A WHITE WORLD OF FUN
Alison Chisholm is entranced by a snow poem that evokes a sense of childlike joy
If talking about the weather is an obsession with British people, writing about it is equally important to British poets. There can be few of us who have not written about the sun, rain, mist, wind or snow, and even fewer who have not alluded to weather conditions as part of a poem on a different topic. This excess of poems touching on the subject of weather makes it very difficult to write an original piece on the theme. Margaret Gleave of Southport, Merseyside has managed to write a feelgood snow poem full of contrasts and spirit, in which she looks at the weather phenomenon from three different angles. The poem was inspired by the snow globe of the title, a gift that fascinated her when she was a small child. It was a magical evocation of the excitement of snow.
As she recalled the treasure from an adult’s perspective, she was drawn into the contrasts that appear in the poem. The toy snow globe is translated into the reality of snow. We have one stanza of description, and then a stanza each from the perspective of any adult, and any parent. The whole second half of the poem is dedicated to the child’s response to snow, without thought for the practicalities or dangers, but with an eagerness to embrace every aspect of a fun-packed foray into the white world.
One of the decisions that has to be made when writing a poem in free verse is whether to break the material down into separate stanzas, and if you do, how to structure them, and whether to make them regular or irregular. The poet decided on the structured effect and used tercets – always a good length of stanza if you are wanting to put a specific point across. Two lines give you little scope, four allow room for expansion, but three are enough to impart a nugget of your message.
Once the stanza pattern has been established, the lines have to be crafted to communicate their message without awkward breaks at their ends. Margaret Gleave handles the dynamics perfectly, ending the lines on significant words and working with the phrasing. Where there is no punctuation and an enjambment carries the thought from one line into the next, she has taken advantage of the infinitesimal pause there to add subtle emphasis to colour, flash by and moon.
Describing both the snow globe and the childhood impression of snow as magical, the poet has demonstrated this reaction at the beginning, where the snowflakes don’t merely land but are seen leaching colour / from grass. The introduction of the conjurer highlights the suggestion of magic, and the idea continues into the description of the cloak. You might guess that a conjurer’s cloak would be black – but the fake snow in the toy implies the strangeness of white complete with glitter and spangles, offering a new take on the colour and texture of the cloak.
We return to the magical theme at the end, with the belief that the snowman is going to come to life. The final image that sees him sing from his orange peel mouth sends the reader
away from the poem delighting in the sheer joy of it all.
Throughout the poem, vocabulary has been selected that delivers the message with economy and precision, and really makes the words sing. Consider the adjectives. The snowflakes are ragged, a perfect description for anyone who’s looked carefully at a snow globe. The fact that the ice is black, the bones broken, cars smashed and pipes burst is unsurprising – but each of these little tragedies is delivered so precisely because the single adjective is exactly the right choice. The child revels in superlatives, and the highest hill and biggest snowman superimpose those exaggerations onto the adult voice of the narrator.
In all the best free verse poems, slant rhymes use their similarity of sound to hold the piece together poetically, and Margaret Gleave has used a raft of examples here. Look at the opening stanza. There is consonance in behind / ragged, assonance in safety / snowflakes and glass / path, alliteration in safety / snowflakes swirl and conjuror’s cloak, and half rhyme in colour / conjuror’s. There is even a neatly stowed and unobtrusive full rhyme in glass / grass. Full rhyme glares in a free verse poem if it appears at line ends, but is much more subtle when one or both of the rhyming words can be found at other points in the line.
These knit together a web of sound that proves we’re reading a poem rather than a prose passage – and similar slant rhymes can be found throughout the piece. To get the full effect, read it aloud to see how well they work.
A minor disappointment in discussion about this poem arose when the poet admitted that the idea of flinging snowballs at buses was born of imagination rather than experience, although she confessed that she had seen schoolmates (names withheld) indulging in such practices. But the assumption of mischief is enough – the game is on.
That game comes to life with the factor that makes any poem memorable; its application of imagery. In the second half of the piece, it’s difficult to read the lines without experiencing the things they describe. The visual image of making tracks in the snow, the texture, cold and wetness of the snowballs, and the feel of cool air rushing past the face on that sledge ride place us within our own experience of those activities, and so animate the poem. You can see and feel the snow, and by implication hear the boots stamping on its carpet, the scrunch of snow as it’s compacted into balls, and the swishing of the sledge. And as these sensory reactions slip into place, the crisp scent and taste of the air come alive by implication.
Snow Globe presents us with Margaret Gleave’s interpretation of memories of a special gift, drawn so clearly by the three angles that stretch imagination from adult to parent to child. The pictures are familiar but the route through the material is quirky and fun. By the end of the poem, readers are reviving their own memories while reading hers, and the personal descriptions have become universal. Anyone up for a snowball fight?