A Magic Mountain of a Journey

If you were to ask me, I would say
That life is not one journey,but many journeys
Made mostly in parallel.

This poem is about one of my parallel journeys.

I make no apologies for obscure references, but in so saying I probably am.

I was not alone, there are many who will identify with some of this, if not all.

(The first line is a quote from T.S. Eliot - The Journey of the Magi).


A Magic Mountain of a Journey


A long coming we had of it,
It was a going but we made
The most of that.

A long coming we had of it.
From the Gorbals to the East End,
From the Steppes to Stepney (hackneyed, I know).
Through Siberia, through the Sea
Just the colour of a Prussians cloak.
Rusted, like the cooked pork on which we choked.
Tranced the Polka which we brokered
To the barbecues we manufactured
And exported, exposing our defeat,
Exponing our ability to burn meat.
To the sea at Southend, oy vey.
No translation necessary.

From the orphanages and board of guardians,
From the pulpits and lady almoners,
By-passing foam from unleavened bread,
All so good, so sanctimonious, so garrulous
In their self-praise. So gone, so mourned
So forgotten in the morning, in the dawning
Of our memories, so milky-stained away.
All so wanted back to the good old blight
Of our childhood and our rest and the angel
Overhead, with just a hint of red in his (not hers)
Over-manicured, feather-adjusted wings.
Keep him in sight tonight.

Clip the candles lit in praise or celebration
Not in degradation of molten wax, moulded facts,
Melted effigies from Tussauds litany of fame.
Frame the bibles, forsake those little bundles,
Let the prophet impose, encroach, like a
Saint let him (not her) plague our sores
Recovering in the convalescence of the sure
Shores of Eastbourne, Bournemouth, Littlehampton,
Ealing. Is that healing or revealing?

Forget the healing, burn the little blighters
To come to Southend-on-Sea in coffins
Burning bright in the middle of their light.
Summons their taxi driving friends from East
Ends to make amends with tips and candy
Floss between the stones, like a Moses, cleanse,
Engrave and make laws, to bend the tide
Of long gone, long overgrown strands of sand
Like spikes of hay uncut in Autumn fields.

Like warmth in December
Like nothing I remember,
Bring armour and shield
Make the hen lay,
Make the sea winds turn,
Burn the heretic, or do I mean stranger
On these familiar shores.

Category:

People & Blogs

Tags:

• Poem
• Poet
• Poetry
• T.S.
• Eliot
• Journey
• Joan
• of
• Arc
• East
• End
• London

[brychar66]

Echoes of Blake as well as Eliot adding to the fascination of the not-quite-understood logic of the piece (art needs little logic). Title must be Mann and there's a Jewish undercurrent. But these rhymes Lina are just up my street and the lovely long rhythms. It has a witty melancholy but is razor-sharp - which I should think is you in a nutshell ;)

[PoetLina]

More razor to the the melancholy with a bit of a whit of wit just about right.

Thank you for "seeing " so much, so pleased you enjoyed it. (How about throwing in a smattering of Bernard Shaw, or perhaps not so "done" these days? ;-) ).

[dashpoet]

Sumptuously phrased, a journey to get lost in, as the best journeys always are. As TS Elliot inspires, do you.

[PoetLina]

Thank you so much, Mark. Somehow I knew that you, in getting lost, would not get lost here. :-)

[andrewnorris1]

I agree with tinySpectacle's comments, the rhythm and subtle rhymes are truly wonderful, appearing unexpectedly yet create a momentum that leads us through a vast landscape, from the Steppes to Stepney, leading up to your denouement. And I shall never look at a Northern sea again without thinking of a Prussian's cloak. Truly a remarkable journey, physically, emotionally and spiritually. My new fav.

[PoetLina]

Thank you fellow traveller. I have truly been surprised at how so many have found ways in to this poem, I should not have been given the insight of my friends on youtube. :-)

[Poemsapennyeach]

This is a seriously good poem. Well done Lina Poet.

[keanghiero]

nice work.

5*

all the best

Kean

[PoetLina]

Thank you so much for visiting and grappling with this one. It would take a tome of an autobiography to explain this poem away; that's largely why I love poetry.

I hope you get some sense of "sadness and longing", I suspect you did.

My best wishes to you and to Canada. :-)

[PoetLina]

Your comments send a warming and a lifting; I know you know that feeling. :-)