Poets’ Corner
Are you haunted by a few lines from a poem and want help in finding the rest of the words? Do you have a favourite verse you’d like to share with us? Or have you been writing poetry for years and would like others to read your work? If the answer is “Yes” to any of these questions please write to me, Susan Kelleher, at This England, The Lypiatts, Lansdown Road, Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, GL50 2JA, or email editor@thisengland.co.uk
Many readers write in to see if I can trace poetry that they half-remember from their schooldays. Often I draw a blank and so put out a general request to see if other readers recognise the poem, but sometimes it’s familiar to me and I can help straightaway. This was the case when Pam Strutz wrote to me about a poem describing snow that she had learnt at school in Derby. Pam married an American in 1945 and now lives in New York State where they get a great deal of thick snow. She says the lines that she still recalls from the poem always come back to her when she sees the fresh snow.
The few lines that Pam quoted in her letter come from an extremely long poem entitled “In Memory of Swinburne” by Alfred Noyes. He was born in Wolverhampton in 1880 but the family moved to Aberystwyth, Wales, when he was four. His first poems were published in 1902 while he was still a student at Exeter College, Oxford, and from then he produced many poems, with perhaps his most well known being “The Highwayman”. Noyes wrote fiction and plays as well as poetry and lectured extensively in the USA where he later became professor of English Literature at Princeton University. After many years dividing his time between America, Canada and his home on the Isle of Wight, Noyes retired to California but returned to the Isle of Wight in 1949 when his eyesight began to fail. He carried on dictating his work, however, until his death in 1958.
The poem requested is too long to publish in full but here are some of the verses:
A pure white mantle blotted out The world I used to know: There was no scarlet in the sky Or on the hills below, Gently as mercy out of heaven Came down the healing snow.
The trees that were so dark and bare Stood up in radiant white, And the road forgot its furrowed care As day forgets the night, And the new heavens and the new earth Lay robed in dazzling light.
And every flake that fell from heaven Was like an angel’s kiss Or a feather fluttering from the wings Of some dear soul in bliss Who gently leaned from that bright world To soothe the pain of this.
Oft had I felt for some brief flash The heavenly secret glow In sunsets, traced some hieroglyph In Nature — flowers that blow And perish; tender, climbing boughs; The stars — and then — ’twould go.
But here I felt within my soul, Clear as on field and tree, The falling of the heavenly snow, A twofold mystery, And one was meant to bless the world, And one was meant for me.
There’s a geographical flavour to the other poems I have selected for this issue and I hope you enjoy the trip from the south to the north. We start off in This England’s home town of Cheltenham where the magazine has been published since Spring 1968. Just a few years prior to this — in 1964 — Adrienne Batey arrived in the town from Australia after her father gained a teacher exchange position at North Gloucestershire Technical College. The family had a wonderful year in Cheltenham and have many happy memories which Adrienne has described in a poem written for her sister Denise’s birthday. Denise (Neicie) has a passion for pigs which is alluded to in the poem — pigs in green
fields were something that amazed the sisters as they had only been aware of pigs in mud in Australia!
HAPPY MEMORIES
Leckhampton’s Devil has its Chimney, And the Kidnapper has his Lane, Lovely Cheltenham has its Promenade And “Gloucestershire Echo” has its fame.
Everyman has his Theatre And Canterbury has its Walk, So Imperial are the Gardens And verdant fields are home for pork!
Cheltenham Ladies have their College And leafy lanes their cycle rides, Montpellier has its Rotunda And “Erechtheon Caryatides”.
Regency crescents have their grandeur And lacing metal abounds to please, Great Norwood has its Bethesda And Double Glos. is Cotswold for cheese!
Spa-ing Pittville has its Pump Room And stylish Cavendish boast its House — Niecie joyfully recalls such memories And many are shared now by her spouse!
And now it’s off to the north with this poem sent in by Linda Perfect from Mayland, Essex.
THE YORKSHIRE DALES
Over the open pastures, over the fields so
green, My heart it is returning to the northern
lands again. I think of the hills of heather, the walls of
stony grey, The little farmhouse nestling there in the
valley far away, I see the border collie patiently waiting
there By the kitchen door on a frosty morn for his
master he loves so dear.
I see the hills of Haworth with little shops
so quaint, I see the Brontë sisters with pencils, pens
and paint, It’s Christmas time in the high street, the
shops are all aglow, The shoppers trudge with their treasures,
making footsteps in the snow.
I see the spires of York, where many church
bells chime, The little streets, The Shambles, museum
of olden times, York Minster standing tall and proud has
seen many centuries But now it stands forlorn and cold in a churchyard full of memories.
This is the the land where my heart is,
where I long to roam again, Among the purple heather and the hilltops
wet with rain, And see the aged farmer leaning on his
crook Surveying all his worldly goods, the wold,
the dale, the brook, The little flock of Swaledale sheep in quiet
pastures stand This is his life, his livelihood, his past, his
future, his land.