They were after telling stories,
For, to put a frame on it,
There was nothing else to be doing of a brisk evening.
Don’t you know.
Oh, ‘tis true there was a fine view from above Clare’s field
Where the path led by a fairy fort—
The tourists were all quite taken with that,
Don’t you know,
Always wanting to hike up to the crest of the hill
Past the fairy fort—
Which is nothing but a circle of trees.
Yes, they were after telling stories in the evening
When the wind was blowing the rain from the North
Or was it the West?
It was a wayward wind for certain, that night,
Don’t you know.
And what was there to be doing after all,
But listen to the wind and watch the fire,
Keeping warm,
Don’t you know.
And even were it a dry night,
Though those are rare enough—
The “lovely peace and quiet”
Admired so by the tourists
Can be wearing on a man,
Don’t you know.
#PoetryandIreland #IrishPubsandPoetry
So, what’s to do but off to the pub for a drink
And a bit of storytelling.
A bit of gossiping, as well,
Don’t you know.
Reminding the other fellow of his foolishness
When he was a lad and his faults now he’s a man,
And if tempers should rise,
A pint or a small one will soften any who’re taken to anger.
Well, almost any,
Don’t you know.
Yes, they were after telling stories
Each man in his turn playing out the words
To the praise of the rest
Like dancers urged from the crowd
And encouraged into exhibiting their skill in stepping.
Just so,
Don’t you know.
And a good story will call for another,
Drink being a reward for the telling and the listening—
Spirits to warm you when living can’t—
Don’t you know.
Yes, they were old friends and neighbors gathered about
And they were after telling stories one brisk evening.
Yes, they were after telling stories,
Since for certain there was nothing else to be doing,
Don’t you know.
PAPER DOLL
Naked, or nearly so, I stand straight
in the morning light
before they come
(the ones who think they know)
to dress me in the image that they see
daughter, sister
friend, student
mother, teacher
So I walk the day covered over with paper clothes
that sometimes fit, or nearly do,
but more often don’t.
Then the paper cuts and chafes
or is held by force in place
till a bruise is crushed into my frame.
Still, and at last, once more—
naked, or nearly so, I stand straight
in the morning light—
while the sky spins spells with tales for me,
as the air welcomes me tenderly into its care,
the trees and grass speak truth to me
that they and I can understand.
We are alone, the morning and I
and it is only now
that I know who I am.
#Feminism #Self-Awareness #PoetryandIdentity
REAR VIEW
The light turned green
And he shuffled his aimless steps
Across the street
Life-scarred, seedy and soiled
A thing the sun struck hard upon
A stranger from the kinder clime of night
The light turned red
And time and the world roared by
While he lingered perplexed in the alien place
Beneath the tangled hair,
Behind the fire-rimmed eyes
The secret terror tore through to light
From the little boy
Lost on the corner of loneliness,
Locked forever in the body of a man
#DamagedPsyches #Compassion #HomelessPersons
CONFUSION ALL AROUND
Whether you are talking about homographs (bear(noun)/bear(verb)) or homophones (which adds bare (adjective/verb to the list), the result is the same: homonym confusion. When I was a child we were taught only the word homonym, but that was enough to worry any poor speller. For a non-native English speaker, it must be a nightmare.
Consider the examples above. Bear, spelled b-e-a-r, has two meanings. One is the name of an animal and therefore a noun. The other is a verb suggesting that effort or endurance is required to deal with events. You could say they are linked, I suppose. When in the wilderness you have to bear (verb) with the threat of a bear (animal) rooting through your trash or stealing your food.
Bare, on the other hand, is both adjective and verb. The “bare truth” is truth that is not cloaked in unclear speech or writing. To bare is to uncover, whether this is by physically removing whatever hides what you are looking at like removing clothing to reveal naked skin, or by removing the obscurity that surrounds a fact.
Three similar words are resent/resent and recent. The first can mean something was sent again or re-sent and is pronounced with a soft S like a hiss. The second resent is also a verb meaning to feel bitterness or indignation. Though visually the same as the first word, it is pronounced with a hard S (z sound). The final word sounds like the first because the C is pronounced like a soft S, but the stress is on the first syllable RE unlike the stress in the other two where the accent is on SENT. Recent means near to present time and is an adjective. If there are any geologists out there, it is also a term equal to “Holocene”, a noun.
Today I have only written about two basic sounds, “bare” and “resent”, yet look at the convoluted results. No wonder people say English is hard to learn. Even native speakers have trouble with words like these.
#EnglishLanguage #ESL
Author’s Notes
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“REAR VIEW” was published in Treasures of Parnassus, Best Poems of 1962 and in Ipso Facto, an International Poetry Society Anthology. It is included for Red Cross Month for the work they do to help the homeless. The event described did occur when the poet was out driving. It is possible that the person reminded her of Charlie, a WWI veteran with PTSD. She often saw him drunkenly slumped in doorways when she was a child.
KALEIDOSCOPE—a series by Kathleen Roxby
In “CONFUSION ALL AROUND”, the author continues her exploration of the problems homonyms create.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“PAPER DOLL” is the title poem for one of the author’s chapbooks published in 2000. She drew upon her childhood memories of playing with paper dolls for many of the images used. It appears this week in honor of Women’s History Month.
STORY IDEA – GENRE THRILLER/SUSPENSE
Once again, in lieu of a reader’s contribution, I offer instead a story idea for you:
LOCATION: At the beginning of the story, a small town in mid-western US.
MAIN CHARACTER: A woman no longer young, but neither is she old. She appears to be physically fit and is still sexually attractive. She has been working as the town librarian/historian for a few years. No one knows much about her past. She does not drive preferring to walk to and from her work and to do her shopping along Main Street. She lives in an apartment above the town’s hardware store.
CATALYST: The envelope that appears on her refrigerator held there by a magnet she does not own. The apartment windows and doors were all locked before and after she entered. She thinks she knows what is in the envelope: a business card with name information on one side and a note added to the reverse, listing a location not found elsewhere on the card.
THE DILEMMA: If she opens the envelope, her quiet life in her new home will come to an end. Even if she ignores the message—once read, there will be consequences. If she leaves it untouched on the refrigerator, there might be no consequences though that is not guaranteed. She believes she is now watched and her decision will be observed. Does she ignore it or does she open it?
WHAT SHE KNOWS: She is almost certain the destination on the back of the small card will be some place just outside Tibet. It is the area she predicted before she abandoned her former life. It could be that someone she once knew has been seen alive, or the body located. She has many skills not needed in a small town that would be required if she responds to the implied call to action.
OTHER IMPORTANT CHARACTERS:
Two teenagers from the small town who find the mysterious librarian a challenge they want to resolve.
If you choose to accept this challenge for your next story, please let me know how you resolve or change it. Thank you and good luck.
SPLINTERS FOR MARCH 2021
THE PUB BY THE WEIR
They were after telling stories,
For, to put a frame on it,
There was nothing else to be doing of a brisk evening.
Don’t you know.
Oh, ‘tis true there was a fine view from above Clare’s field
Where the path led by a fairy fort—
The tourists were all quite taken with that,
Don’t you know,
Always wanting to hike up to the crest of the hill
Past the fairy fort—
Which is nothing but a circle of trees.
Yes, they were after telling stories in the evening
When the wind was blowing the rain from the North
Or was it the West?
It was a wayward wind for certain, that night,
Don’t you know.
And what was there to be doing after all,
But listen to the wind and watch the fire,
Keeping warm,
Don’t you know.
And even were it a dry night,
Though those are rare enough—
The “lovely peace and quiet”
Admired so by the tourists
Can be wearing on a man,
Don’t you know.
#PoetryandIreland #IrishPubsandPoetry
So, what’s to do but off to the pub for a drink
And a bit of storytelling.
A bit of gossiping, as well,
Don’t you know.
Reminding the other fellow of his foolishness
When he was a lad and his faults now he’s a man,
And if tempers should rise,
A pint or a small one will soften any who’re taken to anger.
Well, almost any,
Don’t you know.
Yes, they were after telling stories
Each man in his turn playing out the words
To the praise of the rest
Like dancers urged from the crowd
And encouraged into exhibiting their skill in stepping.
Just so,
Don’t you know.
And a good story will call for another,
Drink being a reward for the telling and the listening—
Spirits to warm you when living can’t—
Don’t you know.
Yes, they were old friends and neighbors gathered about
And they were after telling stories one brisk evening.
Yes, they were after telling stories,
Since for certain there was nothing else to be doing,
Don’t you know.
A TALE FROM KILLARNEY
A bright colleen was comely Molly,
The daughter of Paddy Magee,
A feisty lass bred on Ireland’s soil
And determined as any you’d see.
Now, Molly and Paddy were often at odds
So the villagers all opined.
Strong-willed was Paddy, but Molly was too;
They were two of a kind.
Seamus Tashus thought Paddy a fool
And often told him so.
Then the shillelaghs flew and the air grew blue.
But no winners. ‘Twas touch and go.
Seamus was proud of his only son,
Austen, a brawny lad.
But when Austen smiled broadly to Molly
Neither Paddy nor Seamus was glad.
Austen and Molly were kept apart
—or so the story goes,
But the sweethearts found their own grand way
As this tale shows.
On Festival Night at Shamrock Hill
Along the leprechaun trail,
The lovers two did slip away
To the coast where a ship set sail.
Many a one with the gift of Blarney
Will tell in great detail
How Molly and Austen were wafted away
By the wee folk on the leprechaun trail.
And sometimes when heard is the banshee wail
On a wild wind frightful night,
The home folk, huddled by their hearth’s warm glow,
Will mourn the lost lovers’ plight.
But far from Killarney, across the sea,
In a wedding both sweet and gracious,
Our lovers were joined as man and wife:
Molly and Austen Tashus.
#IrishTales #PoetryandIreland #LoveandPoetry
IRISH?
Green as the grass may grow,
Irish hearts grow in rows—
Much greener in love of life
Than any grass plant look-alike.
Love of Irish culture appears
In every land across seas
And spreads joy everywhere.
To be Irish in the flesh
Is to touch where gods dwell.
To be Irish in spirit,
We must be with the gods.
#IrishSpirit #St.Patrick’sDay
Author’s Notes
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“A TALE FROM KILLARNEY”. This light verse was probably first suggested in a poetry workshop and later may have been chosen to join a series of poems she and her daughter were assembling as the work of a fictitious poet, Ariadne Garbishe, for a piece of satire regarding the awarding of prizes to poems of questionable merit.
REFRACTIONS
“IRISH?”–Robert Roxby was happy to be welcomed into his wife’s Irish heritage and this poem reflects that enthusiasm.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“THE PUB BY THE WEIR” is essentially a summary of what the author saw when she watched the play, The Weir by Conor McPherson. An early version of this piece was sent to the theater in appreciation of the excellent performances and staging.