Frank E-Book

Chrissy Banks

• Herausgeber: The Poetry Business
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 17

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

From Frank who 'spits words straight from the seam' to the schoolgirl who 'has buried so much for so long', these poems travel the road between the down-to-earth and outspoken to what's more reflective, hidden or difficult to voice. In varied contexts, the collection offers examples of the ways in which we negotiate our inner truth through interaction with others and ourselves.

Leseprobe

Published 2021 by

Smith|Doorstop Books

The Poetry Business

Campo House,

54 Campo Lane,

Sheffield S1 2EG

Copyright © Chrissy Banks 2021

All Rights Reserved

ISBN 978-1-912196-83-8

ePub ISBN 978-1-912196-84-5

Typeset by The Poetry Business

Printed by Biddles, Sheffield

Smith|Doorstop Books are a member of Inpress:

www.inpressbooks.co.uk

Distributed by NBN International, 1 Deltic Avenue,

Rooksley, Milton Keynes MK13 8LD

The Poetry Business gratefully acknowledges the support of Arts Council England.

Contents

Frank

Ola

Whistle Down the Wind

What’s the Matter, Christine Fox?

You Can Do Better Than That

At Castle Neroche

Fossil Beach

Young Again

Day Trip

Viewpoint

The Green

Cicada Love Song

At the Juliet House, Verona

Late, Alone

I’m Probably Wasting My Time and Yours

I’m on Page 3

when was ecstasy

Black Cat and Rabbit

Tales of the Poets

on not being william carlos williams

The Nearly Times

The Waves

frank (adjective)

honest, sincere, and telling the truth,

even when this might be awkward

or make other people uncomfortable

for Nigel

Frank

In that very southern university,

we were northern aliens, experiments

in academia, mad in love with literature,

first in the family to win a place.

Winter or summer, he shrugged thin arms

into a khaki parka. His hooked nose poked

from a face pale as bleached flour. He kissed me

once, in Anglo-Saxon, rough and slobbery.

Frank couldn’t do with borrowed thought.

When he spat words straight from the seam,

hard and black, his tutors’ eyes lit up.

He didn’t give a toss if they agreed or not.

Analysing Hamlet (he’s fucking fucked),

evaluating Wordsworth (that bloke wins first prize

fer turning kids off poetry), rattling off his own

deranged and genius critique of Hemingway,

he gobbed and scrawled himself a First.

The last I heard, he’d won a scholarship,

soared off to be Frank in New York, while I

wondered what it meant to graduate.

What I’m thinking now, too late, is this:

I could have learned a lot from Frank.

Ola