I was recently asked to explain this poem which was published at Glossophilia on National Poetry Day (and is in my book Hide Songs).
It’s a ‘Golden Shovel’ - the last word of each line, if read in sequence, makes a line from a well known poem.
The poem is concerned with ‘blue collar’ workers who feel threatened and marginalised by immigrant labour - an issue in many areas both industrial and rural including Norfolk.
This has contributed to the swing to the right in politics and the subsequent vote to leave the EU.
Jerusalem is somewhat an anthem of the English right wing.
Egrets used to be migratory, flying here from France but since the 1970s have become resident.
Structurally the poem has 12 lines and mostly 12 syllables per line.
And yes I know the first line end word is wrong - that’s just me having fun. But if you were to take a deep breath and sing it with gusto - it might come out this way!
https://www.facebook.com/Glossophiliablog/
Egret in Jerusalem
He holds a clutch of sea-worn pebbles in his hand,
ignores the threatening sky as if nothing he did
could change his lot. Blanks out the narrowness of those
who regard him as less than dog shit at their feet.
The hurled stone flies up like a goal kick to land in
water rippling around an egret - ancient
obelisk or some angel from biblical times.
A witness to days when a working man could walk
on the waves, and more, lay out enough food upon
a cloth to feed his family. But this is England's
truth where angels are as rare as Norfolk mountains.
The immigrant bird flies off. He hawks a gob of green.
It’s a ‘Golden Shovel’ - the last word of each line, if read in sequence, makes a line from a well known poem.
The poem is concerned with ‘blue collar’ workers who feel threatened and marginalised by immigrant labour - an issue in many areas both industrial and rural including Norfolk.
This has contributed to the swing to the right in politics and the subsequent vote to leave the EU.
Jerusalem is somewhat an anthem of the English right wing.
Egrets used to be migratory, flying here from France but since the 1970s have become resident.
Structurally the poem has 12 lines and mostly 12 syllables per line.
And yes I know the first line end word is wrong - that’s just me having fun. But if you were to take a deep breath and sing it with gusto - it might come out this way!
https://www.facebook.com/Glossophiliablog/
Egret in Jerusalem
He holds a clutch of sea-worn pebbles in his hand,
ignores the threatening sky as if nothing he did
could change his lot. Blanks out the narrowness of those
who regard him as less than dog shit at their feet.
The hurled stone flies up like a goal kick to land in
water rippling around an egret - ancient
obelisk or some angel from biblical times.
A witness to days when a working man could walk
on the waves, and more, lay out enough food upon
a cloth to feed his family. But this is England's
truth where angels are as rare as Norfolk mountains.
The immigrant bird flies off. He hawks a gob of green.
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