Poetry in Motion

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Randomnerd

Bimbleur
Location
North Yorkshire
Well, that’s what I thought as I passed the reflective surface of an old filling station window today. Look at that fine figure of a man, skimming along like a stone across a pond.....

And then I woke up on the bench by the village green, realised I’d fallen asleep mid-pie, and had another thirty bloody miles to grind to get home.

The fantasy and the reality is something we all have to reconcile, daily. Fantasy: I could just choose some tyres for my bike and buy them and put them on the bike and ride it. Reality: I think I better do a lot of research when I have some time, and then maybe ask my mates what they use, and then maybe post a daft question somewhere on the Internet, and then buy some. “Hmmm....? Wonder if I should get a mini pump...”

I’m coming to my point.

This morning, I almost caught myself answering Sandra’s dilemma about her job in the parts department with a long reply about a Peter Bruegel painting “Landscape with the fall of Icarus”. I’m glad I didn’t, because I would have sounded pompous and I think Sandra already knows the answer to her dilemma.

But the painting is very instructive, once you know your Ovid, or at least classical myths and legends, and one or two medieval proverbs.

“No plough stops for a dying man” - the proverb; essentially man’s inhumanity to man. We look the other way. I’m alright Jack. She’s got her job problems, but I’ve got my worries ( e.g., What’s the best way to tighten a chinstrap on a Giro helmet? No really, anyone?). Your search engine might take you to the painting for a look-see, and if you’ve time on your hands you could read the background bumpf at artinsociety.com.

And my point is.... [edit, my points are]

Do any of you make art inspired by cycling, or get creative inspiration from the practice?
Are any of our number poets? Isn’t it time you rode your rhymes out here?
Pedalling painters, stand up, unclip your oily cleats and clomp to the front of the class with your creations. ( Fair chance this could become a picture thread. Oh well. )
However your muse moves you, here’s the thread ready. Bring forth your odes of the road for us all to read. Don’t sit on your art all farty. Poop it up here, prop it up for all to see, silly!
 
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Randomnerd

Randomnerd

Bimbleur
Location
North Yorkshire
Free at last,
And loaded with the sum of all they saw,

Great job done by a master. Thanks Rocky. Of course we should open up the thread to all poets - and I think I can recall a snap of old Larkin on a sit-up-and-beg - although I’m hoping we can make plenty of room for works from this hotbed of boiling talent. Hmm?
 
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Randomnerd

Randomnerd

Bimbleur
Location
North Yorkshire
I trust that this is the last word necessary
Sorry Adrian, but this just doesn't cut the mustard. Funny old Oxfordshire bird on a bike isn't doin it for me (although I live with one, and she had the same English teacher as PA)
"Oh I wish I'd looked after me teef!"
 
I was walking
down
a sizzling road:
the sun popped like
a field of blazing maize,
the
earth
was hot,
an infinite circle
with an empty
blue sky overhead.

A few bicycles
passed
me by,
the only
insects
in
that dry
moment of summer,
silent,
swift,
translucent;
they
barely stirred
the air.


Workers and girls
were riding to their
factories,
giving
their eyes
to summer,
their heads to the sky,
sitting on the
hard
beetle backs
of the whirling
bicycles
that whirred
as they rode by
bridges, rosebushes, brambles
and midday.

I thought about evening when
the boys
wash up,
sing, eat, raise
a cup
of wine
in honour
of love
and life,
and waiting
at the door,
the bicycle,
stilled,
because
only moving
does it have a soul,
and fallen there
it isn't
a translucent insect
humming
through summer
but
a cold
skeleton
that will return to
life
only
when it's needed,
when it's light,
that is,
with
the
resurrection
of each day.

Pablo Neruda
 
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Randomnerd

Randomnerd

Bimbleur
Location
North Yorkshire
Seventeen effing pages about Fray Bastrdin' Bentos pies over there, and not one sniff of a sketch or a watercolour dabble or a little ode in 'ere.
Here's a sketch of a bird that was annoying me on a walling job.

Twite.
Right
Little Shite.

 

booze and cake

probably out cycling
OK to try and redress the balance here's a quick ode I just made for you

cold fingers, numb toes
squinting eyes and dripping nose
icy wind and horizontal rain
I've got to clean the bike again
dark mornings and long nights
extra socks and flashing lights
full fingered gloves you must obtain
winter riding, what a pain
a plea for spring I did send
bloody winter when will it end

And here's a photo of a bike stand in Portugal, just cos its cool.
hSfaeCS.jpg
 
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Randomnerd

Randomnerd

Bimbleur
Location
North Yorkshire
Scansion
Scansion, or a system of scansion, is the method or practice of determining and graphically representing the metrical pattern of a line of verse. In classical poetry, these patterns are based on the different lengths of each syllable, and in English poetry, they are based on the different levels of stress placed on each syllable. In both cases, the meter often has a regular foot. Over the years, many different systems have been established to mark the scansion of a poem.
 

Spinney

Bimbleur extraordinaire
Location
Back up north
Do any of you make art inspired by cycling, or get creative inspiration from the practice?
Are any of our number poets? Isn’t it time you rode your rhymes out here?
Pedalling painters, stand up, unclip your oily cleats and clomp to the front of the class with your creations. ( Fair chance this could become a picture thread. Oh well. )
However your muse moves you, here’s the thread ready. Bring forth your odes of the road for us all to read. Don’t sit on your art all farty. Poop it up here, prop it up for all to see, silly!
Paging @TreeHuggery
 
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