RECYCLING

As a youth I spent many hours with my friends in a tiny coffee shop next to the
'Man and Scythe' pub in Church gate, Bolton. We put the world to rights and
philosophised (?) on the meaning of life, and we may have mentioned girls once
or twice. We, or at least I, came to the conclusion that the meaning of life was life itself and many years later after reading several wise men's opinions on the subject ' I  came out by the same door as in I went'. The only philosopher who makes sense to me is Schopenhauer though he calls the life-force The Will'. So giving me a theme for a light-hearted poem. (For a poem on the same theme but written by a proper poet see 'The Force That Through The Green Fuse Drives The Flower'
by Dylan Thomas.)
As for ’ Immortality ' I’m with Bart Kosko who wrote in ‘Fuzzy Thinking’ ;-
‘ Molecules assemble and disassemble an atom or two at a time’

RECYCLING
by
Frank Bryce

Kosko knew with Schopenhauer
That we’re all one with the cauliflower,
the crocodile, the mountain goat
and trees and grass and things that float
and things that sink and things that stink
(Unpleasant though the thought may be)
we’re supposed to live in harmony

And when our atoms start to disperse
to be assembled by that half-wit child
they say is in charge of the Universe
(unsupervised by a responsible nurse)
The free floating atoms drive him berserk
and as he’s fond of metalwork
he could turn our molecules and individual quarks
into Memorial busts in Royal Parks
Or maybe into an old fashioned pub
(The Duck and Trumpet to name the worst)
Just beware when you slake your thirst
you could be drinking Charles the First.

The world’s gone mad I think you’ll agree
When philosophers who seem at first sight rational
Re-formed could win next year’s Grand National.

And if you think this is all a joke
Just refer to this Kosko bloke
who gives examples by the score
that everything he says is true
and not so very long ago
You were him and he was you.

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Having been brought up in the thirties I find the Lancashire dialect
natural although I don't often use it. but of course I still have
the accent in spite of my travels. I thought it would be interesting
to 'translate' a poem into dialect and one easy target was a short poem
by William Carlos Williams, a renowned American poet as well as
being a practicing doctor. Here is the original;

THIS IS JUST TO SAY
by
William Carlos Williams

 I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

And as it may have been articulated by a Boltonian joiner (like mi dad) in 1936

Note that the word ‘the’ is often written as t’ and is pronounced as
such by those unfamiliar to the dialect which grates on my ear.
In practice it is hardly articulated at all and is more of an unpronounced hesitation.


FORBIDDEN FRUIT
by
Frank Bryce

Ah’d better tell thi
ah’ve etten them plums
that were in‘ fridge

You sed they were
fer temorrer

But ah’ve et um
They were aw reet
a bit sweet

LATIN LESSON

After having made ten poems available to anyone who needs them
I would be interested to know if any of them have;-
Saved a life
Raised a laugh
Seduced a lover
Inspired admiration/ scorn/ a new poem
Cured insomnia or
Ruined a good night's sleep
Caused a divorce or
Brought about a reconciliation
Cured a cough or an
In-growing toenail
?????????????
I really would like to know.








In the meantime here's another;-

Eleven tears old, first day of  the first year at Grammar School
(yes they were called that then)
Instead of going into the Physics Lab I somehow, in my confusion
entered the Latin classroom where an extremely attractive teacher
(not all that common then) was teaching the conjugation of the verb
'amare'  to love.
Maybe this accidental encounter initiated my preoccupation with
Classical Rome {and the opposite sex?)
I imagined a Further Education class for adults with an equally
attractive tutor in;-

LATIN LESSON
by
Frank Bryce

On Mondays at ten
she teaches us verbs
today it's 'amare'----to love.

amo---amas---amat

the way that her eyes wrinkle up when she smiles
unfolds me

amamus---amatis---amant

I dream of holing her in my arms
 her head resting soft next to mine

amo--amas---amat

stroking her hair against my cheek
tasting her breath

amamus---amatis---amant

I watch her sweet lips form the ancient words
restoring the language and me
with the indicative, active, present tense

amo---amo---amo