Belfast notebook

A series of haiku written in the course of a visit to Belfast. They are intended to catch my thoughts and reactions at the time and don't reflect my considered views.

Safety announcement:
Bend forwards, head down, and then
Kiss your arse goodbye

The plane, like a queen
Moves fast and straight above the
Chequerboard of fields

From above, the clouds
Look clean and new, like Earth
When freshly fashioned

The cold bus station
At night, empty of buses:
Travellers marooned

Turning a corner
I find an angry mural:
Still fighting a war

Midnight, midweek, still
The air thick with strong liquor
They're hard drinkers here

University
Dressed up like a Gothic church
Knowledge is worshipped

Larkin liked it here
But he liked Leicester and Hull
So can't be trusted

A loner zig-zags
Talking as he walks along
Lost in mobile chat

An accent suited
To rapid escalation
To extreme anger

Peace's four horsemen:
Building work, English firms, wealth,
Global chains, have come

The place has Troubles:
The past not an anodyne
Distant narrative

The departure board
Makes it seem halfway between
London and Dublin

Faces pinched and pale
Vitamin C hasn't yet
Arrived in Ulster

Happy to talk to
Anybody, anywhere
Or just to themselves

They still make things here
New factories not just shops
How old fashioned is that?

Coffee house culture
Brings the cafe tables out
Into the drizzle

Government buildings
Old, squat, proud and resentful
Fight irrelevance

The street map shows no
Boundaries between beliefs
Just names from headlines

Big Issue sellers
Are a commonplace, alas:
They're no big issue

The city drivers
Are always slow to signal
Quick to sound their horns

The delay is due
To the road improvement works
Thanks for not minding

I'm doubly foreign
English, from Wales: a tourist
Fresh from overseas

However modern
Airports always have concealed
Tacky old corners

A hen party shrieks
Dressed in custom-made T shirts
Ready for wild times

Come buy, come buy

'"Come buy, come buy," was still their cry.'
Goblin market, Christina Rosseti

'You like my poems? So pay for them' Wendy Cope


Gillian Clarke and Wendy Cope
Clutched slim volumes in the dark
"Our readers are our only hope"
Said Wendy Cope to Gillian Clarke

"We'll take a stand against the trendy-
Stick to printing" suggested Gillian
"It worked before" remembered Wendy
"Making Cocoa sold half a million"

"Well, nearly" Gill muttered in dismay
"If we don't fight it, noone will:
If people want us, they can pay"
Responded Wendy Cope to Gill

It seems the poets were unaware
In the world beyond the reading list
People choose from what is there:
If you're not online, you don't exist.

An old ploughman's view

They ask me if I miss
The jangle of the horse harness
The romance of the plough team
Now that tractors rule

They don't like my reply:
"Where's the romance
In staring at a horse's arse all day?"

The Gospel according to Martin

I have unconsciously been slowly creating an alternative Bible as a result of my returning to Christian (and Old Testament) stories in order to explore moral questions. Some are critical and perhaps heretical, but they represent the ebst and most serious poems here.

Creation: Diminuendo

Noah's flood: The raven's tale

The Massacre of the Innocents: Collateral damage

Nativity to Crucifixion: Mary's lament

Crucifixion: Stations of the cross

Acts: The gospel according to Thomas | A Monmouthshire hedgerow

Revelation: Seven cities | The cloud of unknowing

The new Shakespeare

Othello

"Jealous much?" asked Iago
"Totally" replied Othello


Hamlet

Hamlet's dad was all "Woo-woo, I'm dead"
Hamlet was all "To be or not ... whatever"


The Merchant of Venice

Shylock was so into bling it was untrue.


Macbeth

Wannabe king Macbeth was like "Is this a dagger, or what?"
Lady M rolled her eyes and said "Duh!"
Then he went postal


Romeo and Juliet

Romeo met Juliet at the prom
Their clueless parents were like "No way"
"Yes way" they said, and died.

The rhymes for love

Poets are always complaining of
The scarcity of rhymes for love:
When at last push comes to shove
They reach out for the nearest 'dove'
And search the earth and skies above
For words that fit just like a glove;
So poets are always complaining of
The scarcity of rhymes for love.

Found poetry: from a shopping centre wall

"Shopping and eating":
A good short description of
Consumerism

Love in the time of cholera

Surrounded by dead,
Those of us merely dying
Must cling together

Dark prism

Glo they call it
Sheened like a beetle's back

High the price
Lives lost or marred
White fingers, clotted lungs
Senghenydd, Gresford, Aberfan

Steam and smoke
Fuel to power an empire
Shovelled into fireboxes and hearths

The wealth it brought
Turned to ash
The land scarred
Buildings silent

On the ridge
Grey turbines turn
The valley sleeps
Its labour done

Kipling on management

"If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you"
Rudyard Kipling, If ...

If you can keep your job when all about you
Are losing theirs and rightly blaming you
If you can fake sincerity when men doubt you
And make them suffer for their doubting too
If you can apologise for keeping someone waiting
But delay them further by your lies
And seem good natured while secretly hating
The well-informed, the gentle and the wise

If you can plot - to overthrow your master
If you can snipe - without bothering to aim
If you can meet with Chaos and Disaster
And treat those two co-workers just the same
If you thrill to hear your name is spoken
Feted by dolts and praised by fools
And insist on fixing things that are not broken
Or, failing, turn around and blame your tools

If you can steal the balance of the Lotto winnings
And fire someone without giving a toss
If you can stall an initiative's beginnings
And ensure the outcome's total loss
If you can do without backbone or sinew
And leave a mess behind you when you've gone
If you can kill all honesty within you
And focus everything on Getting On

If you can reject all impulses to virtue
Poison every task with leprous touch
Ensure that all of those that hurt you
End up hurt themselves at least as much
If you can fill each unproductive minute
With a critique of how the firm is run
And forget the part that you play in it-
You will be a Manager, my son.

A chronological survey of the viability of coalmining at Abernant

Depth: 0 years 2006

Kites circle the landfill tip
Lorries bring waste from far away
The surface sheds make rusting homes
To workshops and short-lived stores
The tidal swarm of miners gone


Depth: 20 years 1986

Hands, deep grimed with coal,
Clap for warmth on the picket line
Shoulder to donkey-jacketed shoulder,
The strikers bar the gateway
Matched by a fluorescent line of police

The scabs arrive in a tatty bus
Met by a storm of jeers and threats
Heads bowed, they pass through
To their lonely shift


Depth: 40 years 1966

A new era of mining dawns
Well engineered, gleaming,
In fresh new buildings
A workforce trained and keen
The promise of coal
A dream of prosperity and purpose


Depth: 60 years 1946

White eyes in black faces
Blinking in the daylight
A cacophony of accents
Bevan Boys from Scotland and Kent
Leaven the local voices
Trudging out of the pit
Exhausted by victory


Depth: 80 years 1926

Striking against pay-cuts
The Feds and Communists
Are joined by their colleagues

Some, penniless, dig pirate mines
To heat their threadbare homes


Depth: 100 years 1906

Smoke fills the valley
A wailing whistle and hiss
The first train heads for Swansea
Heavy with lumps of anthracite
Waved on its way with cheers

Belonging

Some people are born where they belong,
Their home and family supply all needs:
The glow of hearthlight waxes strong
The call of the wider world recedes.

And some search long but never find
A spot where they can set up base
At last they must become resigned
To moving on from place to place

And some again, the lucky few
Are urged to leave, and to seek out
An individual rendezvous
With love's whisper or fame's shout

Belonging is a state of mind
Tranquility its foremost fruit
Sought by all, but many find
It cannot grow without a root


REPRODUCTION RIGHTS
I give permission to students to quote and reproduce this poem in assigments on condition that the poem is credited to Martin Locock and the url is stated: http://locock3.blogspot.com/2007/01/belonging.html.

Teachers and others wishing to include it in resource packs should contact me at mlocockATgmailDOTcom.


CONTEXTUAL INFORMATION
Information about the poet can be found at A Few Words (see for example Self portrait in 30 statements) and Answers to questions from Poet's Letter, and there are also author's notes about the poem.


PUBLICATION

Belonging is included in my poetry collection Carefully Chosen Words published by Carreg Ffylfan Press.

Welsh traditions

Knowing more about rugby than the WRFU
Using three words when one word would do

Forming a committee to get something done
Pooling the talents and wasting each one

And when it goes wrong to everyone's shame
A nation united in apportioning blame

Heat

Sunbathing beauty,
Bronzed skin glistening with oil:
Poetry in lotion

Restless

The wind at sunset
Brings the scent of far bazaars
Calling me away