{"id":8842,"date":"2021-10-02T20:46:22","date_gmt":"2021-10-02T19:46:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/stuartpoetry.art\/?p=8842"},"modified":"2021-10-02T21:37:39","modified_gmt":"2021-10-02T20:37:39","slug":"ghost-light","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/2021\/10\/02\/ghost-light\/","title":{"rendered":"Ghost Light"},"content":{"rendered":"

Stop all the clocks cut off the telephone<\/em><\/p>\n

He was my North my South my East and West<\/em><\/p>\n

My working week and my Sunday rest<\/em><\/p>\n

These were the only lines of the Auden poem that I could clearly remember<\/p>\n

Which is exceptionally poor as I consider myself a poet<\/p>\n

My mother on the other hand could remember huge chunks<\/p>\n

Of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam which she had learned before the war<\/p>\n

Frequently I was teased by my mother about this but what I did not tell her<\/p>\n

Was that I often read my own poems but could remember writing them<\/p>\n

This said I have to date written over three thousand poems and fictions<\/p>\n

So some vacancies should be expected especially as I live in small worlds<\/p>\n

Illuminated only by the ghost lights which are hardly burning in the shadows by the exit door<\/p>\n

My mother recognised this and said that real poets are aware of things so small<\/p>\n

As to be insignificant to the average human eye<\/p>\n

Poets often dream their poems during the long night hours<\/p>\n

But have the ability to recall and record them in extreme detail<\/p>\n

A discarded pencil in a gutter a used shopping list on a supermarket floor<\/p>\n

These items and these thoughts are too numerous to record let alone count<\/p>\n

My noon my midnight my talk my song<\/em><\/p>\n

I have surprised myself as I have remembered another line<\/p>\n

My mother smiles<\/p>\n

It happens when I least expect it when I clear my mind<\/p>\n

When I sort out the jumble of a jumbled jumble<\/p>\n

Everything becomes clear so clear so very clear<\/p>\n

I suggest that we should write a poem together<\/p>\n

Starting at opposite sides of a circle and meeting somewhere near the centre<\/p>\n

It would be fun as our styles differ radically<\/p>\n

I do not have a style and remain a grasshopper as I have always have<\/p>\n

My mother has a style a grand style as precise as a mathematical problem<\/p>\n

We choose a subject something which she remembers fondly<\/p>\n

Her school trip to Cliftonville in 1933<\/p>\n

But then a nurse came into her room to change a dressing or something like<\/p>\n

I waited in the hall staring at the October skies<\/p>\n

Through a revival window now sheltered<\/p>\n

When I returned my mother said that she was tired but we agreed that we would start the poem<\/p>\n

On the Monday of the following week I would arrive promptly at twelve with a notebook and a pen<\/p>\n

She however died at dawn on Saturday without issue without argument and without concern<\/p>\n

She just faded into sleep<\/p>\n

I did not see her after that<\/p>\n

I could not physically do so<\/p>\n

The unwritten shared poem would be our goodbye and nothing else<\/p>\n

The stars are not wanted now put out every one.<\/em><\/p>\n

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun<\/em><\/p>\n

Pour away the oceans and sweep up the wood\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

For nothing now can ever come to any good<\/em><\/p>\n

I can remember poems<\/p>\n

I was just kidding myself<\/p>\n

I can remember my poems<\/p>\n

I have remembered Audens poem<\/p>\n

Anything else is a lie<\/p>\n

My mother knew this<\/p>\n

But did not let on<\/p>\n

As she knew that I would<\/p>\n

Discover this fact<\/p>\n

Time and time and time again<\/p>\n

As I composed<\/p>\n

The Cliftonville Poem<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Stop all the clocks cut off the telephone He was my North my South my East and West My working week and my Sunday rest These were the only lines of the Auden poem that I could clearly remember Which is exceptionally poor as I consider myself a poet My mother on the other hand […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8842"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8842"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8842\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8842"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8842"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8842"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}