Poem 246

And this is the last poem in Folio 2 – written more than a year after the first one in December of 1983 as I prepared my application for the Original Composition course I hoped to do the following year … this is the only poem I can remember for sure including in my selection of work for the application … 

… in the event (or non event) Bill Manhire was less than swept away by my work, I missed out on getting into the course due to some confusion over timetable then got in on the rebound when somebody decided not to take up their place … but by then Bill had let me know that he considered seven of the applications for the twelve places in the class to be of such quality there was no doubt about including them – and I had not been one of those … 

… that gave me necessary motivation to fuel my engine and write more than three hundred poems in the ensuing year …

… so here you go – it was poems like this that scored me eighth (at best) place in the writing class of 1984 …

( I actually still really like this – the metaphor is of burning ants with a magnifying glass (pastime at some point of most little boys) but in parallel some kind of dictator demagogue (think Putin or Stalin) loftily addressing what they see as the ant-like populace, detailing the perennial leadership vacuum that someone like themselves will always fill – death of peasants just natural attrition in pursuit of greater glory, the price of those same peasants getting a closer look at the majestic sun of national destiny … all you wish for is a back to face – that’s good … )

The Burning Glass Speaks

Let me tell you about yourselves
you are unsure of your perceptions
unwilling in the responsibilities ascribed to you
great men have broken themselves
waiting for you to act

you will not act

all you wish for is a back to face
to follow to complain in safety
why do you avoid my eyes

hide and I will still pick you out
the crowd is thinned by me
more come from the cracks
this and every century
seeking to go unnoticed in the warmth

I brush you and you shrivel

oh ants I never killed you
I showed you a close-up of the sun