Showing posts with label Clare Trowell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Clare Trowell. Show all posts

Wednesday, 5 November 2025

Red (Westminster Bridge)

Red (Westminster Bridge)

“Earth has not anything to show more fair.”
Our bridge, from decades after Wordsworth wrote,
still sees triumphant uses of that quote —
marathon meets demo, Parliament Square.
Red London bus routes level by the ride.
Let’s think of them as one vast playing field.
Duchess Loelia stole a phrase to wield
(but would confess this guilt before she died),
linking red bus and failure. Yes, to her,
whose ducal marriage failed, that was a thing.
Not to me, pensioner, kidlike venturing
red routes across the Thames at Westminster,
her duchy. Red souvenirs gleam on a stall.
Red hearts mourn Covid levels from their wall.

Loelia Lindsay (1902-1993; Duchess of Westminster 1930-1947) is believed to have popularised the aphorism, originally coined by Brian Howard and often misattributed to Margaret Thatcher, “Anybody over the age of 30 seen in a bus has been a failure in life.”

This is another of my colour poems, and also another of my poems written for projects from 26 Characters. 26 Bridges celebrated the bridges over the Thames in London. Participants contributed written work, and were invited to choose artistic collaborators who would produce visual work to go alongside this. 

My artistic collaborator was Clare Trowell, and she made a fine print of Westminster Bridge with a red London bus crossing it. Early in the project I had noticed that Westminster Bridge was crossed by five Transport for London routes. I explored these, making a list of bus-coloured things I'd seen on them.

The poem took its present direction after conversation with Clare T., and with my wife Clare. I'd been there before. And it developed, as 26 Characters poems are wont to do, in discussion with its project editor, in this case Wendy Jones.


Sunday, 3 May 2020

A letter to the Second World War


A LETTER TO THE SECOND WORLD WAR

Dear Mrs War,
the one middle-aged Britons hanker for,
you happened, so you're not there any more.

Why do we lack, 
seeing your legacies, the will to hack
them for our own day and not want you back?

What should I say?
Not being there, you cannot go away.
Please fade.  Napoleon's did. They had their day.



This poem was originally written in response to one of the prompts in Jo Bell's 52: write a poem a week.  It was for number 20, to write a poem in the form of a letter. 

It has attained no publication higher than self-publication as part of a social media conversation.  I tweeted it in response to colleague Clare Trowell's disquiet, working from home on a rainy day, at the sound of a Spitfire beyond the clouds.

Saturday, 2 November 2019

Illegal deposits


THE SEARCH

dare spend night condemned flat.  Online I found
no July game of public schoolboys scaling
a tower block's Heras fence, grazed to the ground,
hot on the concrete steps, higher each railing;

no afterwards: not ninepenny rainbow,
not weeping for the darkness in man's heart;
no record of the night -- what aged them so,
a great adventure from or at the start?

No bad deposits made in lack of water,
no newspaper, eerie from being old,
no noises for the night not getting shorter,
no one they met, and nothing they were told.

So probable, this tale, not mine to break.
Do you remember it? What is your take?


UNFESTIVE

The phrase "a lot of food"
means more food in the sentence
"We've laid in a lot of food for Christmas"
than in "He'd spilt a lot of food down his jersey."
Poignant the difference in tense.


A SPURIOUS CRIME

Ears pinch "e-legal", and the users know
libraryspeak's not theirs to understand,
when copyright means something else.  They go
and make do with the beige-flagged contraband.


CURIOUS

Deposit -- deposition -- kings invite
put-down, counter-claim.  Did your sudden flight
involve such terrors?  Had someone had sight
of things you'd done that didn't match your fight?
What came?  Visit, phone, email, small-hours fright?
Still mystery, twelve years on -- day of night.



The above poems are my contributions to Illegal deposits, a small anthology of writing by staff at libraries within Cambridge University and the colleges.  The anthology was the brainchild of Simon Halliday and features cover artwork by Clare Trowell. It includes a contribution by Adam Crothers, whose debut volume Several deer (Carcanet, 2016) won the 2017 Shine/Strong Poetry Award and the 2017 Seamus Heaney Centre Poetry Prize. 

To get your copy of Illegal deposits, contact Simon Halliday on snjh2[at]cam.ac.uk.