Lost poetry
Apr. 7th, 2005 12:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hazelkSeems to be a lot of poetry going around on LJ. I have this poem I can’t quite remember and I’ve googled till I’m sore.
It was at the age of 13 going on 14 and our English class was being taken by a slightly effeminate student teacher fresh out of college. We were never kind to student teachers and this one was being practically eaten alive until Jennifer Owen decided that wasn’t cool. Now if this had been a movie the whole class would have gradually rallied behind her, we’d all have learnt something important about appreciating Art and Martin Bidwell would have come out to a chorus of 76 bloody trombones. It wasn’t a movie but the guy did escape with his life. I wonder what became of him.
Anyway poem. It was in a big hardback book with lots of white space and black and white photos to illustrate. The poem we were supposed to be looking at was by Ted Hughes, “Hawk” I think. My poem was on the facing page. It wasn’t long, 9-10 lines maybe less and it was about people at the cinema when a bird gets caught in the projectionist’s light and flies into the screen:
“Real blood, real guts.
This is not what we came to see!”
Or something like that I can’t remember the beginning at all.
Another poem should be easier, I saw it on the tube a couple of years ago. Do they still do poems on the tube? I should look up more often. This one was about musing on the end of an affair and finished something like
“…you were once my moon and my ocean.
Now you mean no more than the wind blowing across my hand.”
It was at the age of 13 going on 14 and our English class was being taken by a slightly effeminate student teacher fresh out of college. We were never kind to student teachers and this one was being practically eaten alive until Jennifer Owen decided that wasn’t cool. Now if this had been a movie the whole class would have gradually rallied behind her, we’d all have learnt something important about appreciating Art and Martin Bidwell would have come out to a chorus of 76 bloody trombones. It wasn’t a movie but the guy did escape with his life. I wonder what became of him.
Anyway poem. It was in a big hardback book with lots of white space and black and white photos to illustrate. The poem we were supposed to be looking at was by Ted Hughes, “Hawk” I think. My poem was on the facing page. It wasn’t long, 9-10 lines maybe less and it was about people at the cinema when a bird gets caught in the projectionist’s light and flies into the screen:
“Real blood, real guts.
This is not what we came to see!”
Or something like that I can’t remember the beginning at all.
Another poem should be easier, I saw it on the tube a couple of years ago. Do they still do poems on the tube? I should look up more often. This one was about musing on the end of an affair and finished something like
“…you were once my moon and my ocean.
Now you mean no more than the wind blowing across my hand.”
no subject
Date: 2005-04-07 03:28 pm (UTC)This is the projectionist's nightmare:
A bird finds its way into the cinema,
finds the beam, flies down it,
smashes into a screen depicting a garden,
a sunset and two people being nice to each other.
Real blood, real intestines, slither down the likeness of a tree.
'This is no good,' screams the audience,
'This is not what we came to see.'
no subject
Date: 2005-04-07 04:34 pm (UTC)