Nov 2016
STAND UP...RICHARD HAWTREE IS PASSING!
Richard Hawtree is
sculpting sound
out of the air
Spring appears
with each breath
he takes
making what isn't there
....there.
I fall in love
with the balance and poise
of each and every word
brought alive.
How sound glows
seduces the ear.
Here he offers me
a word not heard before
"...smoor"
the more I hear it
I want to hear it
more.
But now the poem
that had leapt into being
ends as it began
in sheer delight
the words like a fire
dampened down for the night.
Applause like waves
breaking upon a shore
the cry of seagulls
"More...more!"
Richard returns
to the dark from which
I had plucked him
****** him into the spotlight.
Richard Hawtree is passing.
I stand up.
Bow before him.
Richard Hawtree is
sculpting sound
out of the air
Spring appears
with each breath
he takes
making what isn't there
....there.
I fall in love
with the balance and poise
of each and every word
brought alive.
How sound glows
seduces the ear.
Here he offers me
a word not heard before
"...smoor"
the more I hear it
I want to hear it
more.
But now the poem
that had leapt into being
ends as it began
in sheer delight
the words like a fire
dampened down for the night.
Applause like waves
breaking upon a shore
the cry of seagulls
"More...more!"
Richard returns
to the dark from which
I had plucked him
****** him into the spotlight.
Richard Hawtree is passing.
I stand up.
Bow before him.
One of the best things about running a poetry night is watching something wonderful come into being. Richard leapt onto the stage and leapt into his poem about Spring and it unfolded before us in all its glorious being. The performance itself was a thing of wonder and great beauty. I fell in love with it and was even graced with a new word....SMOOR...which is Scottish for dampening down a fire...to extinguish...to suffocate.
I was just so ****** impressed as indeed was everyone else.
I was just so ****** impressed as indeed was everyone else.
