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CAUGHT IN THE NET 128 - POETRY BY IAN CLARKE
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|
. and there he is devil winged and goose bumped, a vampire tramp all tasselled swags and weepers,
from; Spring Heel Jack by Ian Clarke |
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CONTENTS
1 - BIOGRAPHY
2 – POETRY
Church: New Year's eve
February Crocuses March 1st Death of a Farrier Ghost Heron Spring Heel Jack Mumeration July |
3 - AFTERWORD
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1 – BIOGRAPHY: Ian Clarke
Born Wisbech, Cambridgeshire
1954. Worked and studied variously in Wisbech,
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2 - POETRY
Church: New Year's Eve
The cold of centuries
in pier, shaft and rood;
there are waterleaf capitals,
arch rib and tracery
and brick nogging weathered to silver,
with beams gnarled and cut
from branching root.
Then flushwork and thatch,
Quantock sandstone rose toasted,
and clerestory spraying light,
the spire crocketted and buttressed,
a lancet sunset pink.
While outside cattle smoulder
and a stream giggles over stones
and as I look back
frost nibbles a sprig
and the spire stands taut
beautifully starved against the empty sky,
one still point
pinning the year’s trembling dusk.
February
Close the curtains,
shut out the dark,
the fox hunted red raw,
keep out the wind ribbed sea,
a gale rinsing rock to shingle,
shingle to sand,
and look beyond snow saddled roofs,
beyond the earth’s curve crusting,
to a green murmur on acres starved,
to a river nectar drowsy,
a damsel fly’s blue cooling into flight,
and under the window shadow choked earth
thaws to pearl tears:
their light bowed moon dipped and brittle,
shadow scented and rising white,
winter’s last breath drained to a shiver,
spring star bare and perfect
hatching between frost and roses.
Crocuses
stubble the thaw
their sweet chill
a slick of giggles
coming up for air
(im HC)
March 1st
wish thin ice
doves rubbing voices
warming the woods
Death of a Farrier
The reedsman riding his cut:
stacks for thatching,
sweet flags to strew the floor.
His blunt nosed boat
osier flush with faggot bands,
sheaves bundled and plaited with rush.
And there he is –
wind stung and sun beaten,
mud rucked and frozen,
his dowser’s willow twig
scouring for rivers
shivering underground.
And by his wordless farm
dusk stirs a breath of shadow,
there are nests packed and stiffened
behind buds’ eager green,
and bowed in the lane
braided and ribboned,
his horse shy between soil stirring
and the sun’s deepening flame
cooling and gripping the rim.
Ghost
Old freckle blancher, old bone setter,
all wormwood and lavender,
mixing milt hard as pitch,
slack baking, sweating and gentling,
then smoothing spore thatched apples
their sweet millions to worm,
to tame from the wild.
And there she is scything to stubble
listening for the buoy’s bell
fog dimmed and suffering
still wringing from dusk wreathes of mist,
a pheasant’s startled flame.
And where tar bubbles empty miles
her whispered tease shivers through barley
to the outskirts of rain
and by her headstone days pile and darken,
her face’s map of years lost
slicked by hot petrol wind,
rain blind as sleep.
Heron
The dark thaws
to foxglove, balsam,
bracken’s hooked and tender green
to a river fish tickled
and dewpond fresh
where roots claw the bank
and rain softens
to a cold smouldering,
and where winter fades,
buried with bog-oak and bone,
the ghost of a gibbet
fogged and gallows still
coming up for air.
Spring Heel Jack
The cocked brim
of a zoot suited dandy,
his bull dick cane’s swagger
limping under a tide of pink giggles-
and there he is
devil winged and goose bumped,
a vampire tramp
all tasselled swags and weepers,
sharing his dark cornered lair
with bricks and kittens,
and homing on shadow choked streets,
a whispered tease
shivering through barley,
leaving alleys
bloodslicked and silent,
a slit grinning
ecstasy wet.
Murmuration
Snow rags thaw
to a skylark scaling octaves of air,
to a chill swallow christened sky
and in the cut balsam bee gloved and pouting,
seeds’ hooks and burs drifting to sun cracked shadow,
to crocus yolk and fungus dew,
daffodils’ choir of smiles.
But something at the lane’s dead end
freezes the heat -
is it rooks blackening to witch litter
or the pond sparkling stagnant
or the starlings’ shifting blizzard
like the dust of a shadow
cooling to roost.
July
a tortoiseshell cantors shy
legs nectar feathered
air smiling
in her wake
3 - Publishing History
Collections:
A Trickle of Friction (Hub Editions 2003)
available from the author at
A Slow Stirring (Indigo dreams 2012)
available through Indigo Dreams or
http://www.amazon.co.uk/A-Slow-Stirring-Ian-Clarke/dp/1907401970
Anthologies including:
Writers of
Contemporary Yorkshire Poetry, edited by Vernon
Scannell (Yorkshire Arts 1984)
In The Telling, edited by Susan Richardson & Gail
Ashton (Cinnamon Press 2009)
Magazines: Envoi, The
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4 - Afterword
Email Poetry Kit -
info@poetrykit.org - if you would like
to tell us what you think.
We are looking for other poets to feature in
this series, and are open to submissions. Please send one poem and a short
bio to - info@poetrykit.org
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are Transparent Words ands Poetry Kit Magazine, which are webzines on the Poetry Kit site and this can be found at -
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