumed sage.

So if you find a pilgrim near the hills,
respect his quest and guide him through the ghylls.


Original

I’ll follow glacial streams from lake to source
and sketch the shallow pools of pastel green,
then walk the woodland tracks from Aira Force
to photograph the row of Seldom Seen.

At Abbot Hall I’ll roll a weighted bowl
across the crown to find a favoured line,
aware of every end I can’t control,
defenceless to the carelessness of time.

The passing years that grey my weary head
and rake my face with furrows born of age,
will dry my tired eyes and skin, instead
of greeting me with sprigs of perfumed sage

So when you find a pilgrim on the hills,
you’ll find my ashes settling in the ghylls.

Greetings, JJ

Rolls along nicely!

Can I quibble over one line?

The passing years that grey my weary head

Is there an alternative to "passing" which feels a little familiar and redundant?

Can a head be weary? I am not saying it can't be...merely asking.

Seth

I really like this one too, JJ. Just can't quite get my head around the closing couplet.

So when you find a pilgrim on the hills,
you’ll find my ashes settling in the ghylls.

I like the sound of it, but I'm not seeing the connection. Is this any pilgrim? Or you, in some sense?

Otherwise, quite tripping. Could I interest you in "a biased bowl"?

Cheers

David

Good morning, Seth

Thanks for the read through and very useful comments. Just the ticket.

Antcliff wrote:Greetings, JJ

Rolls along nicely!

Can I quibble over one line?

The passing years that grey my weary head

Is there an alternative to "passing" which feels a little familiar and redundant? ...Point taken. Change in the offing.

Can a head be weary? I am not saying it can't be...merely asking. ...I'd say so. I was using it in the context of "tired out". I thought of using "bonny" but that seemed a little vain, even though it was supposed to represent the deterioration of our physical appearance. My main problem is that my face is not raked with furrows.

Revision on its way.

Best

JJ

Thanks, David, for the close read and comments. I can see how the couplet could be confusing and, if I'm honest, I was struggling to find a suitable summary in two lines. Thought of closing with a quatrain. Anyway, the close, and indeed the poem, examines aspects of the "pilgrim's progress" as he makes the transition from this life to the next, full of thoughts about the transient nature of life, with its ambitions and illusions. However, in spite of these illusions, the speaker reflects in a sad almost melancholic way about the things that must inevitably be left behind. It's not terribly sad, though, more reflective and content. I've changed the couplet to try and develop these aspects. Couplets will be the end of me. (good title for a spoof poem)

I thought about the bowl's bias but felt that S2 was already loaded with alliteration with, ABBot Bowl, aCross Crown Find Favoured Every End Can't Control defenceless carelessness. So! I opted for 'weighted'. I am tempted, though.

At Abbot Hall I’ll roll a weighted bowl
across the crown to find a favoured line,
aware of every end I can’t control,
defenceless to the carelessness of time.


I hope the revision helps. It's difficult to know.

Best

JJ

David wrote:I really like this one too, JJ. Just can't quite get my head around the closing couplet.

So when you find a pilgrim on the hills,
you’ll find my ashes settling in the ghylls.

I like the sound of it, but I'm not seeing the connection. Is this any pilgrim? Or you, in some sense?

Otherwise, quite tripping. Could I interest you in "a biased bowl"?

Cheers

David

JJ

Lots to identify with in this poem! I found your new ending spot on. Much better.

Steve

Thanks, Steve

Delighted the new ending was better. As always I had a few closing couplets, eventually settling for this one.
Thanks for letting me know.

Best

JJ

I think the first 10 or so lines are very good. I think biased bowl is a good suggestion.

of greeting me with sprigs of perfumed sage. - here, for the first time, I think to myself that this is here just for the rhyme. Unless there's some significance to perfumed sage, of course, then I'd stand corrected.

The last 2 lines are ok, an improvement, but not as good as what went before.

Thanks, Ray

I'll try the 'biased bowl' and see how it sits. I was concerned about alliteration overkill in S2, but David's suggestion certainly has merit.

ray miller wrote:I think the first 10 or so lines are very good. I think biased bowl is a good suggestion.

of greeting me with sprigs of perfumed sage. - here, for the first time, I think to myself that this is here just for the rhyme. Unless there's some significance to perfumed sage, of course, then I'd stand corrected. ...Well, it was a reference to the wild sage that often releases a perfume as you trample over it. I originally had 'trampled sage'. Still, I did have one eye on that line, kind of curling my lip a bit. Trampled sage implies movement, so that's a step up. If it stuck out that much I'll try to give it a nudge. Thanks.

The last 2 lines are ok, an improvement, but not as good as what went before. ...I've tweaked the couplet to try and establish the speaker's intent. I'm struggling.

Revision on its way.

Best

JJ

Mutinous rage is quite a departure from the previous line, isn't it? Came almost out of the blue. I think something ending with trampled sage would be good, there's much to be read into that phrase.

Thanks for getting back, Ray

ray miller wrote:Mutinous rage is quite a departure from the previous line, isn't it? ...Yes, it is, and too much of a departure. It's overstated. Will change soon. I'm toying with 'trampled sage'.

ray miller wrote: I think something ending with trampled sage would be good, there's much to be read into that phrase.

...You've convinced me.

Best

JJ

OK. Kept thinking about Seth's 'weary head' remark and have revised accordingly. It was a moot point. Still thinking about it btw.

JJ

I like it, JJ, especially stanza two. I only have one little issue, which is for me '
face with furrows' is a bit of a cliche. I do like the reference to sage at the end of this stanza though. I think you need a fresher image for a lined face.

I really like it besides this though. Reads beautifully wit a nice turn, too.

Cheers,

Tristan


I’ll follow glacial streams from lake to source
and sketch the shallow pools of pastel green,
then walk the woodland tracks from Aira Force
to photograph the row of Seldom Seen.

At Abbot Hall I’ll roll a biased bowl
across the crown to find a favoured line,
aware of every end I can’t control,
defenceless to the carelessness of time.

The fleeting years that fleck my greying head
and rake my face with furrows born of age,
will fail my tired eyes and feet, instead
of greeting me with fields of trampled sage.

So if you see a pilgrim near the ghylls,
respect his way - and leave him to the hills.


Revision 3.5

I’ll follow glacial streams from lake to source
and sketch the shallow pools of pastel green,
then walk the woodland tracks from Aira Force
to photograph the row of Seldom Seen.

At Abbot Hall I’ll roll a biased bowl
across the crown to find a favoured line,
aware of every end I can’t control,
defenceless to the carelessness of time.

The fleeting years that grey my weary head
and rake my face with furrows born of age,
will fail my tired eyes and feet, instead
of soothing me with heaths of trampled sage.

So if you see a pilgrim near the ghylls,
respect his way - and leave him to the hills.

Firebird wrote:I like it, JJ, especially stanza two. I only have one little issue, which is for me '
face with furrows' is a bit of a cliche. I do like the reference to sage at the end of this stanza though. I think you need a fresher image for a lined face.

I really like it besides this though. Reads beautifully wit a nice turn, too.

Cheers,

Tristan

Thanks, Tristan

Ha! I mentioned the furrows earlier on, so your observation helps enormously. My main problem is that my naturally oily skin hasn't so much as a wrinkle, never mind 'furrows'. I'll rethink that line.

Best

JJ