Reaching into the Past: Two Poems - March 2011
Some more reflections on early poetry, one of which I quite like.
More poetry. There’s only more to go after this, as I abandoned it entirely to focus on fiction. Should I return to it? You can let me know in the comments.
Here are two poems that were published in From Glasgow to Saturn in Issue 21 (March 2011). I’ll leave my commentary to the end.
The Bold Wee Moose
A seen it scurry, so a did,
Oot frae beneath the skirting board,
Bombin’ it across the room fur a snack.
In the deid o’ a overcast night, so it wis,
When the bold moose showed its tail.
It was wee, so it wis,
A could barely see it wi ma ain eyes,
Shooting aboot, like starts atween clouds.
Saw it in the moonlit, so a did,
The bold wee moose aw braw and effulgent.
Heard it’s paws, aye a did,
Scratching oan the cold flair.
Chewin’ oan ma socks, nibblin’ oan crumbs,
An it’s fur was aw matted, so it wis,
The bold wee moose came oot tae play.
It wis a crafty wee ‘hing, so it wis.
An’ when a turned oan the light, it froze, so it did,
A heard it squeak, an’ it gie’d me a bold eye,
Then it darted aff, aw full a fright.
The bold wee moose was bold nae mair.
A never seen it again.
Street Scene - Glasgow, January 18th 2011
Under a torrential Glasgow night
Traffic bustles past in its usual din
Until it’s brought to halt by a dunt
Accompanied by the soggy screeching of tyres,
Interrupting me from my musical distraction.
Outside of my window a crowd has gathered
In the rain
To tune in to an accident at the crossing
Where one man has clearly defied the lights one too many times.
The purple hatchback shaped cell,
(The antagonist in this piece),
Releases it henchmen into the stormy Glasgow night.
These unwitting thieves of another man’s evening
Stand around our protagonist.
One of them dances down the street, a phone attached to his ear,
As the others, slightly shaken and waving hands, address the gathered viewers over the roar of the downpour,
Acting their part as lightning arrives to illuminate the set.
Twenty minutes pass.
Like the sound of a revolving alarm
An ambulance shudders past.
Watching the paramedics disembark, the extras move in closer,
All encased in thunder as the downpour shifts on its axis
And becomes horizontal.
The fallen hasn’t moved an inch since he was robbed,
But I can’t quite tell if his stolen consciousness is integral to his role.
The paramedic performs his duty in an almost robotic fashion
(I’m sure he performs this part every day)
As the police arrive to interview people and get autographs.
After five minutes, the man is taken from the scene
Into the green (and white) room, his clothes dripping,
Writhing, wakefulness wavering,
People enquiring in silence.
The extras disperse and the officers return to their seats,
Watching the henchmen return to their prison
(Perhaps to a cell they will now carry with them forever)
Two sirens kick off in harmony and each exit to the right,
Then the world continues turning, like nothing has happened tonight.
Commentary
From what I remember, I was absolutely buzzing to have something published. It made me hit the books and the keyboard hard, trying to conjure up something just as good as, if not better than, the last one. Not quite sure I succeeded.
Let's start with Street Scene. Like The Trumpets, it feels overwrought. I'm slapping the reader over the head with metaphor, doing everything I can to hammer home the point. In Street Scene, the cinematic framing is so lacking in subtlety that the entire poem buckles under the weight of it. It winds on, and I think becomes a real chore by the end. In many places, the phrasing is clunky, and the free verse gives it a horrible unanchored feeling.
There are a couple of good lines in it. The first stanza, setting the scene, opens very strongly. After that, it just kind of falls apart.
The first poem, The Bold Wee Moose, is more successful. It's playful, has a fun cadence to it. Some of the lines are a bit clunky again ("Shooting aboot, like starts atween clouds" and "Chewin' oan ma socks, nibblin' oan crumbs" could be smoother), but I think it works far better than the second poem.
However, I must say, it feels a little TOO playful. Almost throwaway. What is it really saying? Does it even need to say anything?
Of the two, I'm more pleased with this one than Street Scene. It hangs together much better as a poem, and the Scots is fun. It's been a while since I've written like that. Maybe I'll do it again in future.
Edwin Morgan was, again, an influence on both of these poems. Street Scene is a very obvious (in my opinion) attempt that tries to channel "Glasgow 5 March 1971", "In the Snack-Bar" or "Trio."
The Bold Wee Moose has shades of "Hyena", although probably with more of a Hugh MacDiarmid approach (the slang in particular of "The Bonnie Broukit Bairn"). I also remember quite vividly being moved by William Letford's "Bevel" at the time too. The desire to do something fully in Glaswegian was likely influenced by the stunning "How Late It Was, How Late" by James Kelman.
BONUS ROUND
I was looking through my files to find the original versions of these poems. I was able to locate The Bold Wee Moose, but couldn't find Street Scene - Glasgow, January 18th 2011. However, I did find a sequel to it called Street Scene - Buchanan Street, Glasgow, March 18th 2022.
Written about a year after the publication of the first. I do remember, at the time, wanting to create a pamphlet that pulled together a small collection of these Street Scenes, but it was probably around about 2022 when I gave up on poetry entirely. Like I said in the last post, prose has always been my thing.
In any event, I plan to post it in another post. You can let me know what you think!