AS DEW IN APRYLLE
It is as if
he has fallen
from the end of
the 15th century
into this
present day.
A Friday as it
happens.
And falling from
century to century
he has lost weight
the flesh fallen from him
so that
Simon Sadd
(“Sadd by name…sadd by nature!”)
arrives at this
particular now
nothing but
a bag of bones
with a skin
that no longer fits him.
As if…as if
he had once been a fat man
and Time had
thinned him…tamed him.
And so it is
I bathe him
sing songs for him
recite for him
carols, poems, hymns
anything
that lets him escape
even for a moment
this nursing home.
My voice carries him
back to his Norfolk childhood
where his mother
bathes him
on some forgotten Friday
in the once upon a time.
Soap stings his eyes
then and now.
“Moder ‘ud give us
such a ding on the lug.”
He laughs as if
she were there.
“Cor blarst me...stop yer blarin!
Such a sharmin’!”
he scolds himself
with her voice.
Then she’d hush me with…
“I SYNG OF A MAYDEN”
“I syng of a mayden
þat is makeles,
kyng of alle kynges
to here sone che ches.”
I finish it for him.
“My heart alive…how does
a yung feller like you…no dat!”
“He came also stylle
þer his moder was
as dew in aprylle,
þat fallyt on þe gras.”
“You must have high learnin’
bor!”
He, for his part,
creates a world of words.
I enter entranced
into his voice
where a ladybird
transforms itself into
a bishy barneybee!
A woodlouse
becomes a Charley pig.
A jasper
is a wasp.
“Ahhh look a King Harry
by the Lady’s smock!”
And when I look
the goldfinch has
already flown away
into the lost years.
The Canterberry Bells
still…so still
“…as dew in Aprylle.”
His mind a “bishy bishy
barneybee…”
“When will yer weddin’ be?
he says softly to himself
“If it be a ‘marra day..."
I towel him dry.
“Tairk yer wings an’
floi away!”
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
AS DEW IN APRYLLE
It is as if
he has fallen
from the end of
the 15th century
into this
present day.
A Friday as it
happens.
And falling from
century to century
he has lost weight
the flesh fallen from him
so that
Simon Sadd
(“Sadd by name…sadd by nature!”)
arrives at this
particular now
nothing but
a bag of bones
with a skin
that no longer fits him.
As if…as if
he had once been a fat man
and Time had
thinned him…tamed him.
And so it is
I bathe him
sing songs for him
recite for him
carols, poems, hymns
anything
that lets him escape
even for a moment
this nursing home.
My voice carries him
back to his Norfolk childhood
where his mother
bathes him
on some forgotten Friday
in the once upon a time.
Soap stings his eyes
then and now.
“Moder ‘ud give us
such a ding on the lug.”
He laughs as if
she were there.
“Cor blarst me...stop yer blarin!
Such a sharmin’!”
he scolds himself
with her voice.
Then she’d hush me with…
“I SYNG OF A MAYDEN”
“I syng of a mayden
þat is makeles,
kyng of alle kynges
to here sone che ches.”
I finish it for him.
“My heart alive…how does
a yung feller like you…no dat!”
“He came also stylle
þer his moder was
as dew in aprylle,
þat fallyt on þe gras.”
“You must have high learnin’
bor!”
He, for his part,
creates a world of words.
I enter entranced
into his voice
where a ladybird
transforms itself into
a bishy barneybee!
A woodlouse
becomes a Charley pig.
A jasper
is a wasp.
“Ahhh look a King Harry
by the Lady’s smock!”
And when I look
the goldfinch has
already flown away
into the lost years.
The Canterberry Bells
still…so still
“…as dew in Aprylle.”
His mind a “bishy bishy
barneybee…”
“When will yer weddin’ be?
he says softly to himself
“If it be a ‘marra day..."
I towel him dry.
“Tairk yer wings an’
floi away!”
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-fisted - clumsy
gansey - jersey
Garp/gorp - gape
Co ter heck - go to hell as in amazement
guzunder - goes-under...another word for chamber-pot
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 - hoar 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
Titty-totty - very small
