She had danced and sung and sung and danced. Now she was tired she retired to her favourite place...climbing up on my lap and treadling like a kitten she settled down to watch Kirk Douglas with me. Kirk was being Spartacus and everyone was claiming to be him at this juncture. She had heard the famous line as "I AM SPARK PLUGS!" and now rested from her exertions of watching and trying to make sense of a Hollywood movie...she ran around all over again dancing and singing: "I'M SPARK PLUGS...NO I'M SPAR K PLUGS!"

I used to teach her her letters and her numbers by means of a peashooter and wooden coloured alphabet and gaudy colourful numbers. Rather like Sir Thomas Moore teaching his daughters their letters by means of archery. The 8 lying down and having a rest and becoming an infinity symbol led to her next great statement which she always loved to proclaim as her little self identity..."I....AM...INFINITAS!"

I SING OF A MAYDEN

I syng of a mayden
þat is makeles,
kyng of alle kynges
to here sone che ches.  

He came also stylle
þer his moder was
as dew in aprylle,
þat fallyt on þe gras.

He cam also stylle
to his moderes bowr
as dew in aprille,
þat fallyt on þe flour.  

He cam also stylle
þer his moder lay
as dew in Aprille,
þat fallyt on þe spray.;  

Moder & mayden
was neuer non but che –
wel may swych a lady
Godes moder be.

***

I SING OF A MAIDEN

I sing of a maiden
That is matchless,
King of all Kings
For her son she chose

He came as still
where his mother was
As dew in April
That falls on the grass

He came as still
To his mother’s bower
As dew in April
That falls on the flower.

He came as still
Where his mother lay
As dew in April
That falls on the spray

Mother and maiden
There was never, ever one but she;
Well may such a lady
God’s mother be

***

Some nice Norfolk words!

bred and born  - instead of "born and bred"

Bishy-barney-bee  -  ladybird

Bor  - friend/boy...pronounced Buh!

Burr -  haze around the moon

charleypig/barneypig  - wood louse

Coshies/cushies   -  sweets

Cuckoo  -   cocoa

Dudder    -  shiver yet shiver for a splinter

Ding   -  sharp blow

Dickey   -  donkey

Dockey  -    a labourer’s dinner

Dodman/dundmun/doderman   -  snail

Duzzy  -  silly

Erriwiggle   -  earwig

fillum    -  film or movie

fumble-******   -  clumsy

gansey   -  jersey

Garp/gorp   -  gape

Co ter heck  - go to hell as in amazement

guzunder  - goes-under...another word for chamber-***

Hedge Betty   -  hedge sparrow

High learned  -  well-educated, clever

Hold yew hard ! -  Hang on there! or Wait a moment!

harnser  - heron or a goose for which the Latin name is Anser

hoddy-doddy (very small)

jiffle   -  fidget

kewter  -  money

King Harry   -  goldfinch

Lady’s smock   -  Canterbury bell

Mardle   -  gossip

mawkin   -  a scarecrow

Muckwash  -  sweat a lot

My heart alive! (expression of surprise or just "my heart"

occard   - awkward

"Oi hent nart gart none",  - "I haven't got any".

Pingle   -  play with your food

Pishamire  -  an ant

Pollywiggle   -  a tadpole

puckaterry   - stress/panic

Quackle  -   to strangle

Rafty   -  damp raw weather

Rimer  -  **** frost

Shiver   -  splinter

skerrick   -  a morsel of food

Smur   -  fine rain drizzle

snob   -  shoemaker

squit   -  nonsense

stannicle   -  tadpole

tempest   -  thunderstorm

"The Fenians are coming!"  - a  commotion nearby.

tittermatorter  -   see-saw

*****-totty   -  very small

From the STREETWISE workshop run by that wonderful poet and teacher Penny Shuttle at the Poetry Society.

( for that lovely little devil of a barber Anthony Kelly in the town of Fermoy )

Mr. Death elects to speak in Latin...thinks it gives him a certain je ne sais quoi...

It's always great to cheat Mr. Death and his henchman Mr. Heartattack. I swore to myself that I would love the next second with all my heart!

Cross pollinating Sam and Seuss by the simple method of reading them both at once...discovered both at once back in '67 so that they were always strange bed fellows in my mind. Sam segues into Seuss...

Given the existence as uttered forth in the public works of Puncher and Wattmann of a personal God quaquaquaqua with white beard quaquaquaqua outside time without extension who from the heights of divine apathia divine athambia divine aphasia loves us dearly with some exceptions for reasons unknown but time will tell and suffers like the divine Miranda with those who for reasons unknown but time will tell are plunged in torment plunged in fire whose fire flames if that continues and who can doubt it will fire the firmament that is to say blast hell to heaven so blue still and calm so calm with a calm which even though intermittent is better than nothing but not so fast and considering what is more that as a result of the labors left unfinished crowned by the Acacacacademy of Anthropopopometry of Essy-in-Possy of Testew and Cunard it is established beyond all doubt all other doubt than that which clings to the labors of men that as a result of the labors unfinished of Testew and Cunnard it is established as hereinafter but not so fast for reasons unknown that as a result of the public works of Puncher and Wattmann it is established beyond all doubt that in view of the labors of Fartov and Belcher left unfinished for reasons unknown of Testew and Cunard left unfinished it is established what many deny that man in Possy of Testew and Cunard that man in Essy that man in short that man in brief in spite of the strides of alimentation and defecation wastes and pines wastes and pines and concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown in spite of the strides of physical culture the practice of sports such as tennis football running cycling swimming flying floating riding gliding conating camogie skating tennis of all kinds dying flying sports of all sorts autumn summer winter winter tennis of all kinds hockey of all sorts penicillin and succedanea in a word I resume flying gliding golf over nine and eighteen holes tennis of all sorts in a word for reasons unknown in Feckham Peckham Fulham Clapham namely concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown but time will tell fades away I resume Fulham Clapham in a word the dead loss per head since the death of Bishop Berkeley being to the tune of one inch four ounce per head approximately by and large more or less to the nearest decimal good measure round figures stark naked in the stockinged feet in Connemara in a word for reasons unknown no matter what matter the facts are there and considering what is more much more grave that in the light of the labors lost of Steinweg and Peterman it appears what is more much more grave that in the light the light the light of the labors lost of Steinweg and Peterman that in the plains in the mountains by the seas by the rivers running water running fire the air is the same and then the earth namely the air and then the earth in the great cold the great dark the air and the earth abode of stones in the great cold alas alas in the year of their Lord six hundred and something the air the earth the sea the earth abode of stones in the great deeps the great cold on sea on land and in the air I resume for reasons unknown in spite of the tennis the facts are there but time will tell I resume alas alas on on in short in fine on on abode of stones who can doubt it I resume but not so fast I resume the skull fading fading fading and concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown in spite of the tennis on on the beard the flames the tears the stones so blue so calm alas alas on on the skull the skull the skull the skull in Connemara in spite of the tennis the labors abandoned left unfinished graver still abode of stones in a word I resume alas alas abandoned unfinished the skull the skull in Connemara in spite of the tennis the skull alas the stones Cunard..tennis..the stones..so calm..cunard..unfinished

I am Sam
I am Sam
Sam I amThat Sam-I-am!
Than Sam-I-am!
I do not like
that Sam-I-am!Do you like
green eggs and ham?I do not like them,
Sam-I-am.
I do not like
green eggs and ham.

Would you like them
here or there?

I would not like them
here or there.
I would not like them
anywhere.
I do not like
green eggs and ham.
I do not like them,
Sam-I-am.

Would you like them
in a house?
Would you like them
with a mouse?

I do not like them
in a house.
I do not like them
with a mouse.
I do not like them
here or there.
I do not like them
anywhere.
I do not like green eggs and ham.
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.

Would you eat them
in a box?
Would you eat them
with a fox?

Not in a box.
Not with a fox.
Not in a house.
Not with a mouse.
I would not eat them here or there.
I would not eat them anywhere.
I would not eat green eggs and ham.
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.

Would you? Could you?
In a car?
Eat them! Eat them!
Here they are.

I would not,
could not,
in a car.

You may like them.
You will see.
You may like them
in a tree!

I would not, could not in a tree.
Not in a car! You let me be.

I do not like them in a box.
I do not like them with a fox.
I do not like them in a house.
I do not like them with a mouse.
I do not like them here or there.
I do not like them anywhere.
I do not like green eggs and ham.
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.

A train! A train!
A train! A train!
Could you, would you,
on a train?

Not on a train! Not in a tree!
Not in a car! Sam! Let me be!

I would not, could not, in a box.
I could not, would not, with a fox.
I will not eat them with a mouse.
I will not eat them in a house.
I will not eat them here or there.
I will not eat them anywhere.
I do not eat green eggs and ham.
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.

Say!
In the dark?
Here in the dark!
Would you, could you, in the dark?

I would not, could not,
in the dark.

Would you, could you, in the rain?I would not, could not,
in the rain.
Not in the dark. Not on a train.
Not in a car. Not in a tree.
I do not like them, Sam, you see.
Not in a house. Not in a box.
Not with a mouse. Not with a fox.
I will not eat them here or there.
I do not like them anywhere!You do not like
green eggs and ham?I do not
like them,
Sam-I-am.Could you, would you,
with a goat?

I would not,
could not,
with a goat!

Would you, could you,
on a boat?

I could not, would not, on a boat.
I will not, will not, with a goat.
I will not eat them in the rain.
I will not eat them on a train.
Not in the dark! Not in a tree!
Not in a car! You let me be!
I do not like them in a box.
I do not like them with a fox.
I will not eat them in a house.
I do not like them with a mouse.
I do not like them here or there.
I do not like them ANYWHERE!

I do not like
green eggs
and ham!I do not like them,
Sam-I-am.You do not like them.
So you say.
Try them! Try them!
And you may.
Try them and you may, I say.Sam!
If you will let me be,
I will try them.
You will see.Say!
I like green eggs and ham!
I do! I like them, Sam-I-am!
And I would eat them in a boat.
And I would eat them with a goat…

And I will eat them in the rain.
And in the dark. And on a train.
And in a car. And in a tree.
They are so good, so good, you see!

So I will eat them in a box.
And I will eat them with a fox.
And I will eat them in a house.
And I will eat them with a mouse.
And I will eat them here and there.
Say! I will eat them ANYWHERE!

I do so like
green eggs and ham!
Thank you!
Thank you,
Sam-I-am!

The MOT test (Ministry of Transport, or simply MOT) is an annual test of vehicle safety, roadworthiness aspects and exhaust emissions required in the United Kingdom for most vehicles over three years old used on any way defined as a road in the Road Traffic Act 1988,

I of course only achieved a VT30 which of course is a failure.

The "interesting hair" comes from a friend's birthday party in Wales. A lady at the other end of the room slowly migrated across the room until she was sitting beside me...had heard I was one of those "poet things." After only 5 minutes of conversation I was dismissed with a certain amount of scorn with an "Oh you are so very ordinary...you only have interesting hair." I suppose she was expecting something "mad, bad and dangerous to know." Turned out I was more moronic than Byronic.

THE STOLEN CHILD

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.

W.B. YEATS

***

I was reading Frank O'Connor's series of lectures on early Irish poetry
( THE BACKWARD LOOK )and listening to both Bowie's newest and an old favourite of mine LODGER. I was at the start of FANTASTIC VOYAGE when the seemingly impossible news of his death trickled through and I went to BBC to confirm that...it was not so. It was so.

A moment ago he had been singing( as he had been singing for me all these years ):

"In the event
that this fantastic voyage
Should turn to erosion
and we never get old
Remember it's true, dignity is valuable
But our lives are valuable too"

I was also reading this 4 line fragment from the 9th century :

"There is one
   I would wish to see again,
And give the golden world to win -
    All, all, though all were vain."

"Fil duine
     Frismbad buide lemm díuterc
Ara tabrainn in mbith mbuide
     Uile, uile, cid díupert."

And  so I wrote him this little poem....THE BACKWARD LOOK.

"...póg..." - a kiss

"S'ea...n'ea?" - "Yes...no?"

"Tabhair dom do phóg!" - "Give me your kiss!"

"Slán leat...mo buachaill!"..."Goodbye...boy!"

***

I afterwards asked he:r "What was that all about?"t and she said: "Sure have ya never seen Dion Boucicault's Arrah na Pogue?"  and I said: " No..." "Or hear mention of it in Finnegans Wake" and I said: "No..." and she said: " And ya call yer self a gentleman and a scholar?" and I said: " Well I am a gentle man. .."

So she explained that the famous kiss in Arrah-na-Pogue when Arrah( Nora ), saves her foster brother from execution for his role in the political uprising, by a kiss, during which she effects an exchange from her mouth to his of a small scroll containing
the plans for his escape... by a kiss....you must remember this ... the famous noted kiss... so this little red-headed miss thought of this as her sister fancied me too and she wanted to be one step ahead of her. She had been dared to go up and kiss me and kissed me she did conveying all her feelings and a saliva drenched telephone number.  The best way to deliver the post as Joyce says. "The passing of the key of Two-tongue Common." Oh the wicked wiles of wild women with a penchant for literature.!

And that was how I came to hear about an Arrahna-Pogue kiss and the Finnegans Wake   reference to it!

I wrote Res Burman this poem. A WONDER TOLD SHYLY about that wonderful moment in the concert when Liam slings the guitar to the side and recites Austin Clarke's THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER and then asks the squeezebox about a plaintive Irish air.

Like Clarke's poem puts it...." like a bell that is rung...like a wonder told shyly...and oh she was the Sunday in every week! Here is my effort for what it's worth!

THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER

When night stirred at sea,
An the fire brought a crowd in
They say that her beauty
Was music in mouth
And few in the candlelight
Thought her too proud,
For the house of the planter
Is known by the trees.

Men that had seen her
Drank deep and were silent,
The women were speaking
Wherever she went --
As a bell that is rung
Or a wonder told shyly
And O she was the Sunday
In every week.

Austin Clarke

"Ar éirinn Ní n-Eósainn Cé h-í"

Aréir is mé téarnamh um' neoin
Ar an dtaobh thall den teóra 'na mbím,
Do théarnaig an spéir-bhean im' chómhair
D'fhág taomanach breóite lag sinn.
Do ghéilleas dá méin is dá cló,
Dá béal tanaí beó mhilis binn,
Do léimeas fé dhéin dul 'na cómhair,
Is ar éirinn ní n-eósainn cé h-í.

Last night as I strolled abroad
On the far side of my farm
I was approached by a comely maiden
Who left me[? 'sinn' = 'us'] distraught and weak.
I was captivated by her demeanour and shapeliness
By her sensitive and delicate mouth,
I hastened to approach her
But for Ireland I'd not tell her name.

Dá ngéilleadh an spéir-bhean dom' ghlór,
Siad ráidhte mo bheól a bheadh fíor;
Go deimhin duit go ndéanfainn a gnó
Do léirchur i gcóir is i gcrich.
Dó léighfinn go léir stair dom' stór,
'S ba mhéinn liom í thógaint dom chroí,
'S do bhearfainn an chraobh dhi ina dóid,
Is ar éirinn ní n-eósainn cé h-í.

If only this maiden heeded my words,
What I'd tell her would be true.
Indeed I'd devote myself to her
And see to her welfare.
I would regale her with my story
And I longed to take her to my heart
Where I'd grant her pride of place
But for Ireland I'd not tell her name.

Tá spéir-bhruinneal mhaordha dheas óg
Ar an taobh thall de'n teóra 'na mbím.
Tá féile 'gus daonnacht is meóin
Is deise ró mhór ins an mhnaoi,
Tá folt lei a' tuitim go feóir,
Go cocánach ómarach buí.
Tá lasadh 'na leacain mar rós,
Is ar éirinn ní n-eósainn cé h-í.

There is a beautiful young maiden
On the far side of my farm
Generosity and kindness shine in her face
With the exceeding beauty of her countenance.
Her hair reaches to the ground
Sparkling like yellow gold;
Her cheeks blush like the rose
But for Ireland I'd not tell her name.

This was written in Marva's writing room as the dawn came upon me and found my words all scribble and scrawl...here is the translation of that hopeless handwriting into something that can be said and hopefully worth saying.When one is told that this is the writing room then one has to...write! I was reading TO **** A MOCKING BIRD at the time and was thinking of using Atticus's line of "...a shadow of a beginning..." for a title but that got nicked by another poem. We were staying at High Darren so of course Mr. Keats' line suggested itself to me "...Silent, upon a peak in Darien..." Such is the fractal nature of writing poetry. And the book I was reading as a child in that window just happened to be TO **** A MOCKING BIRD...what goes around comes around.