Unpublished life

NaPoWriMo 2023, Day 28

Task: To write a poem based on an index. This inspired little in me till I turned to the back of my copy of The 20th Century in Poetry (Hulse, Michael and Rae, Simon (eds) Elbury Press, 2011) and spotted the index of first lines of the poems. I took a random number of lines that jumped out at me. I then merged and broke them and added a couple of words to create today’s poem, which I hope tells a story, as that’s what I hope to do with all my works.

The “index of indexed lines” follows the poem. Please enjoy.

………………………………………………………

And I remember, Spain one morning in Spring, when
Clanking past the crest of a dune, where the trees rise like cliffs,
A snake came to my water-trough.

All afternoon the town readied for a storm.
Warm air and no sun – the sky was like cardboard,
But for the sleepy gull that yawned.

One day they said, to reach the pool
“You must go through the rain forest, and kiss
Moonmoth and Grasshopper that flee our Page.”

I grew up bent over the blue crane fishing in Cooloohah’s twilight, and
The town band swaying, dreamily on its feet.
We build our own prison walls.

Index of fist lines

And I remember Spain – Louis MacNiece, from Autumn Journal
One morning in Spring – June Manifold, Fife Tune
Clanking past the crest of a dune – Douglas Livingstone, Bad Run at King’s Rest
Where the tress rise like cliffs, proud and blue-tinted in the distance – DH Lawrence, Guards
A snake came to my water-trough – D H Lawrence, Snake
All afternoon the town readied for a storm – Mark Doty, A letter from the Coast
Warm air and no sun – the sky was like cardboard – Michael Hofman, Albion Market
But for the sleepy gull that yawned – Andrew Young, Walking on the Cliff
One day they said – Imtiaz Dharker, Purdah I
To reach the pool, you must go through the rain forest – Judith Wright, The Lost Man
Moonmoth and Grasshopper that flee our page – Hart Crane, A Name for All
I grew up bent over – Charles Simic, Prodigy
The blue crane fishing in Cooloohah’s twilight – Judith Wright, At Cooloohah
The town band swaying, dreamily on its feet – Charles Tomlinson, Siena in Sixty-eight
We build our own prison walls – Philip Whitfield, Day of Liberation, Bergen-Belsen, May 1945