Sunday, 27 June 2010

Not quite the Poetry Bus

It's a really good road-sign Poetry Bus prompt this week from Don't feed the Pixies. Somehow though I've not had time nor inclination to get to grips with it (I think the sunshine has been partly to blame - sorry...just too nice to do any work).

Instead of a new poem therefore I offer you a very old one (it's at least ten years old... probably more...but it is about roads...). I wrote it back in the days when I lived in very built-up areas and only got out to space and countryside now and again (very different life now of course). In particular, I wrote it after a walk all around the Haworth area in West Yorskhire. It's an area that looks a bit like this:




And here's the poem:



Quarter to four


I spy
Country types
Proud
To be worse than us
To Speed
Down windy smelly roads
In straighter newer vehicles
To nearly run us down in fact
Well what are we?
Worse than livestock
City dwellers
Idling in
And all around
Spots of beauty and history
We're all the same
We block the lanes
We stand and sigh
They can't get by
We irritate
They're late to get
The kids from school
We sigh again
“They don't appreciate
Their lives”
And harder still back home
We sigh
Where roads are all there is
To spy


RF maybe 1998


x

24 comments:

Gwei Mui said...

I love the differnt feelings you have created those of the countryside and those of the townies

Rachel Fox said...

I started off in a village then moved to gradually bigger and busier places. Then 8 years ago I went back in the other direction and now I live in a village in quite a quiet area. All this means I feel a bit neither nor these days (not a country person nor a townie really) but wherever I live I'm not keen on people who drive too fast. Death in a car crash or accident always seems like the biggest waste possible. Killed because someone was rushing to buy a pint of milk or whatever - it's just so stupid.

x

Totalfeckineejit said...

Not quite the poetry bus but totally a lovely poem. :)

Rachel Fox said...

Thanks TFE. I've tweaked it a bit but it's more or less the poem I came up with back then.
x

Enchanted Oak said...

My fave lines:
"Well what are we?
Worse than livestock
City dwellers
Idling in
And all around"

We have those here, city dwellers getting drunk on our wine and driving too fast down our winding roads. It's the locals who idle.

jinksy said...

We're all the same
We block the lanes
We stand and sigh
They can't get by
We irritate
They're late to get
The kids from school

How well this captures the frustration of being stuck in a narrow lane with no passing places! I'm glad I dont drive...

Rachel Fox said...

Yes, EO, bad behaviour isn't limited to any one geographical group!

Hi Jinksy - driving is a blessing and a curse, I think. I have a licence but these days I'm not much of a driver. It's too much like warfare at times.

x

Dave King said...

There speaks a poet with both knowledge and insight. Each line brought a response from some mem ory in me.

Rachel Fox said...

Why Mr King, I'd forgotten what a remorseless flatterer you were!
x

A Cuban In London said...

I quite like the contrast between the driver and the pedestrian. Beautiful poem.

Greetings from London.

The Bug said...

I love this poem! You capture both sides of the story very well.

I've been both - & in most cases I'm the impatient one :) My husband, on the other hand, tends to mosey no matter what. In some of our rural areas I'm afraid that moseying will get him shot (just kidding)...

Rachel Fox said...

Thanks folks. Glad you enjoyed it.
x

Niamh B said...

It's so true - the point you make about rushing and running, and I like how you turn the normal cliche of country folk being the easy going ones on its head here, backed up by your observations.
Nice one.

Peter Goulding said...

There seems to be quite a rural - urban divide on the bus this week. Personally, I can't believe its not the poetry bus.

Rachel Fox said...

I suppose I am interested in divides between people of all kinds (why they exist, how they come into being, how they keep going, how they show themselves, who is ruled by them and who isn't...). We seem to excel in continually inventing new ones anyway so plenty to work on!

x

Rachel Fox said...

As for the Bus - usually I get some idea about something from the prompt (even if I don't really want to!). But this week - head was empty.
x

Don't Feed The Pixies said...

New or old - you joined in the spirit of it with this pome

I wonder what the collective noun for city types would be?

Lovely poem

Argent said...

Nicely observed!

Karen said...

Really nice contrast and depiction of the exasperation on both sides.

Pure Fiction said...

Really like the rhythm of this - it's lovely and taut. Have to admit to feeling a leetle frustrated with the city dwellers now and again - particularly the ones that come around in coaches and buses.
Poetry bussers, however, are always welcome.

Rachel Fox said...

Glad you didn't mind my old clothes for this one, Pixies. As for that collective noun... a crush, a sweat, a busy? It's a long while since I lived in a city (over 10 years) but as with most things I remember that how much money you have makes a big difference (one person's huge city mansion vs another's overcrowded flat...not really the same experience...).

Thanks to others for calling in. And Pure Fiction... I know what you mean but I do remember that feeling of shock you can get as a city dweller when you're suddenly somewhere with space and fresh air - you just want to stand still (for hours) and breathe it all in. Well, sometimes. I remember hearing children's writer Michael Morpurgo talking about how he does farm holidays for city kids - a brilliant idea and great fun too I should think.

x

Titus said...

Loved it!
These lines particularly

Well what are we?
Worse than livestock
City dwellers

Knock-out in twelve syllables.

Rachel Fox said...

You're always so positive, T. Where do you get that from - could you send me some spare?
x

Titus said...

I personally blame it on some deficiency.

However, were you to ask Craig what he thought of that description, he may find it hard to recognise. My worst is always, ever and only for him.