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PostPosted: 15 Nov 2017, 13:22 
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Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
Posts: 786
Location: Between the mountains and the sea
V2

My brother had aversions, one when nuns hovered into town,
he would run as if Attila was coming. Mom would smile
and pat his head, and poke her nose into the chintz and watch

them pass, tell Dad all about it at teatime, their faces
would emanate a glow for hours as if he had passed an exam,
which he never did in his life.

Nuns walked swaying like ships under sail straight ahead,
ignoring Shonny the Breton onion man who stood back
in reverence, avoiding us boys as if we were Satan’s own pimps.

The Irish came in 1890 to dig, stayed after the port opened
and bred whole clans of O'Niels, Murpheys, and Kellehers.
Their brogue a give away and later when their children

spoke Welsh we knew them by their ways. They had churches
and schools just for them, yet merged into the life of the town,
drinking the same beer in a raucous way, arguing about anything

that took their fancy, and roared for Ireland at every chance.
Statues of Mary abounded in church grounds, called: Our Lady
of Tenby and of Bargoed, edifices built over them to protect

from rain and pigeon muck. Some would bow to them, curtsy,
pray to them, touch, stroke, and kiss them, but deny
they worshipped them. When cornered on this practice they would
say, ‘Nat at all, nat at all, go away wid you now, go away’

Don grew out of his phobia, dated a Catholic girl and moved away.
I inherited his birds-egg and stamp collections, his rock an’ roll leather
jacket, his drain pipes, winklepicker shoes, and his Elvis 78's collection.

Don made good as a millionaire, but always talked about those days
he longed to be loved, but I was the favourite, there is no fairness
in this life, he had the money but never a proper wife.

*****

Note to B. Dis is de best I can do so far.





*****
Original draft




My brother had aversions, one when nuns hovered into town,
he would run as if Attila was coming. Mom would smile
and pat his head, and poke her nose into the chintz and watch

them pass, tell Dad all about it at teatime, their faces
would emanate a glow for hours as if he had passed an exam,
which he never did in his life.

Nuns walked swaying like ships under sail straight ahead, ignoring
Shonny the onion man who stood back in reverence, avoiding
us boys as if we were Satan’s own pimps.

The Irish quarter was a tenth of the town, they’d came to dig
the docks and stayed and bred whole clans of O'Niels, Murpheys
Kellehers and so on. They had churches and schools just for them,

but they merged into the life of the town, drinking the same beer
arguing about anything that took their fancy, behaving
like the Welsh only they roared for Ireland.

They placed statues of Mary in their church grounds and called them:
Our Lady of Tenby or Our Lady of Bargoed, built edifices over them
to protect from rain and pigeon muck. Some would bow to them,

curtsy to them, pray to them, touch, stroke, and kiss them, but deny
that they worshipped them. When cornered on this practice they would
resort to, ‘Nat at all, nat at all, go away wid you now.’

Don grew out of his phobia, dated Catholic girls and moved away.
I inherited his birds-egg and stamp collections, his rock an’ roll leather
jacket, his drain pipes, winklepicker shoes, and his Elvis 78's collection.


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 Post subject: Re: The Nuns are Coming
PostPosted: 15 Nov 2017, 21:53 
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Joined: 01 Jun 2008, 09:17
Posts: 399
Frank this is quite a romp and extremely well written.

I nominate it for IBPC.


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 Post subject: Re: The Nuns are Coming
PostPosted: 15 Nov 2017, 22:29 
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Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
Posts: 786
Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Thanks Ken
Accepted.

I say, you are doing extremely well in that poetry month, well done
I would love to nominate your 'Alien' poem for this month
in either forum. I think we need some humour at the moment.
It is a tough exercise but it does bring out some smashing poems.

best wishes


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 Post subject: Re: The Nuns are Coming
PostPosted: 16 Nov 2017, 02:32 
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Joined: 01 Jun 2008, 09:17
Posts: 399
Thank you. Its not competition material.Hopefullt the Block will pick up and we will have three good picks.

Me , im thinking of taking a break.


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 Post subject: Re: The Nuns are Coming
PostPosted: 16 Nov 2017, 03:24 
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Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
Posts: 786
Location: Between the mountains and the sea
You have been extremely busy Ken,
maybe just ease back a tad, don't burn yourself up.


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 Post subject: Re: The Nuns are Coming
PostPosted: 16 Nov 2017, 03:36 
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Joined: 21 Sep 2017, 23:23
Posts: 70
Brilliant Frank! This is such a fun read which took me through each stanza without a break.
Just one thought should this line be

The Irish quarter was a tenth of the town, they[’d] came to dig - they came to dig

Enjoyed the read!
Eira


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 Post subject: Re: The Nuns are Coming
PostPosted: 16 Nov 2017, 07:39 
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Joined: 30 Jul 2015, 11:14
Posts: 457
Frank---


tight narrative, maybe it's the Welsh details that reminded me of Dylan.

here is his classroom description:

Never was there such a dame school as ours, so firm and kind and smelling of galoshes, with the sweet and fumbled music of the piano lessons drifting down from upstairs to the lonely schoolroom, where only the sometimes tearful wicked sat over undone sums, or to repent a little crime – the pulling of a girl's hair during geography, the sly shin kick under the table during English literature.

and your clear running narrative. surprisingly hard to do well. and you have done well.

i was never lost or confused.


My brother had aversions, one when nuns hovered into town,
he would run as if Attila was coming. Mom would smile
and pat his head, and poke her nose into the chintz and watch

them pass, tell Dad all about it at teatime, their faces
would emanate a glow for hours as if he had passed an exam,
which he never did in his life.



and your narrative:

The Irish quarter was a tenth of the town, they’d came to dig
the docks and stayed and bred whole clans of O'Niels, Murpheys
Kellehers and so on. They had churches and schools just for them,

but they merged into the life of the town, drinking the same beer
arguing about anything that took their fancy, behaving
like the Welsh only they roared for Ireland.


vivid. smooth narration.

here, too:

They placed statues of Mary in their church grounds and called them:
Our Lady of Tenby or Our Lady of Bargoed, built edifices over them
to protect from rain and pigeon muck. Some would bow to them,

curtsy to them, pray to them, touch, stroke, and kiss them, but deny
that they worshipped them. When cornered on this practice they would
resort to, ‘Nat at all, nat at all, go away wid you now.’



but here, i feel a growing summation:


The Irish quarter was a tenth of the town, they’d came to dig
the docks and stayed and bred whole clans of O'Niels, Murpheys
Kellehers and so on. They had churches and schools just for them,

but they merged into the life of the town, drinking the same beer
arguing about anything that took their fancy, behaving
like the Welsh only they roared for Ireland.

They placed statues of Mary in their church grounds and called them:
Our Lady of Tenby or Our Lady of Bargoed, built edifices over them
to protect from rain and pigeon muck. Some would bow to them,

curtsy to them, pray to them, touch, stroke, and kiss them, but deny
that they worshipped them. When cornered on this practice they would
resort to, ‘Nat at all, nat at all, go away wid you now.’




now, that strong in character close---a problem we all have.

i look to a Welsh fellow poet of yours...

here he is talking, maybe in our Forum:

I should say I wanted to write poetry in the beginning because I had fallen in love with words. The first poems I knew were nursery rhymes and before I could read them for myself I had come to love the words of them. The words alone. What the words stood for was of a very secondary importance ... I fell in love, that is the only expression I can think of, at once, and am still at the mercy of words, though sometimes now, knowing a little of their behaviour very well, I think I can influence them slightly and have even learned to beat them now and then, which they appear to enjoy. I tumbled for words at once. And, when I began to read the nursery rhymes for myself, and, later, to read other verses and ballads, I knew that I had discovered the most important things, to me, that could be ever.

telling a story, in verse or otherwise.

sending the reader home, or off to bed with a capsule, an image perhaps, a final line that the reader turns over on his tongue....for the good many years.

bernie








And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.


From "And death shall have no dominion"
Twenty-five Poems (1936)


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 Post subject: Re: The Nuns are Coming
PostPosted: 16 Nov 2017, 13:15 
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Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
Posts: 786
Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Marvellous to read the responses this cold morning,

It's something I ought might upset, instead has gained some good responses.

I had my doubts about posting, not wishing to upset Catholics or Irish.

I will look into that Eira, thank you.

Bernie is back and in form on form, what a wonderfully detailed response from
a gifted poet, much for me to enjoy and sift, I will look at the telling narrative bits
Bernie and try and improve the ending. Valid points, and hope to improve it by
the end of the month.

Thank you all.


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PostPosted: 16 Nov 2017, 20:30 
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Joined: 30 Jul 2015, 11:14
Posts: 457
Maybe, but only maybe, this young adult YA writer is making a big hit---

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/225 ... g-way-down

a novel in verse....brusque verse.



Long Way Down
by Jason Reynolds
4.4 · Rating details · 1,837 Ratings · 547 Reviews
A cannon. A strap.
A piece. A biscuit.
A burner. A heater.
A chopper. A gat.
A hammer
A tool
for RULE

Or, you can call it a gun. That’s what fifteen-year-old Will has shoved in the back waistband of his jeans. See, his brother Shawn was just murdered. And Will knows the rules.

No crying.
No snitching.
Revenge.



a national book award finalist.


bernie


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PostPosted: 16 Nov 2017, 20:49 
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Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
Posts: 786
Location: Between the mountains and the sea
If you want violence and horror read Ken's Alien
you'll go to bed crying
tie up your dogs at night. :)


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PostPosted: 18 Nov 2017, 00:46 
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Joined: 30 Jul 2015, 11:14
Posts: 457
think it is only the final seven words:

winklepicker shoes, and his Elvis 78's collection.


curtsy to them, pray to them, touch, stroke, and kiss them, but deny
that they worshipped them. When cornered on this practice they would
resort to, ‘Nat at all, nat at all, go away wid you now.’

Don grew out of his phobia, dated Catholic girls and moved away.
I inherited his birds-egg and stamp collections, his rock an’ roll leather
jacket, his drain pipes, winklepicker shoes, and his Elvis 78's collection.

1. his stammer after kissing a girl.

or

2. a foreshadow of Christ's church Oxford.

3. the wreck of my first MG Midget.

4. and trace elements of liver cancer.

5. books piled against future ruin.


just for conversation.

bernie


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PostPosted: 18 Nov 2017, 02:38 
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Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
Posts: 786
Location: Between the mountains and the sea
B.

Love it, ideas

I am thick but they are permeating gradually

I think some may be starting, like worms, to work their way out.

Many thanks.


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