Pages

Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Discovering a Poem

I discovered a poem the other day I'd written a year ago - and competely forgotten about. I wrote it on one of the inner pages of a new notebook (why I did this, I've no idea). I've been steadily filling the notebook with notes on guitar lessons. Well, the other day I turned over the page at the end of a guitar lesson.... and there it was. The reference to angels was, I think, a reference to a print by local artist, Piers Browne:


Askrigg

I saw no angels:
only the sun
catching the slates
of the wet roof
after the rain.

The stream was full,
coughing its way impatiently
through a concrete pipe.
A skylark sang and,
on the opposite hill, a car
twinkled like a fallen star.

11 comments:

Get Off My Lawn! said...

Almost as good as finding money in an old pair of pants you haven't worn in years.

The Weaver of Grass said...

Beautiful imagery Dom.

Jenny Woolf said...

Great poem, wonder how you could possibly have forgotten it!

George said...

I find this quite lovely, Dominic. Spare, full of great imagery, and rich in meaning.

Dominic Rivron said...

Thanks for these comments!

GOML: And I did that the other day, too. Only a fiver, but who's complaining.

WG: Thank you.

JW: Quite easily. I think I pulled into a layby to write it when I was whizzing from place to place, somehere near Askrigg. I had in mind a wonderful, rather Blakean painting by Piers Browne I'd seen on an exhibition in Askrigg itself not long before.

George: Thank you. It's about a place, too, that's just over the hill from your coast to coast journey, in the Dales.

GOAT said...

Great! All I find in old notebooks is stuff like "MILK BREAD YOGHURT EGGS SOAP".

The Solitary Walker said...

Quite lovely, Dominic.

(And Carmen found a £10 note in an old coat she hadn't worn for years the other day! Life is full of such riches.)

John Hayes said...

Lovely! What a wonderful final image.

Alan Burnett said...

It really is very good Dominic. There ought to be a movement of secret poets who leave poems in unexpected places - in library books, written in the dust on parked cars, scrawled in felt-tip pens on rural bus shelters.

Dominic Rivron said...

Thanks for these comments, everyone! Just one specific - Alan, there is one, more or less: IPYPIASM (International Put Your Poem In A Shop Month) every December. But you've got me wondering, what does one do for the other 11 months of the year?

patteran said...

As Jenny - fancy forgetting so delightful a poem. Look after it now, Dominic - it's a keeper!