Versifier

Ivor Murrell offers selections of his poetry, a harvest of experiences and emotions

The endless linear moment

At an excellent recent poets’ workshop, brilliantly led led by the poet Robert Seatter, one of the exercises was to write in response to a given image.  I was handed a copy of Edward Hopper’s 1959 painting  ’An Excursion into Philosophy’ and the poem below is the final outcome of the rough draft I wrote that afternoon.

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Excursion

 

The lapis-lazuli block of bed forms
the sarcophagus of their romance
where she lies exposed,
buttocks negligently bared
but the need for touch
signalled by her left heel
moulding her sun-warmed leg.
Between them the discarded book
open, half-read, ignored,
mirrors  the stasis of his neurosis
the loss of sensuality – even
where the tip of his  brown shoe
warms on the sunlit carpet.
Light blocks both from open shutters
and the unseen second source.
Cerulean perfection lies outside their perception,
in this linear moment only the self exists.

 

How to age a rabbit

This poem was submitted to International poetry magazine Other Poetry, where it caught the editors’ attention.  They declared the poem worthy of publication, but asked me to electronically ‘workshop’ it with poet/editor Peter Armstrong to see if the latter part of the poem could be tuned to match the strength of the opening stanza.  Peter and I were disappointed when the exercise came to an end, it was a stimulating and enjoyable experience.  Other Poetry not only published the final version of the poem in their November 2012 issue, they also showed all the workshop correspondence and revisions.   They have approved that selection to be shown on this website, CLICK HERE to see the full correspondence that resulted in the poem below.

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Image by courtesy of Meemalee

 

 

He always breathed with a nasal drone
wet lips stroking a Woodbine
as he eviscerated game
a failed feint to distract his nose
from the glistening raunch of guts,
the thick stench if a stomach burst
and the half-digested last meal
oozed darkly onto newsprint.

I never saw where
the penknife cut the fur,
he always turned away,
but the sucking tear
the shining inner skin
as the pelt peeled off
was immediate magic;
clots tattooed his arms
as he embraced it.

Perhaps it was a hope of hardening
that made him hand me
the slippery parcel
that dropped with heavy softness

The ears of a young rabbit will tear easily,
older rabbits are understandably tougher.

(Ballymaloe Cookery Course- by Darina Allen)

 

You can reach the Other Poetry website at http://www.otherpoetry.com/

Flooring a myth

Without apparent stimulus the brain suddenly decodes something from childhood.

 


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The fence stands behind my mother, sometime in the 1930′s
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The fence still stood when I was a boy.
My fingers knew it was significant
a strange structure in its second life
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A conversation in Valhalla

The wonderful Anglo Saxon site of Sutton Hoo is near Woodbridge in Suffolk.  Many think that the important person interred in the longship burial mound was called Raedwald, High King of East Anglia, but in spite of the many amazing discoveries at the site there is still much that is unknown.  With tongue in cheek I present the following fictitious conversation in Valhalla between Raedwald and a later deceased member of his tribe.


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So Raedwald, what was it with the boat?
Oh! You wanted it built in secret,
and to keep it from envious eyes
you assembled it in a pit -
but why so far from the water?
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A Sestina for Jean

This poem in a very traditional format has gone through many re-writes, this version was completed just before a reading last night in The Seagull Theatre, Lowestoft.

To learn more about the structure of a Sestina click here


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Jean on Minsmere beach.
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The Moon quietly carves the soft Suffolk coast
moving each day the multi-coloured stones
dusting them with sand or leaving all exposed
in the endless change known as ‘long-shore drift’
a power known by those with their house in the sea
robbed by a tide that rose against their life.                  

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A Wall in Naples

When your preconception about something you are looking at is suddenly and completely overturned, the experience is memorable.  This happened to me in The National Gallery in London a few years ago.


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A Wall in Naples

image by courtesy of The National Gallery, UK

 

The proof that less is more -
a snatched oil sketch, postcard size
predominantly yellowed-grey
surmounted by a thin blue strap
abutting a cream corner block
- perhaps a sixties abstract but
with its own warm light source.
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Latent Heat

An energy source to rival nuclear power.


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Steel swarfe

 

Words rip from lips hot with rage
like swarthe on a lathe streams from the tool
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The Paradox of Personal Time (in Naga-Uta format)

A poem of failed searching.


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I search the shore line
for solidified tree tears
looted from the past
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Unattended baggage

This poem came out of a recent Suffolk Poetry Society  workshop, ‘Tree Ring Time- Clock Time’, led by the excellent Kate Foley.   I wrote it thinking about the mass of empiric knowledge we have to accumulate in life.


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Pine stacked by the cord

 

Hard won knowledge stacks by the cord:
The wedge runs in Oak but sticks in Walnut.
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Proximity.

On May 2nd 2012 we took a break in a five-star hotel on Malta to recharge our batteries after a long winter.  The first day held a surprise.

This poem was recently selected by Helen Ivory for inclusion in the excellent poetry and prose webzine ink-sweat-and-tears. Click on the title to open the page in the magazine.

CLICK ON THE IMAGE TO ENLARGE IT


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The past chides indulgence on the tenth floor
in the five- star comfort of the afternoon siesta
the hot air is scratched by an unknown  sound
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Complex Signals

Aged five, I once missed the chance to say goodbye.


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After the single knock
she grabbed her son’s hand,
held it high,
as if unwillingly he had been dragged there
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Burnished Copper

A dynamic hue that attracts attention to itself with strong symbolic overtones.


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Unused coils from a 1945 electrical control panel

 

I hold two coils of burnished cooper
pristine, unused as electrical conductors
treasured for their vibrant colour
which carries its own power.
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Talking to my grandson

Watching somebody start out on the complexity of life’s journey is awe inspiring.


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The Blackberry Pudding experience

How much you have to learn, but if you are fortunate
the journey of discovery will continue to entice.

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Delayed Delivery

In the Spring of 2010 the wind in East Anglia blew directly from the Artic  and the low temperature locked us in Winter.  This position held  until March, when the wind suddenly swung to blow from the South and swiftly brought us  the long awaited season change.


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The unseasonal cold had delayed the blackthorn’s bloom
now warmth opens dense white clumps across the heath
static clouds locked in place beneath the taller trees.
Like impatient passengers flowers pushed and jostled
to ensure their place in a conformity of coincidence.

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Disruption of normality

This poem comes straight from the heart, one the young members of our family is currently having to deal with cancer.

It carries a dedication: For Lucy, with love and admiration.


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Camellia Japonica Alba Simplex

 

The unnatural spawned the unexpected
amongst its glossy dark green leaves
Camellia Japonica Alba Simplex
mistakenly sports its pointed buds
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Back amongst the Rangoons

Have you ever had the experience of tapping into vivid memories whilst dreaming, that you could not draw on whilst awake.  An experience that teases about the brain’s capacity and potential.


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I lived a vivid dream -
knew that I was dreaming
yet felt fully in control,
walking again in Raingate Street
but nearly sixty years ago.
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Perception

How important to our concept of  ‘self’  is the idea that we all see the same world - yet we now know that we do not?


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In bleak unknown seas simple celled life
rose to the surface, drawn to the sky’s light
or sunk to darkness to avoid sunburn.
Slowly yellow and blue imprinted in genes
for millenia these were the only codes
the rest was shades of grey.
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Raising John Smith

By what chance are we remembered by strangers, who speak our name beyond our life?


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I have carried your cast memory
for nearly thirty years from house to house.
The distance it has travelled since your death
perhaps further than your range in life.

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Buttercup

 A first experience of death, suitably dressed.


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This poem was selected by Helen Ivory to appear on the poetry and prose webzine Ink Sweat and Tears

The boy was coaxed into the room
clad for the first time
in his new school uniform

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Enclosure

The history of the Enclosures was often bloody and raucous and always unfair, but today’s enclosures are enacted with minimal comment.

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The Blyth Estuary at full tide. Photograph by Nick Catlin. CLICK ON THE IMAGE TO ENLARGE IT.

The Blyth winds down to the brine
and we are soothed as it curls
through what remains of heath
and the solitude of reeds -
but the truth lies still beneath,
for this is Bloody Marsh.

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