Sunday 24 June 2018

Oil man


1934. Dad is on the left of this line-up.
In memory of my Dad, who died 40 years ago today.   

Walter Biggs, 27.7.1912 – 24.6.1978

Oil man
No one understood engines like he did.
He’d stand there, listen, and he knew,
he always knew what to do.
He was the car doctor.

They came from miles,
or called for him to come if they couldn’t
   get started.
His large strong hands with hairy backs
could shift the toughest nuts and bolts,
yet with those same fingers
he’d fix the finest needle in a carburettor.
So deft, so sure of his actions.

The best sight in the world was seeing
his legs sticking out from under some car;
or bent-backed, head under the bonnet,
brown overall flapping,
baggy trousers billowing,
feet in slippers (if Mum didn’t catch him first).

The pungent scent of engine oil
 seeped through his skin.
It was the driving force in his veins,
working silently
to make everything work.

He had it all for us:
ignition, timing,
he was our shock absorber,
our brake,
our strength.
The oil in all our works.


and here's a link to a video of me reading this poem at the launch of my new collection of poetry, 'Breakfast in Bed', October 16th, 2019:

https://youtu.be/0yOb1BDtnHw


Friday 22 June 2018

After the killing



i.m of Jo Cox MP
 
After the killing

The day after that man killed Jo Cox
I ate strawberries
for breakfast
because they were fat
and red
and ready with the sweetness of joy.

I walked to the top of the hill
and saw the sea, grey and cold
but breathing, below,
all the while
on its incoming tide over endless sands
rolling always and forever.

I sat on a seat above the beach
in the sun
and emptied my mind
watched the waves –
sheets of steel
rolling on.

I listened to Bach played on guitar
massive concertos
pitching
in six stunning strings.

I spoke to a young woman
who I had known when she was a girl
and we talked about her glorious baby
due soon
on some happy day.

I bought a new novel
to read later …
That anticipation
that it is there
the words waiting
for me
when I am ready
sometime
this summer.

I picked herbs from the garden –
mint and parsley
and watched the cat rolling
in the catnip
quite off her face.

I saw the swallows
scything over the fat meadow
to gather food
for their young.

And, just to make sure
that you were there
I sent you a text
on a pretext.
Still there.

I read a poem
on Facebook
by a friend
who said
we have to do this
because
however bad the world is
there is love
and light
and no-one can take that away
from us.

So I wrote new poetry
about love
because that is all there is

and I thought of life
this life
how we
have to keep breathing
over our own endless sands.


This poem was read out at a memorial event for Jo Cox in Canterbury in July 2016, and at Big Get Together events in July 2017 at various venues in England, and on Bardsey Island, Ynys Enlli.



For more info on events  https://www.jocoxfoundation.org