 |
|
DAVE CHAMBERS
There are some times when facing a blank page is so daunting that we try to escape. Those times are often referred to as dry periods, or running dry, or drying up. When those times arrive, as they do occasionally, I find that the friendly companionship within Newham Writers Workshop manages to get me writing again, even if it only speculates, as here, on the dryness of others and how they escaped.
Paper Caper
Whenever I stare at a blank piece of paper
a white oblong blackboard, now there's a wee caper.
The pencil I pick is a wonderful boon,
But the brilliant idea deserts me so soon
that I make no mark on the virgin white sheet
My mind is confused, two thoughts never meet.
'Til I look at the clock which says the pub's open,
No point sitting here awasting and mopin'
an' fretting an' grieving while the day passes
unable to see 'til I've had a few glasses.
What I need now is real inspiration.
The kind you get from a writer's nation.
The kind of society
that challenges sobriety
to create the masterpiece unknown before,
or tell a story of ancient folklore,
or make the world a less ignorant place,
or make life run at much faster pace,
or maybe, something that would be handy,
a couple of drinks down at the Lord Stanley.
Where my wanderings have brought me to,
where else, what else can a dry writer do
But think of the greats whose work you know,
of their lives, their loves, what made them go.
And here in favoured company I think
my first thought, it's of another drink.
To stay in keeping with the crowd,
I give my order clear and loud,
a beer for him an' a beer for me,
can you get them in while I go for a p.
What folks will I dream up here today?
A fish an'a pint with Papa Hemmingway?
On a pilgrimage like the Canterbury Tales?
Or a session with Dylan Thomas from Wales?
surviving that, I might be seen,
at the bar with Graham Green
an' that drouthy cronie Robert Burns,
in he's day he's shifted a couple a' urns.
An' the talk can get a wee bit risqué
Eh? oh aye, another double straight malt whisky.
A wee word here wi' Edgar Allen Poe
and Ulysses, Joyce the ideas floe,
quick give me paper, pen and ink,
an' while your at it, another drink.
The landlord yawns an' shows he's tyrin',
doesn't he know I'm talking to Byron?
Long past closing? Awright I'll take a can
an' be like my hero Brendan Behan.
Thrown out of Toronto, he must fly,
'cause he really tried to drink Canada Dry.
Those names so great they make you weep,
if only one day I could leap
into their illustrious company
with much arousing timpani
and the screech of brakes, brakes?
What's yer hurry, what's the stakes?
??
These young policemen can swear quite well.
Suppose it's better than a night in the cell.
A long walk on to my home street.
Where all my nightmares I come to meet,
for staggering about, near the kerb edge,
I tripped and fell inward, over the hedge
of the house just two doors away from home,
an' was beaten up, by a garden gnome.
I got away and in my front door,
then fell asleep on a cold stone floor.
In the morning I awaken late,
my drunken thoughts come in a spate,
and here I sit after last night
before that paper oh so white.
I pause, now what's the time,
will I never get this thing to rhyme
I'll use a pencil so I can rub....
Och away, let's down the pub.
HELLO
Two ships passing in the night.
If one of them shows a little light.
To say "I'm here", it might
Be a comforting fare
To the other one there
To know that there's two ships passing in the night
Two people passing in the street.
One of them smiles as if to greet.
A hello as their eyes happen to meet
Showing a grace
Making a better place
Of the hard grey pavement of the lonely street
When people have to bear a great deal of pain.
When all the world just seems to rain.
More troubles more troubles more troubles and pain
'Til someone says " Hey, that rings a bell
I've been there as well
Here, take my hand, see the comfort you gain."
Two ships passing in the night.
If one of them smiles a little bright.
Through the dark stormy sea, it might
Be a comforting fare
To know that they share
The same tribulations all through that dark night.
|
|
|
|
|
