Poets Corner
Readers
often send me requests to find poems and I try to help by publishing them in this feature. However, sometimes I get a request that I think is obscure and unlikely to be found. How wrong I am! I shouldn’t doubt the knowledge of my This England readers! I had been trying for some time to locate a poem about a rifle training session without success but as soon as I published the request in the Spring issue I had a massive response from readers. So thank you to everyone who replied and gave me not only the complete poem but also details about the poet.
Written by Henry Reed (1914–1986) the poem was the first of a six-part collection called “Lessons of War”. Entitled “Naming of Parts” it has two voices — the firm, curt orders of the NCO contrasting with the lyrical thoughts of the recruit. Mandy Pistorius, Marian Baldwin, David Hood, Mary Caswell and Richard Mapplebeckpalmer were just a few of the kind readers who wrote in. Today we have naming of parts. Yesterday, We had daily cleaning. And tomorrow
morning, We shall have what to do after firing. But
today, Today we have naming of parts. Japonica Glistens like coral in all of the neighbouring
gardens, And today we have naming of parts. This is the lower sling swivel. And this Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will
see, When you are given your slings. And this is
the piling swivel, Which in your case you have not got. The
branches Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent
gestures, Which in our case we have not got. This is the safety-catch, which is always
released With an easy flick of the thumb. And please
do not let me See anyone using his finger. You can do it
quite easy If you have any strength in your thumb.
The blossoms Are fragile and motionless, never letting
anyone see Any of them using their finger.
And this you can see is the bolt. The
purpose of this Is to open the breech, as you see. We can
slide it Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call
this Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards
and forwards The early bees are assaulting and fumbling
the flowers: They call it easing the Spring.
They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly
easy If you have any strength in your thumb: like
the bolt, And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and
the point of balance, Which in our case we have not got; and the
almond blossom Silent in all of the gardens and the bees
going backwards and forwards, For today we have naming of parts.
Also in the last issue a lady from Bristol was asking for a poem about a boy posting a letter for his father. John Chesterton contacted me to say that his 93-year-old mother Margery, a long-time subscriber, recalled the poem and was able to recite it by heart. John says that he has written down the words as they were ‘delivered’ to him. I went to the post with a letter for Daddy, He said, “Do you know where the pillar box
is laddie?” I said that I did, but when I got there, The pillar box wasn’t in sight anywhere. I hunted, and hunted, with never a stop, And found it at last in a hairdresser’s shop. I said to the hairdresser, “Would you mind
please?” And she lifted me up with the greatest of
ease. But I fell through the slit, without any
remark, Down where the letters go, down in the
dark. The Postman he came, and rattled his key, Then filled his big bag with the letters, and
me. He walked down our street and stood on our
mat, And I heard our brass knocker go Rat-a-tat-tat. Daddy opened the door, and I heard the
Postman say, “There, on the big one, there’s a shilling to
pay.”
“A shilling?” said Daddy, “A shilling to pay! It’s only a catalogue take it away.” I struggled and struggled to get out the plea, “Oh do pay the shilling, dear Daddy, it’s me!”
But nobody heard me, and sorry to say, The Postman turned around, and took me away. I said to myself that soon I would know, Where all of the unwanted letters go.
It frightened me so, I woke up with a
scream. Oh, didn’t I tell you it was only a dream.
With two royal weddings this year, I thought readers would enjoy this poem written by Sybil Steet of Crowborough, West Sussex. EMMA’S WEDDING A great reunion outside the church Caring and sharing the time that has been, Laughing and loving, all talking at once, Remembering, recalling the years between. How good is the feeling of being with
friends, The warmth of the greeting, the look
in eye, No-one has changed since the last time we
met, Though the calendar tells us the years have
passed by. There’s the odd fleck of grey to be seen in
the hair, And wrinkles and laughter lines too, But the faces of loved ones are always the
same, And remain ever constant to you. How important these friends we have known
for so long, How important the links we have made, How important they are to our everyday lives, As their warmth and their love never fade. We don’t need to phone or to write every
week, Time and distance may keep us apart, But friendships like these are lasting and true Here in the quiet of the heart.
Patricia Butten from West Byfleet in Surrey has sent me this Patience Strong poem called “I Know a Place” which I know will appeal to many readers. I know a dream place; a wander-by-the stream place — with rushes, reeds and irises embroidering the moat — and rose-tinted ruins or arches and windows — cast their long shadows where the white lilies float. I know a deep place; a lieyou-down-and-sleep place — a little secret valley of refreshment and repose...you make a green nest in the ferns and the grasses. Soft, the wind passes. Thoughts rest and eyes close. I know a grey place; a comeyou-in-and-pray place — a church where yew trees line the path that countless feet have trod... An old oaken door bids you enter and linger — to feel on your shoulder the finger of God.
And finally I leave you with a short but rather melancholy poem by Robert Frost that reveals that nothing good lasts. Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.