SCWC Poets’ Workshop, October 2020

SCWC Poets’ Workshop, October 2020

Poets “seek clarity, precision and truth” (Ron Pretty), which is what happened for seven keen poets at our October group meeting. Most of the workshop was devoted to critical review of our own poetry. Two members have chosen to share the resultant drafts of their work. Jack Oats also spruiked his new book Talking sheds and other corrugations. See virtual book launch on SCWC youtube channel https://youtu.be/LVa16vg3Bpo

                       A KNIGHT

The body sleeps     rejuvenating repairing

the mind quietly processing data    creating dreams

an amalgam of fact and fiction

fodder for the bedded knight

hero of all that was and yet to come

champion of all adventures

courageous    admired for fairness and justice

in the mind’s nocturnal depths

imaginings flourish

the story never ends

Reality is daylight

you know now where you are

you arise to face another day

no hero     no champion

the most ordinary of men

you can but do your best

with what you have

and where you are

But what you do

and what you say

will ride your dreams tonight

where a champion and a hero

will set all things to right

   Col Henry

  13 October 2020

Paradoxical or how to read a poem

in a poem weather’s never just weather, there’s something other:

behind that cloud, transitory; in back of sunshine, egg.

if it’s raining, it’s not raining; if it’s bright it’s harsh

if the valley’s brimmed with fog, well maybe...

if it’s snowing and snow is due and a figure is approaching

down a road at dusk, think again.

if there’s a hawk, it’s not a hawk

(but there’s another hawk in hiding).

when you read a line there’s another line:

the line on the page and the one becoming.

if you were in an MRI machine reading a poem

you’d see the garden bloom with peonies.

when there’s a season, there’s another season already:

autumn portends winter, winter spring in a tumble never done.

when someone says heart or moon it’s something else they’re saying:

heart isn’t valvular, moon’s not planetary

and when I write you, it’s not you

it’s me and the body extending

and of course, when you reach the end of a poem
                                                            that’s the beginning.

4th draft – 14 Oct. 20

Peter Frankis