Nostalgia

December 23 – Celebration of a birthday

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December 23

A sip and a smoke on the back porch,
then its starts to snow;
it seems the night
has decided to number
its ghosts.

No snowflakes settle; beyond reproach,
all absolved — go, go, —
a cull of light;
as my birthday remembers
its lost.

Carol Ann Duffy (1955 -

December 23

pavlova and BBQ on the beach
the day full of light
and gives warmth
to all the cells
of my now

so many memories have rescinded
like missing snowflakes
that once came to my window
and momentarily settled
before melting away

Richard Scutter

Well interesting that I share a birthday with Carol Ann Duffy. And that she mentions the snow in relation to the passing years as people like ghosts are recalled before fading like disappearing flakes of snow.

It was snowing heavily when I was born. It was so cold, I got quite a shock. I am still recovering.

Separation – Colin Campbell Analysis

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Separation
a card arrives 
“happy birthday  fondest love” 
i stand it on the fridge 
whilst  half a world away 
she has forgotten that she sent it 
but recalls the usual things 
peeling the vegetables  making the bed  sweeping  dusting 
later  her head nods over a page  and 
the once-friendly words turn away and hide
thin rain oozes from the mossy tiles 
and the bare brown trees stare through the afternoon 
and drip  she tries to remember what it is 
that she must thaw for tea 
and the kitchen  silent as lino  will not tell her

dealt from a well-worn pack of tidy habits 
(what ought to be done rather than the needful) 
hours are laid out in patterns on the day’s thin fabric 
(so much is to do with the turn 
of one moment to cover the last) 
whilst indifferent  greedy  thieving Time 
gnaws the afternoon
rubbing a hole in the window’s condensation 
she watches the cold  flat Suffolk landscape 
turn and shiver beneath the winter sky 
and  looking up  she sees the cold rain in the trees … 
… and i remember it
Colin Campbell (1941 -

Colin uses spaces in his text to denote a pause while reading. For example – and the kitchen  silent as lino there are two spaces between kitchen and silent. So the more spaces between words in the text the longer the pause.

Colin is a member of our U3A Poetry Appreciation Group and this is a poignant poem from his book ‘Poems’ published at the end of 2021. Looking at each stanza I can give some context to give more depth behind the words which might help the reader.

S1 … The poem addresses Colin’s mother in England while he himself is living in Australia. The first three lines refer to Colin placing a card from his mother on the fridge. This is then a trigger to a reflection on his mother who is living with dementia in Suffolk, England. Maybe he has mentioned the card in a telephone conversation and his mother has no recollection of sending it.

But with a failing mind his mother is confined to keeping track of everyday happenings.

And I like the way words are personified as they hide their meaning as she struggles in daily life.

S2 … It is a dreary winter day … the trees have lost their leaves … it is fitting in connection with the loss or separation taking place in the struggle with domestic life. And little things once easily performed are now hard to fathom out … again, the wonderful personification of the kitchen lino – silent – and unable to help.

S3 … Habits do die hard … worn down by the years … she would like to keep her house tidy but is this really needed … and the day’s thin fabric give that sense that the day itself is fading akin to perhaps the fading of clothes now worn by his mother. And the complexity of each moment as it turns on itself in the effort to combat the lack of mind progression in dealing with dementia … clearly there is separation in the ability to deal with everyday life

And Time is capitalised to give strength to the personification as it gnaws away life … nicely connecting to the problem with trying to remember what’s for tea previously mentioned in the second stanza.

S4 … we have a picture of Colin’s mother looking out on the dreary winter Suffolk environment … creating a small window hole on life outside … the hole that is dementia in reducing life, and she sees the cold rain descending …

… and Colin too remembers the Suffolk scene … and there is a sense of beauty in his recollection of his Suffolk days … perhaps different to the way his mother sees the countryside … but although there is separation there is that strong personal connection.

This is a poem that will relate to those coming to terms with dementia in whatever way the condition manifests.

Man on the Moon – Stephen Edgar – Analysis

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Man on the Moon

Hardly a feature in the evening sky
As yet—near the horizon the cold glow
Of rose and mauve which, as you look on high,
Deepens to Giotto’s dream of indigo.

Hardly a star as yet. And then that frail
Sliver of moon like a thin peel of soap
Gouged by a nail, or the paring of a nail:
Slender enough repository of hope.

There was no lack of hope when thirty-five
Full years ago they sent up the Apollo—
Two thirds of all the years I’ve been alive.
They let us out of school, so we could follow

The broadcast of that memorable scene,
Crouching in Mr. Langshaw’s tiny flat,
The whole class huddled round the TV screen.
There’s not much chance, then, of forgetting that.

And for the first time ever I think now,
As though it were a memory, that you
Were in the world then and alive, and how
Down time’s long labyrinthine avenue

Eventually you’d bring yourself to me
With no excessive haste and none too soon—
As memorable in my history
As that small step for man on to the moon.

How pitiful and inveterate the way
We view the paths by which our lives descended
From the far past down to the present day
And fancy those contingencies intended,

A secret destiny planned in advance
Where what is done is as it must be done
For us alone. When really it’s all chance
And the special one might have been anyone.

The paths that I imagined to have come
Together and for good have simply crossed
And carried on. And that delirium
We found is cold and sober now and lost.

The crescent moon, to quote myself, lies back,
A radio telescope propped to receive
The signals of the circling zodiac.
I send my thoughts up, wishing to believe

That they might strike the moon and be transferred
To where you are and find or join your own.
Don’t smile. I know the notion is absurd,
And everything I think, I think alone.

Stephen Edgar (1951 –

Clive James has given an excellent analysis of this poem in his book ‘Poetry Notes’ … the text of this discussion is also on the internet and this is the website link … https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/articles/69175/an-almost-perfect-break-up-poem

Adding some comments to this discussion …

There is no such a thing as a perfect poem … and I agree that this poem has a decided flaw in the second last stanza when SE makes reference to the text in another of his poems – re: to quote myself … an oblique reference that jolts the flow.

However, this is certainly a well crafted poem and one poem that will surely be remembered against his name.

Apart from the ‘poetic devices’ discussed by Clive James for me one of the reasons it is a great poem is the integrated comparison between two ‘major events’ that occurred in 1969. The first event being that famous ‘walk on the moon’ and the second being much more down to earth that of the start of a very personal relationship that affected his life. The poem looks back at these events after thirty five years. The second stanza subtly introduces the link by the ‘moon/nail’ comparison. It is not clear what ‘hope’ means until reading further when ‘hope’ is seen as more relevant in regard to a successful personal relationship.

The journey to the moon took a lot of planning. It was a long path to that first walk and everyone was indeed hopeful for a successful outcome. SE looks at the equivalent path that led to the meeting of his love indicating ‘eventually you’d bring yourself to me’. He poses questions such as – what planning and what forces brought the two of them together? – and was it predestined? And there is that familiar romantic notion that love is meant to be when all is well between lovers.

A secret destiny planned in advance
Where what is done is as it must be done
For us alone

… but then he states that ‘the special one might have been anyone’ dispelling such romantic thoughts. However that ‘anyone’ was of course very special and there was a state of ‘delirium’ comparable to the ‘delirium ‘of the moon-walk, if only to him. A personal journey is far more important.

Then that sad nostalgic reflection … ‘that delirium/ we found is cold and sober now and lost ‘… that the only value of the event, at least the personal event, is a faded memory – and there are regrets that the journey never continued. Perhaps the focus on their relationship has become over magnified on reflecting back on this one highlight after many years. It does give the feeling that it was a never to be repeated event-euphoria similar to the moon-walk.

In the final stanza he wishes his thoughts could journey to her wherever she is in the world, but of course he is caught up alone in this bitter sweet memory – for he is talking to himself as he walks through the reflective mind of a lost love.

Stephen Edgar is a contemporary Australian poet and … a link on Wikipedia … https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stephen_Edgar

Executive – John Betjeman – Analysis

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Executive

I am a young executive. No cuffs than mine are cleaner;
^ ^ ^ ^ ^/^^^ ^^/ ^ ^ ^^^
I have a Slimline brief-case and I use the firm’s Cortina.
^ ^ ^^^/ ^^ ^ ^ ^/ ^ ^ ^^^
In every roadside hostelry from here to Burgess Hill
^ ^^^ ^/^ ^^^ ^/ ^ ^ ^^ ^
The maîtres d’hôtel all know me well, and let me sign the bill.
^ ^^ ^^/ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^/ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^
(aabb 15 syllable lines)

You ask me what it is I do. Well, actually, you know,
I’m partly a liaison man, and partly P.R.O.
Essentially, I integrate the current export drive
And basically I’m viable from ten o’clock till five.

For vital off-the-record work – that’s talking transport-wise –
I’ve a scarlet Aston-Martin – and does she go? She flies!
Pedestrians and dogs and cats, we mark them down for slaughter.
I also own a speedboat which has never touched the water.

She’s built of fibre-glass, of course. I call her ‘Mandy Jane’
After a bird I used to know – No soda, please, just plain –
And how did I acquire her? Well, to tell you about that
And to put you in the picture, I must wear my other hat.

I do some mild developing. The sort of place I need
Is a quiet country market town that’s rather run to seed
A luncheon and a drink or two, a little savoir faire –
I fix the Planning Officer, the Town Clerk and the Mayor.

And if some Preservationist attempts to interfere
A ‘dangerous structure’ notice from the Borough Engineer
Will settle any buildings that are standing in our way –
The modern style, sir, with respect, has really come to stay.

John Betjeman (1974)

This is a period piece clearly identified by those around in England in the sixties. I remember when the Ford Cortina was the latest and greatest. And having a slim line brief case was more important than any contents! (I joke).

There was a certain respect for the upper class even though this ‘yuppie’ is portrayed here as arrogant and boastful with superficial values and the need to keep up appearances – No cuffs than mine are cleaner – I also own a speedboat which has never touched the water.

A ‘yuppie’ is defined as a young urban professional. Note also that most people would work a nine to five day but this young fellow obvious enjoys his other life much more and manages to start at ten.

But not only does he suffer mockery, corporate speech and corruption take a light hearted beating too. P.R.O = Public Relations Officer and ‘integration’ the in-word in corporate development. And it is a case of knowing the right person and using such influence for personal gain – and is that so different from the way many people operate today?

The poem has well-constructed rhythm and rhyme which bounces the monologue before the reader. You can imagine the conversation taking place at one of the hostelries frequented by this person as he pursues his interest in looking for real estate opportunities. And the implication is that he does not pay his way easily – and let me sign the bill.

I like ‘Mandy’ as a choice of name – do you remember Mandy Rice-Davies and the ‘Profumo Affair’.  Mandy would have such public association for those reading this poem at the time it was published.

Betjeman has been cited as a poet of nostalgia with a dislike of the modern. This is clearly evident in this poem. He certainly mocks the bull-nose development of his day and although it is period piece it also has a certain resonance with modern times.

John Betjeman was Poet Laureate from 1972 until his death in 1984. This link gives more detailed commentary on his poetry.

… and a link to John Betjeman on Wikipedia.