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

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    • Fourteen lines on The Peninsula
      Geraldine Green (click here to visit her blog) led another workshop for an enthusiastic small group of  poets on Shotley Peninsula in Suffolk last week.  A stimulating  annual event that we all now look forward to.  The ‘Write on The Peninsula’ workshop was organised by Suffolk Poetry Society Chairman, Ian Griffiths, and generously hosted by […]
    • Exposure
      There is a steady number of  people discovering in the later stage of their life that  contact with asbestos at an earlier date can be long lasting.     PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW BUTTON ABOVE TO HEAR THIS POEM   A starved cur huddles in his lungs, motionless, but coiled in tension, awaiting some […]
    • When I think of Christmas
      Christmas 1948…. I have been thinking about writing this poem for years, one of the sharpest memories from my childhood. Finally,  I sat down this week, and it leapt onto the page.   PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW BUTTON ABOVE TO HEAR THIS POEM    Bright red tiles, arched around an open fireplace ablaze with […]
    • The Elusive Purple Roller
      One of the most elusive birds in Botswana was perhaps the most colourful.  For a moment one perched a considerable distance from me, and using a new camera, which was far more skilled than me, I managed to take the amazing photograph below. PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW BUTTON ABOVE TO HEAR THIS POEM   […]
    • The River’s Voice
      This poem was written for the Waveney and Blyth Arts recent Poetry Competition, and was ‘Commended’. The subject set was to write about the area that the Rivers Waveney and Blyth  flow through. I read it at a poetry evening in Diss Cornhall on October 9th.   PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW BUTTON ABOVE TO […]
    • The proof that civilisation started by eating together.
      Jean and I were in Falmouth, Cornwall for a few days.  We were shown to a table for four in a restaurant and asked if we would mind sharing it,  if required.  We replied ‘No, we did not mind’.  Part way through the first course a stranger, subsequently identifying himself as George Woodward, sat down. […]
    • A Presence in the Wilderness – June 4th, 2014
       A highlight of our visit to The Kalahari, an unexpected meeting in fading light, just after sun-set, seventy metres from our tent.   PLEASE CLICK ON THE  BUTTON ABOVE TO HEAR THIS POEM   Deception Valley in the Central Kalahari, where we searched for you for hours amongst the desiccated grasses, rich in brittle blooms […]
    • Secretary Bird Tanka
      Here is a thirty- one syllable Tanka straight from the Central Kalahari, inspired by that wonderful member of the Eagle family.  The photos were taken with my birthday present from my wife.       Some soar but I stride tirelessly in long black shorts quills behind my ears desiccation dictating managerial options.     […]
    • Mr and Mrs Badge
       Have you ever been on a wonderful travel experience, where one or more of those taking part think that you are very fortunate to have them in the group? PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW BUTTON ABOVE TO HEAR THIS POEM   How reassuring it must be believing  your experience and knowledge, however slight, takes  priority […]
    • Reading the Rune
      A recent note from Geraldine Green reminded me to post another one of my poems that started in one of her dynamic workshops in January 2014, and was subsequently polished over a several months to result in this final version.     PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW BUTTON ABOVE TO HEAR THIS POEM   Passed […]

Tiffling acrorst

The Suffolk Poetry Society  organised an excellent event called ‘Soundings’ on  June 25th 2011,  under the leadership of Cameron Hawke Smith.  It considered the variety of ways that words can sound in different languages and in dialect.  Catalysed by this approaching event my Suffolk origins encouraged me to write this poem about weed control in farming, but setting it before the discovery of pesticides when weeds were pulled by hand and when the Suffolk dialect was commonplace.

PLEASE PRESS ABOVE KEY TO HEAR THE POEM READ

 Rye grass in a wheat crop – HGCA image

 

Hoad yew hard bor!
Yew hint no one hoss race.
The end of this row
hint gowan no place,

Tiffle about bor!
There’s nawthen more
til six weeks arter
the dawg rose flower

Yar sorft in the hid bor
if you believe that squit
that the money start to coom
when the snipe begin to drum.

This fild’l bait us bor!
Thas alus fare fulla tare
att’l pay us a tidy bit,
wal – do at don’t at did.

Let your maul miss bor!
We marnt claw ‘old of all
now trod that one in -
haps att’l coom agin.

Thas wholly roight bor!
Suffen gotta gew in
for us ta git suffen out.
Bank acrorst the fild bor
roight under gaffer’s snout.
 

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2 Responses

  1. Ar, bor, but that thar pome dew remoind me a them good ol’days afore Oi gone furren. Oi in’t niver bin able ter make up a good loin with “dew ‘at don’t ‘at did” in’t noither – tho’ I ‘member ‘et bein’ said many a toime – so yer hev moy amiration thar.

    Oi’m very glad to discover this whole soite, tew: dew Oi vis’t et enough Oi moight git moy owd accint back agin, an’ the pomes int ‘alf bad neither.

    Dew you keep et up bor.

    John (ex-Ipswich, 30 yrs in Texas, and 20 more in a whole lot more places).

  2. I’m rite pleased to git yor little messige, thas whooly good you can read, so many of us ole boys niver learnt proper. Dew yew keep on a coming onta moi site, mostly I’m writin posh, but yew’ll git the drift bor, as loike yor old hid’l smart a bit, but there int no jiggery pokery – like in that furren talk.

    Ivor

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